AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yay!” she giggles. “Give us a spin.” She twirls her finger in a circle, and finally, a smile spreads across my face.
He lets out an exaggerated sigh, but does as she requested, knowing she won’t give up until she has her way. I cover my mouth, stifling a burst of laughter as I take in the white apron with the words Wake Pray Grill Slay scrawled across the front in large letters. It stands out against his blue linen button-down and khaki shorts, so un-Isaac-like that laughter-induced tears pool in my eyes.
A chorus of cheers follows, but a loud shriek has everyone, myself included, freezing. “Wait!” Oli cries, her hands flailing in the air. Her tight black turtleneck shifts with the movement, the ripped-up band tee overtop of it hiding her midriff. “I can’t believe I almost forgot the best part!”
She dashes across the lawn, her black and purple plaid skirt billowing in the breeze, gracing everyone with a full view of her fishnet tights, and dives for a box stashed beneath a picnic table. Throwing the lid over her head without a second thought, she digs through its contents.
I cringe as it collides with a pitcher of sweet tea, watching as Tanya jumps up and grabs the heavy glass before it can smash into the table and destroy everything. Her sudden movement has her own glass tipping over and landing on a platter of uncooked hotdogs, sending them toppling to the ground. Hank lets out an excited bark and flies across the lawn toward his next meal.
Everyone moves out of his way, knowing they’ll be bowled over in the chaos. John, the chubby basset hound’s owner, tries to catch him in time, but it’s no use. Before anyone can move to stop him, the dog devours his treat.
Oli, too distracted to notice or care about the havoc she’s created, whirls around with the box in her hands and skips through the pile of people and food, somehow making it out unscathed.
Unable to do a damn thing but watch the scene unfold with my mouth hanging open, I track her until she stops at my stepfather's feet and thrusts the open box into his nervous hands.
Isaac bites his thick lower lip and peers over her head, scanning the huge fenced-in area that makes up the front half of our church. My head cocks to the side as I take in the way he anxiously makes sure everyone in our congregation is well despite the destruction.
There are hundreds of people gathered for the annual Divinity Falls Baptist Church 4th of July picnic, and not a single person looks anything but tickled right now. Slowly, bright laughter fills the air, mingling with the scent of barbequed meat and suntan lotion.
The sound of kids splashing in Barry’s Pond can be heard in the distance. The leaves rustle in the wind, and the tall grass around the thicket of trees sashays, creating a summer symphony. It’s early evening, and even though it’s been a hot, sticky day, there’s a wonderful breeze that sends bursts of delicious smells my way.
Everyone is happy.
Everyone is always happy here.
We’re a family through and through, and that’s all because of Isaac.
As if he can hear my internal thoughts, his dark gaze meets mine. Even from a distance, I can see the way he softens when he spots me—the same way he always does.
All those years ago, when I was terrified about where I may end up after losing Mama, I had no idea that it would be exactly where I’d already been. Right here. With him.
Isaac never pushed me away or treated me as though I was a burden. He never made me feel like anything but his. He may not be my father, but he is my friend. My family.
He tilts his head to the side and cocks his brow, silently asking me what I’m doing so far away, outside the party area. I tip my shoulder in a shrug, and my exposed back scrapes against the willow’s rough bark, but I don’t move, content to sit here and watch everyone.
I’m happy for them. I really am. I’m glad they can get together and smile, enjoying the day for what it is—a celebration. But I can’t stop the way it causes the empty space in my soul where Mama and…
I swallow thickly and plaster on a massive smile, willing the sadness away and reassuring Isaac all at once. His lips part like he’s about to speak, and a pitiful whine spills from Oli’s mouth at the same moment she stomps her foot petulantly, and our moment ends.
His eyes snap to my best friend. I can’t hear what she says, but I’m assuming she’s giving Isaac a mouthful for ignoring her. No one ever calls Oli on her shit, but sometimes I worry they just might. This is the South, after all. People aren’t afraid to tell you how it is while simultaneously blessing your heart, consequences be damned. Sure, it might be sweet words, but we can all read through the lines.
Seconds later, she produces a white chef's hat, throws the box on the ground, and waves her hand, forcing him to bend at the waist so she can tug it onto his head. The tight cap presses down on his short, slightly peppered brown hair, plastering it to the sides of his head and forcing his ears to pop out a little.
A loud burst of laughter flies from me when she poofs up the hat, exposing the phrase Grill Daddy for everyone to see. Isaac makes a weird face but quickly forces his lips to curve in a smile before pressing a kiss to the top of Oli’s head and shooing her away.
“Alright, y’all,” Mary calls, stepping up to his side when Olive skips toward me. As Isaac straightens the apron again, Mary tucks her arm into the crook of his elbow, her red-painted nails digging into his tan, corded forearm.
My smile tightens as I zero in on her touch. It’s possessive, the way she’s grabbing him. He pats her hand, letting his fingers linger on hers before dropping his arm away.
My smile falls completely.
I swallow thickly as I watch them. Ugly jealousy bubbles to the surface, and I don’t know why. It’s not that I want Isaac to be unhappy or that I don’t want him to move on. Just not with her.
“That was plenty of excitement,” she laughs, her blonde hair blowing in the summer breeze. “Preacher Isaac,” she smiles up at him, and I want to fucking scream, “ready to get this party goin’?”
He gives her a smile before turning it toward the congregation.
“Let us pray,” Isaac says, bowing his head as he takes off the chef’s hat.
