7. Friday
7
FRIDAY
Sam has been barking orders since around five in the morning when he first started cooking. He, all the Reeds, their friends, and everyone Mr. Jacobson knew from the fire department met at a small outdoor kitchen that Mr. Jacobson had set up for the campground years before. Only today it is being used to cook spaghetti. There are stations set up for cooking pasta, making sauce, frying hamburger, and general prep. This place is like a well-oiled machine, and I can tell they have done this many times and perfected the art of cooking large meals.
“Is this a thing around here?” Emily whispers to her from where she sits, chopping more onions. She’s just graduated from cutting bell peppers. She blows a breath up to lift a lock of hair from where it has fallen from beneath her hair net.
“You mean cooking until you drop?” I reply.
Logan walks over and tucks the lock of hair beneath her hairnet, stopping long enough to kiss her on the forehead. “They do this every year, from what I hear,” Logan says. “Only this year, it’s bigger.”
“They do this every year?” I ask. This is a massive operation, even for a group the size of ours. Even our kids are helping.
“Mr. Jacobson said something about the county needing a new fire truck,” Logan explains. “That’s what all this is for.” He takes the bowl of freshly chopped peppers and onions and walks away with it.
“I thought it was just so Sam could gripe at everyone all day,” Peck mutters as she walks up carrying a load of what looks like brownies and plastic bags. “I thought Mr. Jacobson was a tyrant. Sam has taken it to a whole new level.”
Suddenly, a round of applause goes up. I look up from where I’m sorting plasticware into threes—fork, spoon, and knife—and wrapping it tightly in a napkin.
I see Sky take a bow, her face red as she takes the ribbing everyone is giving her.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
Sky walks over, plops down next to me on the picnic table bench, and lays her head on her folded arms.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I got drunk on mimosas around ten in the morning, made an ass of myself, and told everyone that Matt and I were going to make another baby.” She groans against the table, her voice muffled by her folded arms. “Seth is probably mortified.” She heaves in a deep breath and finally lifts her head. “Matt had to carry me to bed, where I proceeded to pass out and drool all over him for about two hours.”
“When you do it, you do it well,” I remark with a laugh. It’s not as though all of us haven’t done it at one point or another.
“I think I’m still a little bit drunk,” she admits.
Suddenly, Joey runs up, rests her hands on her hips, and glares at Sky. “Pregnant? Again?” she asks, her brow furrowed. “Seriously? We talked about this. We have enough babies!”
“I agree,” Sky says with a groan, holding her hands up to fend Joey off. “We certainly have enough babies. I’m with you, Joey. Enough babies. No more babies.”
“We were just practicing,” a voice booms from behind her. “No babies,” Matt confirms as he walks closer, his arms full of plasticware, napkins, and rubber bands. He dumps them onto the table in front of me just when I was almost done. “Just practice,” he confirms again with a laugh, and then he walks away.
“I’m sure it was a hardship for him,” Joey says drolly. Then she walks away.
I snort because that shit’s funny.
“Has Matt figured out what his activity is yet?” I ask, suddenly curious. All the brothers picked an activity each to benefit the community. For Pete, it was the animal shelter; for Sam, it was the spaghetti supper for the fire department; Edward helped build two wheelchair ramps for people in the community whose mobility had been affected; Paul agreed to do some in-person interviews; and Matt’s activity is a mystery.
“Matt has no idea what his event will be,” Sky admits. “He’s still working on it. He said he might go by the cancer center to visit patients. People might like that. But he really wants to do something bigger. He just doesn’t know what.”
“Is he going to go by himself?” I ask.
“Actually, he’s planning to go with Seth. He thinks the trip will be important to Seth, especially because of the wedding, particularly because of what happened to his mom.” She smiles shyly. “I kind of wanted to go with them, but this might be something they need to do alone. Together.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. They were both affected so much by cancer. Seth lost his mom, and Matt lost a lot, but he also found a lot. Sometimes, I think he almost feels guilty for surviving.”
“And thriving,” I add. Matt and I have discussed this at length. There’s a certain sadness knowing that you survived an ordeal that other people haven’t. He’s not sad about living, but there’s a level of guilt, he says, that sticks with you.
Sky watches Joey as she dumps a massive can of tomatoes into a pot almost as big as she is. Then she proceeds to bust the tomatoes against the side of the pot using something that looks like a boat oar. Sky grins at me. “Can you believe Matt was ever worried about having a big family with lots of kids?” she asks.
“I was there,” I say quietly, “so yes, I do remember.”
“He asked me to give that letter to his ex if he died,” Emily says. “I thought it was an I’ll-love-you-even-in-the-grave letter.”
Sky snorts. “It was not.”
Emily clears her throat. “Did I tell you I ran into April at the grocery store a few weeks ago? She is very happily married to that attorney she met at the airport. They have a couple of kids.”
“Whatever happened to her wedding dress? Didn’t she show up all wet that night after the wedding wearing it?”
“She did,” I say. “Paul contacted her to see if she wanted it back, but she didn’t. He sent it off to a group that makes burial gowns for babies.” Her voice trails off. “It’s a charity that does a lot of good, so he was happy to help.”
“And to get rid of it at the same time,” Emily adds.
“He went and bought all the bridal gowns at the thrift shop and added them to the box. It was a very good cause,” I add.
“I never knew that,” Emily says wistfully.
“The Reeds and their good deeds. They never stop.” I smile as I get up to find Paul, who is strangely absent.