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Beside me, Mackenzie shook her head. “What is it with our uncles and hot sauce?”

  “Beats me.”

  Our family’s naturally competitive nature meant that our barbecues always ended up with a bunch of us—my uncles, mostly—trying to outdo each other in the hot sauce department, like the little kids with their Red Rooster crows. I was as competitive as the next person, maybe even more so, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go to the mat over something like hot sauce. My stomach needed its lining.

  We all watched as Uncle Rooster took a bite. “Hmmm,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry, Jericho, I’m not feeling it.”

  “You will,” my father replied calmly.

  After the second bite, Uncle Rooster leaped up and bolted for the house.

  “If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen!” my dad yelled after him, and everyone shouted with laughter.

  “Rooster never could hold his hot sauce,” said Grandma G.

  “Rusty, you stay away from that stuff!” Aunt True called down the table to where her boyfriend was seated with my uncles. “You’ll get blisters!”

  “It’ll just warm him up for you, True!” Uncle Teddy called back, making loud kissing noises. “Isn’t that right, Professor Hot Lips?”

  Aunt True’s boyfriend blushed furiously. He still wasn’t used to being teased. My dad said it was because Professor Rusty was an only child. I was pretty sure he was enjoying the attention, though. There was a hint of a smile behind the blush.

  The back door banged open, and Uncle Rooster reappeared. He’d gotten ahold of Grandma G’s lipstick and painted his lips bright red. We gaped at him, and then everyone started to laugh again.

  Uncle Rooster gave my father a crisp salute. “I admit defeat. Duly terminated, sir!”

  One thing you could say for Uncle Rooster, he wasn’t a sore loser.

  “I don’t think I can eat another bite,” said Mackenzie after a while. Then she grinned and reached toward the almost empty platter of ribs. “Well, maybe just one more bite.”

  I grinned back, licking the barbecue sauce off my fingers with a sigh of contentment. I’d really missed Uncle Teddy’s barbecue.

  “Who wants ice cream?” Aunt Louise called from the back steps.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” protested Uncle Rooster, clutching his stomach.

  “Spoken like a man who’s just eaten his weight in ribs,” teased Aunt Sally.

  “Nonsense!” Aunt True retorted, pushing back from the table. “There’s always room for ice cream.”

  “True speaks truth,” quipped Aunt Meg as she and Uncle Lenny got up too. Mackenzie looked at me and shrugged, and the two of us followed them.

  “Mint chip, please,” I told Aunt Louise when it was my turn. “Just one scoop.”

  “Two for me,” said Mackenzie. “Chocolate and strawberry.”

  “Now there’s a true Gifford,” said Grandma G approvingly.

  I looked at Mackenzie. Five feet nothing and about the size of my little finger, my cousin could really put it away. She smirked at me. “C’mon! After all that swimming we did this afternoon? I earned it.”

  The two of us took our cones over to the hammock, where we swung back and forth in contented silence.

  “I am so full!” Mackenzie groaned a little while later.

  “I wonder why, Ms. I’ll Have Two Scoops?”

  “It was worth it!”

  We swung some more. Light streamed through the open window over the sink in the kitchen. I listened to the clatter of pots and pans as Aunt Rose and Uncle Craig did the washing up, and to the soft strumming of Uncle Brent’s guitar over by the firepit, where conversation among the grown-ups was punctuated frequently by loud bursts of laughter. The clink of horseshoes and shrieks and giggles from my sisters and younger cousins playing hide-and-seek drifted over from the Mitchells’ yard. Closing my eyes, I could almost imagine that we were back on the ranch.

  Listening to my family reminded me of listening to birds. The twittering of sparrows would be the younger cousins; the piercing cries of jays the older ones; and the laughter from the adults was like the raucous cawing of crows. What was it that they called a flock of crows? Gramps and Lola had sent me a book on owls for my birthday, and it had a whole list of terms dating back to the Middle Ages for groups of different bird species. A parliament of owls—that one I remembered, of course. Owls were my favorite birds. An exaltation of larks, which Aunt True said was pure poetry. Ditto for a charm of finches. I couldn’t remember the term for a flock of sparrows, but I did remember the one for blue jays—a scold of jays. That was spot on. The term for a flock of crows had been an odd one, I recalled, casting about in my memory for it. Oh right—a murder of crows!

  I wrinkled my nose. That was awful. Not the right term for my family at all.

  Seagulls, maybe? A squabble of seagulls. Better. No, wait—geese! A gaggle of Giffords. Perfect!

  Swaying lazily in the hammock, I watched my cousins and aunts and uncles, my brothers and sisters and parents. What would those people in the Middle Ages have thought of my family? I wondered.

  “What are you snickering at?” asked Mackenzie, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “Nothing.”

  She sighed deeply. “I wish we had more time together! I can’t believe we only have one more day left.”

  “I know.”

  She sat bolt upright, sending the hammock swaying wildly. “Hey, what if you flew back with me to Austin?”

  “What?” I frowned. I loved Mackenzie and would miss her, but Texas was not part of my perfect summer plans.

  “I’m sure Coach would be happy to have you back on the Nitros’ summer swim team. And we could hang out with all our friends and go to the mall and camping and play with Frankie!” Frankie was Mackenzie’s new kitten. She’d taken him home with her when she’d visited in March, courtesy of Belinda Winchester.

  I hesitated. My perfect summer dangled in the air between us, glimmering like an ornament on a Christmas tree. “What if you stayed here instead?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. My parents have a big family vacation planned to Yellowstone. You could come with us.” She looked over at me. “Plus, I’ve already been to Pumpkin Falls twice now since you moved here, and you haven’t been back to Austin even once. C’mon, Truly—everything will be just like it was before!”

  That isn’t true, I thought, as she continued to chatter on about all the stuff we could do together. Nothing was going to be like it was before. Not my father, whose arm would still be missing, and not my family, who was still getting used to the unexpected left turn in our lives that had brought us here to Pumpkin Falls.

  “So, what do you think?” prodded Mackenzie. “Are you in?”

  “I have stuff planned,” I told her. “I can’t.”

  She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I wish you still lived down the street, Truly. I really miss you. I miss us.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. We’d hit a rough patch over Spring Break, but she was still my best friend in the whole world. Life just wasn’t the same without her around. Pumpkin Falls wasn’t as awful a place as I’d thought it was when we first moved here, but still, Mackenzie wasn’t here.

  “I know,” I replied, squeezing back. “I miss us too.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “It’s going to be a scorcher!” my father announced as I yawned my way into the kitchen the next morning. Mackenzie and I had stayed up way too late talking.

  My mother stretched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Happy Fourth of July!” She handed me an apron, and I blinked at it sleepily. “Squad Lovejoy is in charge of breakfast, remember?”

  “Where’s Hatcher?” I said automatically. My brother was AWOL again, as usual.

  My father cupped his hand behind his ear. “What was that? I believe the correct answer is ‘yes, ma’am.’ ”

  I sighed. “Yes, sir. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  “Looks like your aunt could use some help,” my mother said as I draped the apron over my head. I turned around so that she could tie it for me, then shuffled over to the stove, where Aunt True passed me a large spoon.

  “Blueberry donut muffins,” she said as I joined her in scooping batter into the waiting muffin tins. “My new recipe. You’ll have to tell me what you think—I’m considering making a mini version as our signature treat at the bookshop this summer.”

  My aunt was in charge of marketing for Lovejoy’s Books, and she was big on signature treats. She said people came for the treats and stayed to shop, and so far, she’d been right.

  A few minutes later, Uncle Teddy and Aunt Louise wandered in, sniffing the air appreciatively. The kitchen smelled of sausage and coffee and muffins.

  “Morning, everyone!” said my uncle. “Tables are all set up and ready to go outside, J. T. Anything we can do to help in here?”

  “Nope,” my dad replied. “Breakfast is still a few minutes out. Grab a cup of coffee and take a load off.”

  “That’s an invitation we won’t refuse,” said Aunt Louise. She took two of the mugs stacked by the giant carafe that my mother had borrowed from church and poured coffee for my uncle and herself.

  Uncle Teddy waggled his eyebrows at me. “Great day for a road race!”

  I made a face. Running was so not my thing, and Uncle Teddy knew it. I’d much rather be in the water, especially on a day that was expected to be a “scorcher.”

  “Do we have to go?” I asked my father. “Can’t we just spend the day at Lake Lovejoy instead?” My voice sounded whiny even to my ears, but I couldn’t help it. The prospect of trotting all over Pumpkin Falls in the blazing sun was not appealing.

  “Too late! We’re Team Lovejoy’s Books, remember? I signed us up weeks ago.” br />
  Four on the Fourth—a 4K road race on the Fourth of July—was a big tradition in my new hometown. Nobody loved a holiday like Pumpkin Falls did, and nobody had more holiday traditions. Some were normal enough—twinkle lights on Main Street at Christmas, for instance—others, like the annual Halloween Pumpkin Toss, which dated back to before the Revolutionary War, were not. Our Fourth of July race was the oldest of its kind in New England and drew huge crowds of runners. Just about everyone in town got involved one way or another. Most of the local businesses sponsored a team of runners, and whoever’s team won got to display the trophy (the big silver pumpkin we’d taken our relatives to see at Mahoney’s Antiques) until the following Fourth of July. The winner also got the money raised by the race’s entry fees. Well, they didn’t, but their project of choice did.

  Each spring at the town meeting, two finalists were chosen from a list of proposed Pumpkin Falls beautification projects, and those became the projects that the Four on the Fourth teams competed to fund. I knew this because my brothers and sisters and I had been forced to attend the meeting.

  “This is democracy in action, kids!” our mother had told us on our way to the town hall that night. She’d gone back to college after our move to Pumpkin Falls, intending to become an English teacher. The American History for Educators class she’d taken with Professor Rusty had her bubbling over with patriotic spirit. “There’s nothing more American than a town meeting. Consider it part of your civic education.”

  I’d heard Gramps and Lola talk about town meetings before, but they hadn’t sounded very interesting. And mostly they weren’t, if you asked me, which nobody ever did. There were a bunch of boring reports on stuff like budgets and tax revenues, and discussions about things like sewage treatment (eew!), graffiti, and the pros and cons of licensing a food truck. One of the top agenda items at the meeting we attended was a proposal to install parking meters on Main Street, which sparked a surprisingly lively debate. Surprising because seriously, who got worked up about parking meters? Pumpkin Falls, that’s who.

  Ella Bellow, who used to be the postmistress until she retired last January, had been elected town moderator and ran the meetings. Ella loved being in charge of things even more than my dad did. She had more energy than should have been legal for somebody her age. Giving up her job as postmistress seemed to have given her a new lease on life, too. Instead of retiring to Florida, as everyone in town had thought was her plan, she’d stayed put, opened a knitting shop, and become involved in town politics. She was busier and bossier than ever.

  “As always, only two worthy causes will be chosen from this year’s proposed list of beautification projects,” Ella had announced that night. “Of course, I can’t pretend to be impartial about one of the projects,” she added coyly, flinging the fringe of her sparkly blue knitted shawl over her shoulder. Ella used to dress mostly in black, but she’d been wearing brighter colors since opening A Stitch in Time. My father had dubbed her new shop “A Snitch in Time,” thanks to Ella’s favorite sport, which was gossip. “It’s a scandal, the shape that the Pumpkin Falls Grange is in!”

  I nudged Hatcher. “What’s a grange?”

  “You know, that old building on the edge of town where they put on plays and stuff.”

  “My father was a founding member of the Pumpkin Players,” Ella continued, “and he’d be as shocked and saddened as I am if he saw what poor stewards we have been of that historic building. Back in its heyday it was one of the crown jewels of this town. I should know; I practically grew up within its hallowed halls!”

  “During the Jurassic era?” whispered Hatcher, which made me giggle and earned us a stern glance from my father.

  After Ella finished trying to convince everyone to vote for her pet project, Mr. Henry, the children’s librarian at the Pumpkin Falls Library, leaped to his feet.

  “The Pumpkin Falls Grange is a worthy cause, of course,” he said. “The arts are vital to the health of a community, as are its open spaces”—he tipped his red baseball cap at Reverend Quinn, who was slated to speak next on a project with the überthrilling title “Revitalizing our Village Green”—“but what could be more important to the future of Pumpkin Falls than its children? And providing them with an attractive, modern space in our library, which is undeniably one of the gems of our community, is an investment in that future. Let’s use this year’s earnings to revitalize the children’s room!”

  Ella Bellow tried and failed spectacularly to keep a neutral face. I could tell she was itching to snatch the microphone back from Mr. Henry.

  “May I remind you all,” she snapped, finally doing just that, “that the Pumpkin Falls Grange is even older than the library—”

  “Jurassic Ella,” Hatcher whispered again, more quietly this time, so as not to attract my father’s attention.

  “—and therefore more historic.”

  “Your point is interesting,” Mr. Henry conceded, deftly plucking the microphone away from her again. “However, age alone does not equate with value.” The two of them continued in ping-pong fashion until Scooter Sanchez’s father, who was assistant moderator, had to step in and ask them to wind things up so that other people could speak about their proposed projects.

  The meeting ran late. Pippa fell asleep on the floor. My sister Lauren read not just one but two books, and my mother finished knitting an entire sock. Unlike my brothers who at least had their cell phones to distract them, I’d left mine at home and was stuck having to listen to Reverend Quinn try to whip up some enthusiasm for repainting the benches and bandstand on the village green, and then some guy I didn’t know drone on about replacing the rusted rivets in the covered bridge, which he claimed were an eyesore and possibly an actual hazard. Ethel Farnsworth got excited during that discussion and leaped to her feet, recommending that the town expand on the project and install hanging flower baskets on the bridge as well, but she was quickly shushed by Ella.

  When the vote was finally taken, Ella and Mr. Henry emerged triumphant. The children’s room at the library and the Pumpkin Falls Grange would vie for this year’s Pumpkin Falls Beautification Project. The outcome of the Four on the Fourth race would determine the winner.

  Not surprisingly, Team Lovejoy’s Books chose to support Mr. Henry and Team Library. Ditto for Team Starlite Dance Studio and Team Kwik Klips, our town’s hair salon. Ella pledged Team A Stitch in Time to the Grange restoration, of course, and her friends fell in line behind her: the Farnsworths and Team General Store, the Mahoneys and Team Mahoney’s Antiques, and Reverend Quinn and Team Speedy Geezers, which was made up of some of the older gentlemen from the men’s choir at First Parish Church.

  The screen door leading out to the backyard slammed shut, startling me. I looked up to see Uncle Brent come in. “When’s chow?” he asked. “The troops are getting restless.”

  My father handed him a platter of scrambled eggs. “Perfect timing. We’re ready to go. How about you ladies?”

  “Enough muffins to get started,” said Aunt True, putting the last tray into the oven and setting the timer.

  “Look alive, then, Truly-in-the-Middle, and hustle outside with what you’ve got.”

  I opened my mouth to complain again about my brothers not pulling their weight when Hatcher sauntered in. He grabbed a tray loaded with yogurt containers and fruit and gave me a sly grin. “Yeah, Drooly, what are you standing there for?”

  “Hatcher,” warned my mother.

  “Sorry,” he said to me, as I stalked past him out the back door.

  “BREAKFAST!” my brother Danny hollered from the back steps, which apparently was his contribution to our family’s assigned task. In a flash, just like every other meal all weekend, hungry Giffords descended from every direction.

  Mackenzie was the last one to appear. “Sorry I didn’t get up in time to help,” she told her father, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “I forgot it was our turn to set up.”

  Uncle Teddy gave her a hug. “No big deal, petunia. We thought we’d let you sleep in.”

  I watched them, wishing my father could be more chill like Uncle Teddy. “Sleeping in” wasn’t part of Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy’s vocabulary.

  Hatcher came up behind me and gave me a companionable hip bump.

  “What do you want?” I snapped. I hated it when he insulted me and then tried to act like nothing was wrong.