The air smelled of burgers, rich and thick, and with the exception of an occasional rumble in the sky, nothing could mar this perfect Independence Day celebration.
That was, if Ivy didn’t screw it up. Don’t be overeager. She kept rolling that mantra through her head as she smiled, laughed, listened. She wanted to drink it in, try to understand their expectations before she cracked open the door to her life.
Fourteen different foster homes did that to a person. Yes, she wanted them to like her so much she could taste it.
She’d thought she was past this.
“I’ve got to run down to the fire pit. I’ll be right back,” Darek said, putting Tiger down.
He left her as Ingrid came through the sliding-glass door holding a giant Tupperware bowl of Grace’s potato salad. “Ivy, could you grab the pitcher of punch that’s on the counter?”
“No problem,” Ivy said and ducked inside to grab the punch. She added it to the table of goodies, then returned for the cups.
“Smile!” Amelia snapped her picture just after she turned.
“Oh. I wasn’t ready.”
“I like the impromptu ones best.” She turned the camera around. “See how cute you are?”
In the shot, Ivy wore a strange, unfamiliar smile, and it raised a lump in her throat.
She set the cups on the table and watched Darek come up the trail from the fire pit. “I put jugs of water out, just in case something happens and the wind takes the blaze out of our control,” he said to his father, who nodded.
But she couldn’t help asking, “Why? It seems like it’s going to rain.”
He looked at the sky. “I don’t know. It’s been thundering for an hour, but the air doesn’t feel like rain. It just feels sharp. Like flint.”
“Darek has Spidey senses when it comes to reading the weather for fire hazard,” Casper said, waging a thumb war with Tiger. He let Tiger pin his thumb. “Oh, you got me!”
Tiger erupted into giggles.
“Dare used to be on the Jude County Hotshot team,” Amelia said, capturing the tussle with her camera.
“What’s that?”
“The United States has a number of specialized hotshot teams around the country whose job it is to fly in and assist the local population fighting wildland fires,” Darek said, opening a bag of potato chips, stealing one, and then dumping them into a bowl.
“Darek was training for a fire management position,” John said. “Someone hand me a serving plate.”
“Scared me to death to see him on the news—or pictures of him. All covered in soot, wearing a bright-orange Nomex helmet, looking as if he’d walked through hell.” Ingrid held the plate as John slid juicy burgers onto it. “I felt better when Jens—” She cut herself off, smiled. “Never mind. Should we pray for dinner?”
Darek shot a look his mother’s direction. Then he bowed his head.
Ivy closed her eyes as she listened to John bless their dinner. She’d lived with many families who shared this tradition, but listening to John’s voice as he asked for God’s blessing on their day and food seemed . . . well, not at all like a tradition. But as if he might truly mean it.
They amened like a football team, announcing it together, and then Darek handed her a plate.
He put his strong hand on her back and nudged her toward the serving table as he leaned close and spoke into her ear. “We eat big and fast here. I’ll run interference for you.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he winked.
She could see him then—raccoon eyes, dirty, strong, heroic. Yes, fighting fires would have been his element.
“How long were you on the team?” she asked Darek as Ingrid set her burger in a fresh homemade bun. The sight could make her cry. She’d had a piece of toast and a yogurt for breakfast while sitting at her desk at the courthouse, cramming in a few hours before she let herself escape.
DJ was right—the traffic citations and other disturbance complaints had doubled, just this week.
“Three years, but I started fighting fires here, in Deep Haven. We had a terrible fire about eight years ago, on a lake near Canada, on the east end of town. Smoke covered the entire county.”
Grace swiped a chip. “A bunch of the nice houses and resorts in Moose Valley burned before they could stop it.”
“That’s terrible.” And then it happened, the stupid question she’d feared might slip out. “Why did you stop firefighting?”
A hush descended around the patio. Amelia concentrated on applying mustard to her burger. Grace scooped up potato salad.
“He got married,” Casper said, sliding off the table and grabbing a plate. “And then Tiger came along.”