“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered back.
Acting as casual as I could, I distributed the bottles on the tables. No one paid me the slightest bit of attention except Hatcher, who suddenly materialized again.
“They turned out awesome!” he gloated, picking up one of the bottles. “You’re a genius, Drooly!”
“Thanks,” I said, and smiled at him. It was hard to stay mad at someone who was paying you a compliment, even when he called you by your least favorite nickname.
I stood there for a moment, admiring my handiwork. I’d worked hard on the design, with a little help from Aunt True. The bottles were tall and thin, with bright red stoppers and a shiny silver label. On the label was a flexed arm that looked identical to the black titanium one my father was currently wearing. In its fist was a flag with a skull and crossbones on it, along with two words in fiery red: THE TERMINATOR.
“Ribs are ready!” Uncle Teddy called just then.
It was the announcement we’d all been waiting for. Giffords swarmed from every direction. Mackenzie and her mother and a long line of aunts and uncles appeared from the kitchen, carrying platters and bowls piled high with corn bread, coleslaw, and Grandma G’s baked beans, which were almost as famous as Uncle Teddy’s ribs. Everyone raced for the buffet table, where we piled food on our plates like we hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“What have we here?” cried Uncle Rooster as he took a seat and spotted the Terminator bottle nearest him.
“A little something to spice up your sad, bland life, Rooster,” my father teased.
“It’s homemade hot sauce!” blurted my sister Lauren, unable to contain her excitement any longer. “Dad made it, and everybody gets to take a bottle home, like a party favor!”
“Is that so?” My uncle reached for the bottle nearest his seat. “ ‘The Terminator,’ ” he read aloud. “I like it already.”
“Fair warning,” my father told him. “It packs a punch. You might want to try just a drop or two to start with.”
A collective “oooh” went up around the long tables as Uncle Rooster grinned at him, then picked up a rib and defiantly shook three drops onto it.
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
