And arranged the donation station beneath the covered part of the deck.
Natalie came downstairs at seven.
She found him carrying a cooler.
“You're already working?”
He grinned.
“Somebody has to feed the neighborhood.”
She kissed his cheek.
“Coffee first.”
“I've had two.”
She looked toward the enormous container of meat on the kitchen counter.
“Apparently.”
They spent the next two hours preparing.
Sophie helped create colorful signs.
Her favorite read:
BURGERS FOR BOOKS!
She drew a smiling hamburger holding an open book.
Michael thought it was the greatest advertisement he'd ever seen.
Natalie taped it to a wooden board near the patio.
Then they arranged the food.
Salads.
Fruit.
Bread.
Condiments.
And several desserts neighbors had delivered early.
By ten-thirty, everything was nearly ready.
Michael checked his messages.
Evelyn had sent another email.
Final warning: Unauthorized cooking activities will be reported to the appropriate authorities.
He read it twice.
Then placed his phone beside the kitchen sink.
Natalie noticed.
“Her again?”
He nodded.
She sighed.
“Are you worried?”
Michael considered.
“Not about the barbecue.”
He looked toward the backyard.
“I'm worried she's going to ruin the day for everyone.”
Natalie stepped closer.
“Then don't let her turn this into a shouting match.”
He smiled faintly.
“That's the plan.”
She looked toward the donation signs.
“This isn't about Evelyn.”
Michael nodded.
“I know.”
Natalie continued.
“It's about books. Kids. Neighbors helping each other.”
He wrapped one arm around her.
“That's what I'm trying to remember.”
At eleven fifteen, Thomas arrived carrying a cooler and an enormous bag of charcoal he insisted Michael should use.
Michael laughed.
“Dad, it's a gas grill.”
Thomas shook his head.
“That's your first mistake.”
They began arguing playfully.
Sophie ran outside to hug her grandfather.
Natalie took a photograph.
In it, Thomas was holding the charcoal bag like a trophy while Michael pointed toward the grill with an expression of exaggerated frustration.
That picture would later become important for a reason nobody expected.
At eleven thirty-eight, Michael opened the grill and began cooking.
The first sausages went on a few minutes later.
Everything was ordinary.
The equipment was functioning normally.
No flames spread beyond the cooking area.
No one was injured.
And there was no emergency.
By noon, guests were arriving.
The backyard filled with conversation.
Children played lawn games away from the cooking area.
Neighbors brought food.
And Grace began recording donations at the table.
Thomas stood beside Michael discussing the proper way to cook sausages.
His son disagreed with nearly every suggestion.
The argument made both men laugh.
At twelve twenty, Sophie approached the grill wearing a pink baseball cap.
“Daddy!”
Michael turned.
“What?”
She pointed toward a plate.
“Can Grandpa have the first sausage?”