The humidity of July sat thick inside the kitchen, despite the ceiling fan spinning on high.

I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple with the back of my hand.

On the counter, three large glass pitchers sat empty.

Usually, by this time on the morning of the Fourth, those pitchers were filled with sweetened iced tea and fresh lemonade.

Usually, the kitchen smelled of smoked brisket, potato salad, and peach cobbler.

Today, the air tasted only of dust and lemon-scented wood polish.

“Are you sure about this, Annie?”

Dan stood in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He was holding a single, empty ice bucket.

“I’m sure,” I said.

I didn’t turn around to look at him.

Instead, I kept my eyes on the clean, bare wooden dining table.

“They’re going to expect the usual spread,” Dan said, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

“I know what they expect,” I replied.

I picked up a dry microfiber cloth and wiped down the faucet.

The chrome gleamed under the yellow overhead light.

For six years, his family had treated our countryside home like an all-inclusive resort.

They arrived on Friday afternoon and left on Monday evening.

They brought their laundry, their dirty dogs, and their massive appetites.

They never brought a bag of ice, a bottle of wine, or a single side dish.

Last year, Juliette had complained that the brand of steak sauce I bought was too generic.

Sarah had asked me to wash her linen trousers before the fireworks started.

And Dan had simply smiled, shrunk into his chair, and asked me to keep the peace.

“My mother called from the highway,” Dan said, tapping his fingers against the plastic bucket.

“Did she say if she stopped for groceries?” I asked.

Dan looked down at his sneakers.

“She said they didn’t have room in the trunk because of Sarah’s luggage.”

I squeezed the dish towel in my hand until my knuckles turned white.

“Of course,” I said.

“Annie, she’s seventy. She doesn’t think about these things.”

“She thinks about them when she’s eating them,” I said.

A tires-on-gravel sound drifted through the open kitchen window.