June Bug by Chris Fabry Page B

laugh at him as I opened the door. “Silly, it’s just me.”
    He handed Sheila a jar full of something. “I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to open this. Some chowchow my wife made before she passed. Ought to be good with those burgers—don’t you think?”
    Sheila made a fuss about it, but I’d never heard of chowchow before, so I asked what it was. Sheila unscrewed the Ball jar and smelled the contents. “It’s relish, sweet and good.”
    The pot on the stove was boiling, and it looked like there were enough ears of corn in there to feed a small village. Sheila had tossed a salad in a big green bowl and put croutons in, which I always called wood chips because that’s what they look like to me. There were fresh cucumbers and tomatoes and just about everything you could think of in the salad, and I thought that staying with Sheila was a pretty good idea because I’d learn a lot about cooking. She’d also made potato and macaroni salad.
    She asked me to pour the lemonade, and Mr. Taylor helped me get out the ice and put it in the big glasses. It was almost like having a real family with everybody pitching in and helping.
    “So, is June Bug your real name?” Mr. Taylor said as we carried the food to the dining room table.
    I shrugged, thinking about the picture I’d seen and wondering what it would feel like for people to call me Natalie. “It’s what I’ve always answered to.”
    “Doesn’t seem like a name fitting a pretty girl like you.”
    Dad brought a plate of burgers in and there was cheese running down the sides of some of them and juice still bubbling around the edges. “Her real name’s June, but I added the Bug. ”
    “You pick out the name or did your wife?” Mr. Taylor said.
    Dad wiped his hands on a napkin and surveyed the table. “Guess it was a mutual decision.” He looked at Sheila. “You didn’t put out the caviar?”
    Sheila laughed. “We’re all out.”
    “Well, you have everything else. This looks fantastic.”
    We sat down and started passing food. There was something missing, and at first I couldn’t figure out what it was. Then it came to me. I’d seen it in a lot of movies, especially ones around a big meal like at Thanksgiving or Christmas, which is what this felt like, even though it was summer and the flies were trying to get to the food before we did.
    “We should pray,” I said.
    Mr. Taylor was cutting the corn off the cob onto his plate, and he stopped midway through the row he was on. Dad raised his eyebrows at me.
    Sheila was the only one who nodded and bowed her head. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
    “I don’t think I can.”
    “Sure you can,” she said. “Just thank God for the food and anything else you want to thank him for.”
    All of a sudden my face felt hot. I couldn’t tell if Dad was mad at me for bringing up the subject, or maybe he was worried that Mr. Taylor would be offended for some reason.
    I scrunched my eyes closed and put my hands together so tight I couldn’t tell which one was right and which one was left. I tried to remember the prayers I’d seen on those movies, but nothing really came to me and Mr. Taylor cleared his throat like he was some starving man in Africa who just wanted to eat.
    “Dear God,” I started. My voice didn’t sound like myself—it sounded like some animal being strangled—but I kept on going. “Thank you for this food. Thank you for my new dress and the sandals. Thank you for our new friends. Oh, and the necklace too and my haircut. And help us to have a good time tonight. Amen.”
    “That was a very nice prayer,” Sheila said.
    “Straight from the heart, June Bug,” my dad said.
    Mr. Taylor kept cutting his corn, and I passed the butter to him and the salt for when he was done cutting it.
    Walter whined at the back door and Sheila scolded him. Dad got up and took one of the burgers that was a little too done and gave it to him. The dog devoured it in one gulp and came right back to