Stretched out in a lawn chair in the shade of a live oak, Calvin didn’t think he’d need to eat again for at least three days. Brock had piled Calvin’s plate with everything anyone could have expected at a good ole Texas Fourth of July cookout. Burgers, hotdogs, potato salad, corn on the cob, baked beans and watermelon.
Calvin let out a loud belch. “Sorry.”
Junior snickered.
“Knew I shouldn’t have had beans,” Calvin admitted.
His peach cobbler had been a real hit. Both Junior and Brock had had two helpings. Calvin thought it might have needed a bit more sugar, but both Brockwells pronounced it perfect, the best cobbler they’d ever tasted. Calvin had accepted their compliments, not allowing himself to believe they might just have been saying it out of politeness. It was too perfect a
