She caught herself. For one second, President Denise was back. Then she remembered she wasn't president anymore. I didn't say a word. I didn't have to.
She went inside. The reimbursement arrived Thursday. No apology, no explanation, just the money. I could have kept it. It was legitimately mine.
I'd paid for the ribs. I'd bought the charcoal. I'd replace the supplies. Nobody would have blamed me. But I kept hearing one sentence, then find another way to raise money.
So, I did. I donated all $768 to the rescue squad. The campaign had been $740 short. A few moments later, the page updated. Goal reached.
Then, it moved past it. $28 over. I took a screenshot not to send to "Denise." I sent it to Bear. His reply came less than a minute later. Two words.
"Problem solved." I laughed. That was the last joke the fundraiser needed. The rescue squad posted a thank you later that day. They thanked the neighborhood, the riders, the local businesses, everyone who donated.
No joke about "Denise." No victory lap. That was better. The money was real. The equipment was real.
And the people who helped were real. Denise didn't need to become the center of that, too. Two weeks later, I had another Saturday off. No fundraiser, no whole hog, no "Fifty motorcycles." Just me, Frank, Linda, and a couple neighbors.
I rolled my old black barrel smoker into position. Same lawn, same grill, same faint water marks on the side. Frank noticed. "You ever going to clean that?" "It is clean."
"Water spots." "History." He nodded. "Fair." I lit the charcoal, waited for the temperature to settle, then put a fresh rack of ribs on the grate.
The meat hit hot steel sizzle. Smoke curled upward. Thin blue. Perfect. Frank inhaled.
"That smells expensive." "Don't start." Linda carried out a bowl. I looked inside. Potato salad.
"You made enough for 30 people." "I know." "There are six of us." "I know." Frank sat down.
"She doesn't trust your guest estimates anymore." I closed the smoker lid. Across the hedge, a door opened. Denise stepped onto her patio. Nobody said anything.
She looked at the smoke. I looked at her. Then her eyes moved toward the dark green garden hose coiled beside her house. Frank saw it too. Very quietly, he said.
"Think she'll get the hose?" I looked at him. "Don't." He raised both hands. Denise stood there for another second.
Then she picked up the hose. Frank straightened. Linda stopped walking. I stared across the hedge.
Denise pulled the hose toward her flower bed, turned on the water, and started watering her hydrangeas. Frank leaned back. "Well..." I opened the smoker.
The ribs were doing fine. Smoke drifted gently over the lawn. Nobody complained. Nobody moved the grill.
Nobody called a meeting. And nobody drowned lunch. Denise had tried to put out one barbecue. She never did figure out how to put out the neighborhood.