It looked like people from around the county had been invited to join in the fish fry. Almost every person had a bowl or plate of food to contribute to the barbeque. Of course, it was more like a down-home get together. Simple. Warm. So unlike the soirées she attended in New York where everyone put on the ritz to impress. She continued to tear lettuce into smaller pieces and toss them into a bowl. “I don’t think we caught enough fish.” Hazel, Harrison’s mother, a young blonde, began to slice a tomato. “There’s always plenty. Throughout the week the men go fishing after work. I freeze their catch and then thaw what I think we’ll need.” “Good planning,” Stella acknowledged. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. She watched in awe as everyone pitched in to assist. There was laughter and chatter; even the children seemed excited, helping wherever they could. The smell of fish cooking on an open flame made her stomach growl. Placing the sliced tomatoes in the bowl, Hazel glanced at her.
