“We have the Labor Day barbecue in three weeks,” David said, tapping his mug again to emphasize the point. “That means seventy-two dollars for the charcoal and thirty-eight dollar grocery receipts for the marinade need to be sorted out.”
“Linda always handles the charcoal, Dad,” Ethan said, running his hand through his hair. He looked confused by the sudden talk of chores.
“Actually, Linda has a lot on her plate this year,” Grace said, her short, urgent sentence cutting through the room.
David laughed, a loud, booming sound.
“Linda loves the work, Mother,” David said. “She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she wasn’t running the show.”
I looked at Linda, who was standing by the sideboard, holding a platter of eggs. Her bright, host-like smile was intact, but she was rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Of course I love it,” Linda said, her voice high and cheerful. “It is my pleasure.”
“See?” David said, gesturing with his fork. “We do things right in this house.”
I twirled my wedding band around my finger, the metal feeling heavier than it had an hour ago.
“Is the barbecue really that much work?” I asked, looking between Linda and David.
“It is a joy, Natalie,” Linda said quickly, stepping forward to place the platter on the table. “A real joy.”
“We have always shared the happiness here,” Ethan said, looking at me with a warm smile. “My mom has a system for everything.”
“It is a burden,” Grace said.
David’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing as he looked at his mother.
“Let’s not start that today, Mother,” David said, his booming voice losing some of its warmth.
By ten, the sun had burned off the lake fog, but the damp pine needles under the trees still held the cold. I found Linda in the small garden behind the garage, kneeling in the dirt near the tomato plants.
She was holding a pair of rusty garden shears, her hands covered in dark Wisconsin soil.
