“You have to come to the cookout on Labor Day,” Natalie said.
She thrust one of the orange flyers toward my basket. Her wedding ring was loose on her finger, and she twisted the band twice with her thumb.
“Travis is doing a demonstration,” she said. “He is going to flip the three-hundred-pound tire in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“Sophie has a lot of homework that weekend,” I said.
Natalie let out a short, high-pitched laugh that sounded like she was running out of air.
“It is just a barbecue, Claire,” she said. “The whole street is coming, and Grant is buying the ribs.”
“I will think about it,” I said.
“Travis says you always act like you are too good for the family,” she said. “He says you think your old government job makes you special.”
I looked at the orange paper in her hand. The flyer had a grainy photo of Travis holding a pair of heavy training gloves.
