By Saturday evening, the clubhouse looked nothing like it did on an ordinary night, because strings of lights had been hung between the trees, folding tables covered the back patio, and a huge pile of wood waited in the clearing behind the building.
Someone had dragged out a portable speaker, someone else had brought enough food to feed twice as many people as we had invited, and the children had already claimed the area around the fire as their personal territory.
I stood near the picnic tables with Emma while she arranged a tray of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers.
“Do you think they'll actually leave enough for the adults?” I asked and Emma looked toward the children.
“No.” She said.
“That was quick.” I said.
“I've watched them for ten minutes.” She said.
I laughed as
