Fisher gripped an end. They carried the sheets into the front yard and laid them on rickety sawhorses, then rolled out an extension cord and used the electrical outlet behind the washer on the porch to plug in the stereo. Marian brought a broom and swept the plywood picnic tables, spread torn tablecloths over the worst of the dirt and bird droppings. “Already looks like a party and it’s not even noon yet,” Greg said, smoothing wrinkles from the faded yellow and aqua cloths. “Looks like rain,” she said, scanning the gray sky. “What time did you tell people to show up?” “Hey!” Greg brushed past her, gestured at Fisher who was setting up the turntable and receiver. “Turn the stereo on, man. We need tunes.” He went back into the barn and got a big aluminum tub and rinsed it out with a garden hose in the side yard. A couple of cars, one with smoke puffing from under the hood, pulled up. He waved them to the side of the barn, signaling the drivers to park away from the dooryard and the front garden where they were setting up.
