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recede. His name was Tim.
    Karlynn Slade looked out of place in her tight jeans, pink T-shirt, and black leather boots. I noticed a small turquoise heart
     tattooed on the inside of her left wrist. Nancy was dying of curiosity. “Who
is
she?” she’d asked after cornering me in the kitchen. Nancy is about five-six and stays in shape playing tennis. She looked
     good in her red corduroy dress. “Did you and Jayne have a falling-out?”
    “I thought you’d be more supportive, Nancy,” I said. She punched me on the shoulder.
    “Who
is
she?” she repeated. I gave in to a little smile.
    “She’s a lady with a checkered past,” I said. “I’m babysitting her until the U.S. Marshals can set her up in the Witness Protection
     Program.” She studied my eyes to determine whether I was joking.
    “You could’ve warned me,” she said.
    “I should have canceled,” I said, “but I wanted to see Jimmie. I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, then picked up a tray of vegetables
     and carried it to the living room, where she had assembled an array of munchies for her guests to enjoy while awaiting the
     Thanksgiving feast.
    I decided to have a drink, but though Nancy’s refrigerator contained a variety of new age beverages, it contained no Coke.
     I made myself a rum and organic cola, which was the best I could do under the circumstances, then moseyed into the living
     room. The two therapists were talking with each other, using terms such as “inner child” and “creative self.” The quiet blonde
     was with them, looking interested but saying little. The neighbor kept asking Nancy if she needed any help. The little boys
     played with Lego blocks. Karlynn sipped ginger ale and studied the many knickknacks Nancy had collected over the years. The
     chiropractor stayed close to Nancy. Jimmie came down from his bedroom and stuck to me. I sat down on the oversize beige sofa,
     picked up the remote, and clicked on the TV. The Lions were playing somebody in a game that had NFC playoff implications.
    “Your mom dating him?” I asked my nephew. Jimmie sat down beside me.
    “Sort of,” he said. He wore a Broncos cap—backwards of course—but I saw strands of his thin, dark hair beneath it.
    “You like him?”
    “He’s okay, I guess,” Jimmie said. “He’s not into sports, though.” In addition to teaching chemistry, Jimmie’s dad had coached
     football, and Jimmie had been raised to love sports. He played running back on the freshman football team and planned to go
     out for baseball in the spring.
    “Sports aren’t everything,” I said. “If he’s good to your mom, that’s what counts.” He nodded like a boy is supposed to when
     an uncle imparts wisdom. He’s tall for his age, but thin like his mom.
    “Is that your new girlfriend?” he asked, pointing to Karlynn. Now she was studying the books in Nancy’s bookcase.
    “Not exactly,” I said.
    “Who is she?”
    “You promise not to tell?”
    “Sure.”
    “Her husband is the leader of a motorcycle gang. She’s paying me to protect her.”
    “Really?”
    “Honest injun,” I said.
    “Wow.”
    After a half-hour or so, Nancy announced, “Dinner is served.” Everyone filtered into the dining room and took seats around
     the highly polished rectangular walnut table. I sat at one end of the table, with Jimmie to my right and Karlynn to my left.
     The chiropractor sat at the other end. Nancy made several trips from the kitchen, finally sashaying back in carrying a colorful
     tray bearing what appeared to be Cornish game hens.
    Nancy asked Tim to give a blessing, and to his credit it was mercifully short. I smiled as I remembered a prayer Scott McCutcheon
     had taught me. He liked to say, “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. And if that ain’t a square deal you can kiss my
     ass.”
    We began passing trays of food around the table. Aside from the birds, there was stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberry-orange
     salad, candied yams, and fresh