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I hugged her back. “Me too, and I really am sorry for being such an idiot.” Releasing her, I extended my hand to her husband.
“Hell, no,” he said, using my hand to pull me to him before wrapping his arms around me. “I want a hug as well.”
I did hug him and then said, “I can’t thank you enough, Gary. Not just for saving me, but for forgiving me. I really appreciate all you did for me.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
Brett went to check on his coals, while the rest of us went into the kitchen. Stephanie had brought scalloped potatoes that she slid into my oven for their final baking. As I started slathering butter over corn on the cob, husks still on but peeled back, I grinned as Gary decided that the steaks needed additional seasoning.
“Why is it that men never agree on the perfect way to stack coals, what slivers of wood provided the best smoky flavor, or even how to season the meat?” Stephanie asked, giving her husband a look as she shook her head.
“Because each man is king of their own grill,” Gary said.
“But this isn’t your grill, it’s Brett’s,” she pointed out.
Gary didn’t hesitate to flip the rib-eyes over to season the other side. “Any man who leaves the star of the meal unprotected should know it’s fair game.”
I giggled and finished shaking herbs and seasoning over the buttered kernels. “Gary, do you really think I can be ready to do the Mudder Run? I can’t even hang onto the bar long enough to get all the way across yet,” I said as I began to pull the husks back over the corn so that the butter and seasonings would melt into the kernels instead of dripping off on the grill.
“Sure you can. Keep training with Brett and Steph and you’ll be able to swing across the bars and run the course like a pro .” Evidently he saw the doubt on my face as he grinned. “If I can conquer it, you’ll be able to as well.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re a soldier. By that I mean, you’ve been doing physical stuff for years.”
“Yes, but I’ve only been doing it with one leg for the last year.”
“What?” I couldn’t help but glance down at his legs.
Stephanie laughed. “He means one leg provided by God, and one made by man.” She reached down and tugged up the edge of his right pants leg and I gasped.
Looking up, I knew my eyes were huge. “I never would have guessed. My God, you are like the Terminator!” Slapping my hand over my mouth, I felt my face flush. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t…”
“Relax,” Gary said with a grin. “I rather like to see an honest expression rather than one of sympathy, and I really like those movies.”
He grabbed the tray of meat and I took the platter of corn, still amazed that his gait showed no sign of his injury.
Setting the dish down on the side table by the grill, I said, “Brett, did you know that Gary has a prosthetic leg?”
His head snapped up, his eyes huge in an exaggerated look of surprise. “He does?”
Knowing I’d been had, I reached out to slap his arm, and then squealed. “Note to self: Never swat a man who has a metal spatula in his hands,” I said as my hands flew back to rub the sting away.
Stephanie laughed. “That’s why I’m grateful that it’s Gary’s leg and not his hand. Can you imagine having some artificial hand that never feels a burn or never tires landing on your ass?”
Evidently, I wasn’t through learning new things about our friends. I was pleased to realize I wasn’t shocked and actually felt closer to them. “How about we take ourselves out of swatting distance? I’ve got a pitcher of lemonade and a wonderful porch swing. We can watch our men dominate the grill instead of our butts.”
Stephanie linked her arm with mine and we walked away, both of us giggling as we each gave a bit of our own exaggeration by swaying our hips side to side.
