tradition. Since before Sam was born they’d been breaking out steel buckets filled with cold beer and firing up her dad’s Lynx grill. Headquarters, as Jack Cathner called it, had grown over the years into a station of four grills, a sink, a full-size refrigerator, burners, and some hickory smoker thing Sam never understood. Jack was clearly an obsessed grill master and Fourth of July was his day to shine.
Sam looked out back and savored the gift of home, the simplicity of seeing her father, apron on, with a huge smile. She remembered being a little girl and pushing past her brother and his friends to help at the grill. The smell of smoke and her father’s big hands as he hoisted her up into his arms.
“You can be my co-captain, little nut. Co-grill-captain, that’s what you are,” and he’d kiss her on the cheek with his Saturday stubble.
She looked at him now, surrounded by his family, a family he’d worked hard to support, to love, and most importantly to keep laughing. He had his arm around Henry; Sam was sure they were telling some tasteless jokes before too many guests arrived or her mother overheard. Sam was still restless, but she felt a little less off-center when she was with her family.
The yard began to fill with guests dressed in patriotic colors. The only requirement on the invitation was that all guests must dress in red, white, and blue. It became a competition for many of their neighbors, friends, and relatives. Mrs. Gressling always wore a sundress that looked like Betsy Ross herself made it. Grady’s mother would arrive with a patriotic silk scarf tied around her neck, and April Everoad always wore the same stars-and-stripes skirt that she bought once at a boutique in Santa Barbara. People wore crazy hats, Bermuda shorts, and even carried purses with glittering American flags. Sam’s uncle always brought his big English bulldog wearing a coat saying “No More Taxation” over a Union Jack background.
It was a blast to see the turnout every year. It was a tradition. Without fail, no matter what was going on that year, her parents had their Independence Day barbecue. Sam loved that about them, their consistency. On days like this she saw the very best of her neighborhood. They were a community—not all the same, not cookie-cutter as many would have it—but a community rooted in traditions and relationships. There were plenty of ugly stories and scars to go around, but Sam chose, especially on days like this, to see everything that worked, everything that was right.
Sam was putting buns in baskets when Grady arrived with his family. The Senator and Mrs. Malendar came in first, carrying a covered desert, and raving about the new painting in the entryway. They were followed closely by Grady and Kara, beautiful, eternally stuck-up Kara, his younger sister. Sam smiled over her shoulder at Grady. He was a sight—for any woman, as she was well aware. Dark navy linen pants and a loose white linen shirt rolled to his elbows, tucked in barely, the whole thing pulled together with a red belt. Crystal blue eyes peeked out of his just-showered hair as he removed his sunglasses and shot Sam his killer, little-boy-with-a-secret grin. Grady Malendar was pretty devastating by anyone’s standards—and for the most part a wonderful guy.
Underneath all the posturing that came from the crap he grew up with and his own need to fill at least a portion of his father’s shoes, Grady was a loyal and funny friend. Sam had asked herself many times why she couldn’t simply fall head over heels in love with him and live happily ever after, but she had never felt that way for him. When they were in junior high school, he had been her very first kiss: at Sheila Fernell’s birthday party. But as they grew up, Sam and Grady were just good friends, and the rest took a backseat. Grady could never and would never want to handle a woman like Sam. She was too strong-willed with too many thoughts and not enough curves for
Sam looked out back and savored the gift of home, the simplicity of seeing her father, apron on, with a huge smile. She remembered being a little girl and pushing past her brother and his friends to help at the grill. The smell of smoke and her father’s big hands as he hoisted her up into his arms.
“You can be my co-captain, little nut. Co-grill-captain, that’s what you are,” and he’d kiss her on the cheek with his Saturday stubble.
She looked at him now, surrounded by his family, a family he’d worked hard to support, to love, and most importantly to keep laughing. He had his arm around Henry; Sam was sure they were telling some tasteless jokes before too many guests arrived or her mother overheard. Sam was still restless, but she felt a little less off-center when she was with her family.
The yard began to fill with guests dressed in patriotic colors. The only requirement on the invitation was that all guests must dress in red, white, and blue. It became a competition for many of their neighbors, friends, and relatives. Mrs. Gressling always wore a sundress that looked like Betsy Ross herself made it. Grady’s mother would arrive with a patriotic silk scarf tied around her neck, and April Everoad always wore the same stars-and-stripes skirt that she bought once at a boutique in Santa Barbara. People wore crazy hats, Bermuda shorts, and even carried purses with glittering American flags. Sam’s uncle always brought his big English bulldog wearing a coat saying “No More Taxation” over a Union Jack background.
It was a blast to see the turnout every year. It was a tradition. Without fail, no matter what was going on that year, her parents had their Independence Day barbecue. Sam loved that about them, their consistency. On days like this she saw the very best of her neighborhood. They were a community—not all the same, not cookie-cutter as many would have it—but a community rooted in traditions and relationships. There were plenty of ugly stories and scars to go around, but Sam chose, especially on days like this, to see everything that worked, everything that was right.
Sam was putting buns in baskets when Grady arrived with his family. The Senator and Mrs. Malendar came in first, carrying a covered desert, and raving about the new painting in the entryway. They were followed closely by Grady and Kara, beautiful, eternally stuck-up Kara, his younger sister. Sam smiled over her shoulder at Grady. He was a sight—for any woman, as she was well aware. Dark navy linen pants and a loose white linen shirt rolled to his elbows, tucked in barely, the whole thing pulled together with a red belt. Crystal blue eyes peeked out of his just-showered hair as he removed his sunglasses and shot Sam his killer, little-boy-with-a-secret grin. Grady Malendar was pretty devastating by anyone’s standards—and for the most part a wonderful guy.
Underneath all the posturing that came from the crap he grew up with and his own need to fill at least a portion of his father’s shoes, Grady was a loyal and funny friend. Sam had asked herself many times why she couldn’t simply fall head over heels in love with him and live happily ever after, but she had never felt that way for him. When they were in junior high school, he had been her very first kiss: at Sheila Fernell’s birthday party. But as they grew up, Sam and Grady were just good friends, and the rest took a backseat. Grady could never and would never want to handle a woman like Sam. She was too strong-willed with too many thoughts and not enough curves for
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