I nodded, and took the pistol out, ejected the magazine, pulled back the slide so that the round in the chamber popped out. I tucked the empty pistol deep into the backpack’s side pocket, zipped it up tight, then pocketed the ammo. “I just thought—I mean, there’s kids around,” I said, “and I’m used to always having it loaded and—” “It’s cool,” she said, smiling. “Come on, let’s get you fed.” I followed Paige down the walkway, into a putting green where the barbecue was set up. There were a couple of guys cooking away—they had piles of the cooked meats I’d smelled stacked up on a table, while others served people with scoops of pasta salad and tinned vegetables. There were literally hundreds of condiments on another table, where people queued and helped themselves to pickles and sauces and sauerkraut; another table had stacks of cups and giant steaming urns labeled COFFEE, TEA, COCOA. People sat around in little groups, chatting and eating, a constant hum of conversation.
