As Pandora and Anna obliged, Linnea opened the fridge with Luna at her heels. Whenever a fridge opened, the puppy was hopeful. Linnea had begged people to stop feeding her treats, to no avail. Luna was becoming as bad a beggar as the worst dolphin at a dock. With her large, melting brown eyes, no one could refuse her.

“Sorry, girl, there’s nothing in here you’d like,” she said, scooping up three bottles of sparkling water. “Your water is right there,” she said, bending to point out the water. Luna was not interested.

On the way to the table, Linnea grabbed a few pens and a yellow legal pad from the rocker where she’d been sitting earlier while putting together her to-do list. After distributing the bottles of water, she took a seat at the table. Luna begged to come in her lap, but after a firm “no” she settled with a snort at Linnea’s feet.

Pandora and Anna opened their waters.

“What’s on your mind?” Anna asked.

“We need a party,” Linnea announced.

Pandora brightened. “A party? Now, that’s an idea.”

“What’s a party?” Anna asked. “It’s been so long.”

“I know, right?” Pandora said, and the two women clinked bottles.

“What kind of party?” asked Anna before taking a sip.

“Does it matter?” asked Pandora. “Alcohol and party favors. I’m in.”

“Well,” Linnea said with exaggeration, pressing on, “the Fourth of July is coming up. I was thinking, let’s have a good old-fashioned Southern barbecue to welcome our English friends. We can only invite the pod, of course, but that will be enough to fill our grand table.”

“There’s that box of china,” Pandora said, getting into the spirit.

“Let’s use paper,” Anna countered. “No one wants to do all those dishes. Plus, duh, there’s no kitchen. We’d have to schlep dishes across to the house.”

Pandora’s face fell. “I hate paper plates.”

“Why would anyone hate paper plates? Use them, dump them, no headache and no extra work,” said Anna. Then, in a lower voice, “If we could only do that with men.”

Pandora’s mouth twisted to a grin and she eyed Anna with new appreciation.

“Sorry, but no paper plates. It’s a waste of paper,” Linnea said firmly. “We’ll use the china and do it proper. Nathalie Dupree, the quintessential Southern chef, gave my mother a nugget of great information for parties. She said to keep a cooler of soapy water in the kitchen, and you just dump all those dishes and pots in there to soak. We’ll do that.” She raised her bottle of water. “We’re having a party!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Before they’d finished their bottles of bubble water, they’d begun long lists of family favorite recipes to prepare, because everyone knew a good barbecue wasn’t worth its salt without an impressive spread of home-cooked side dishes.

Linnea was in her element, as bubbly as the water as she came up with ideas, her pen scribbling across the paper. “I’m going to fix the cornbread. It’s an old family recipe. My grandmama Lovie used to make it and it’s as light as a feather.”