Emily found the binder beside the coffee machine. She opened it and read the tabs aloud. When she reached Incident Notes, she raised one eyebrow.
"You haven't even cooked a hamburger yet."
"Preparedness is not prediction."
"That sentence belongs on a military recruiting poster."
"It's available for licensing."
She kissed my cheek and told me to go buy decent steaks. We had gone through enough trouble to deserve something better than the discount burger patties I had used the first time. At the butcher counter, I selected two thick cuts for us and chicken for another meal. The cashier asked whether we were having friends over, and I told her we might attract an unexpected audience.
The next morning I woke before dawn, not because I was anxious but because the weather forecast suggested that the breeze would be lighter early. I took Odin for a short walk, fed him breakfast, then checked the municipal authorization once more. My proposed location was unchanged, but I verified the line with Alan's sketch and measured from the nearest structure again. I positioned two small removable reference stakes at the identified points without digging into buried utility routes or changing the ground, and I made sure neither obstructed the path people used to walk past the property.
The grill went onto a portable, noncombustible mat, and the propane cylinder remained upright and secure. I checked the valves and connections according to the manufacturer's instructions and placed a suitable extinguisher within reach. The cooler carried food and ice; a separate bag held plates, utensils, towels, and trash bags. I had no interest in leaving a single scrap of litter on public ground, especially not after investing this much effort in proving I could use it responsibly.
Emily came outside wearing jeans, a faded green T-shirt, and the expression of a woman determined not to appear impressed by her fiance's meticulous preparations. She examined the setup, read the authorization one final time, and confirmed that Odin would stay inside during the actual cooking. We didn't want a young dog near hot equipment, even one who was learning to remain calmly at heel.
"You're ready," she said.
"Almost."
"What now?"
"Coffee."
"Finally, something normal."
By seven forty-five, the sun was warm without being punishing. There was no significant wind, and the air smelled faintly of fresh-cut grass from a neighboring street. I started the grill, let it reach the proper temperature, and placed the first steaks on the grate. Emily went inside to bring out the plates and then stopped beside me, holding the door key, when she saw movement near the pool.
Linda was coming along the sidewalk with a travel mug in her hand. She was heading toward the clubhouse, looking as though she had ordinary Saturday errands planned. Then she saw the grill. I watched the change travel across her face from recognition to disbelief to anger in the space of three steps.