Chapter 8

That evening Dixie looked around her dinner table and felt her heart swell. She was so lucky to have her family gathered around her every night.

Pops’s accident last night served to remind her never to take her life and the people she loved for granted.

“So, Pops, how was Miz Ima and her casserole?” she asked.

A deep red flush stole slowly up his cheeks. He scowled at her. Dixie hooted with laughter. “Boys, I think Miz Trotter is sweet on

Pops.”

“You mean, like, boy-girl sweet on?” Ben asked, alarmed at the idea. “Exactly.”

“Eww, yuck,” Tate said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Pops muttered.

“Shame,” Dixie said, laughing. “You’ve had a thing for her for twenty years.”

The boys spent the next few minutes making gagging sounds. They had yet to learn the value of girls.

“Have not,” Pops protested. “Why, she’s a good six months older than me.”

“You know what they say about older women,” Dixie teased. “Oh, hush, you.” The red blush now reached the tops of his ears. “All right, all right,” she c