Tully set three beer bottles on the table before taking a seat. The warm glow of a Kentucky sunset was pretty to see, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the mosquitoes came looking for anyone not wearing sleeves or long pants. That meant he, Hitch, and Dietrich were prime targets, as the three were air-drying in their swim trunks from the pool.
"How do you stand this humidity, Tully?" Dietrich asked. "I doubt I will ever understand it."
Tully shrugged. "Dunno. How do you stand bitterly cold winters back in Germany?"
"Being raised in it helps."
"There you go."
"I'll take the humidity over how dry the Sahara is any day," Hitch added. "How many times did each of us nearly die of dehydration?"
"Lost count," Tully said, opening his beer.
"Several," Dietrich replied. "Heat exhaustion in general nearly took me."
"I don't think the heat would've been able to kill you because you had a prophecy to fulfill."
"Indeed. So, does that mean if I go back to North Africa right now and stand in the sun, I will actually die?"
Hitch winced. "Kinda dark there, Dietrich."
"My apologies."
"I'm with Hitch on that one," Tully said. "We like you living, bud."
"Thank you. I very much enjoy living now."
"And we're happy you do."
Dietrich looked toward the house when a savory, comforting scent began wafting over to them. "Is your wife making fried chicken?"
"She sure is," Tully replied, grinning. "I think she's showing Esther how to make it, too."
"Oh, that would be wonderful."
"Remember how much of a pain in the butt it was getting him to eat?" Hitch asked.
"It was my chicken that started helping with that," Tully said.
"And on the opposite side, Moffitt's still terrified of it because of your mama."
"Nah, Moffitt likes the chicken, too. He just doesn't want to admit it. Even though we can all see him taking a few extra pieces. I have to be the one to make it, though."
"And it has to be boneless. Quicker for him to eat so he can hide it."
"Okay, no one in their right mind eats chicken fast. It's meant to be savored, especially the spicy kind. I'll have to give Moffitt a stern talking-to next time I see him."
"The taste of your spicy chicken is incredible," Dietrich said. "If my stomach agreed with it more, I would have asked for the recipe a long time ago."
"You can alter the recipe so the spice isn't so much of a problem."
"But then it would not taste nearly as good."
"Tough battle, it sounds like," Hitch said. "Saving the flavor or saving your stomach from ulcers."
"My recipe isn't that bad," Tully replied. "I've had much hotter than that. I'll never forget the look on Eleanor's face when she tried making fried chicken for the first time, tapped the jar of chili powder a little too hard, and the batter turned blood-red when she stirred it. She was so shocked she said she was gonna throw it out, and I told her not to. Came out really good, but hot enough to melt through a jeep's engine compartment."
"That sounds more like a weapon," Dietrich said.
"I mean—" Tully shrugged, "we could've made something similar to put your vehicles outta commission."
"True, you could have, but you did not have the idea or your daughter back then."
"Nope." Tully looked toward the house. "Eleanor's growing up so fast, though. I can't believe she's fourteen already. Oldest kid in the family."
"Yeah, and unless Dietrich has kids, Carolyn's the youngest of the family at five," Hitch said.
Dietrich was quiet for a moment. "We started talking about it, and I am on board with the idea if Esther is. Just, please, do not tell Troy that it is on the table."
"Why?" Hitch asked.
"Because I know he will be excited about having a new member of the family. At the same time, I mentioned to Esther that I do not want Troy to feel left out. Tully, you have children. Hitch, you have children. Moffitt has a child. If I have one, where does that leave Troy?"
"I don't know if that's a good reason for you to not have kids," Tully said, "especially if you and your wife really want them. Besides, Troy just likes being able to at least be involved with taking care of everyone else's kids. I don't think he'll be upset."
"It is still a sore subject for him."
"As nice as it is that you're considering his feelings in all this, I think this is a decision that needs to be made by just you and Esther. Don't think about what the rest of us think."
"We're behind you no matter what you choose," Hitch added.
"I appreciate that, both of you," Dietrich replied.
A door opened behind them, and Tully turned to see Hitch's daughter, Carolyn, running over with something in her hands. "Daddy! Daddy, look! I found a caterpillar!"
"Oh, neat," Hitch said, grinning. "Okay, go put the caterpillar on a leaf. It needs to eat so it can become a butterfly."
"Can I keep the butterfly?"
Hitch looked at Tully and Dietrich. "What do you think? Let her raise up a butterfly?"
Tully shrugged. "I don't see why not."
"A butterfly landed in Esther's hair once," Dietrich said. "I took a picture."
Tully smirked. "So we let Carolyn raise up more butterflies so you can take more pictures of your wife."
"Fair enough. She can keep the caterpillar."
Hitch turned back to his daughter. "Okay, you can keep the caterpillar, sweetie. There should be some jars in the house. Ask Auntie Mabel first, and make sure you put airholes in it."
Carolyn was all smiles. "Thank you, Daddy." She ran back into the house with the caterpillar.
A few minutes passed before Mabel and Esther came outside with plates of fried chicken and lots of napkins. Tully stood to kiss his wife and say thanks, then asked, "Do we have wood for the firepit? I think the kids will appreciate s'mores later."
"I think we do. Enjoy your dinner."
"Why don't you and Esther and Molly join us? There's room at the table."
"We would, but Dietrich's going to eat all the chicken."
"Did Esther make this batch?"
Mabel nodded, prompting Dietrich to pull the entire plate in his direction.
"Come on, Dietrich, you know how to share," Tully said with a grin.
"It's okay, there's plenty more back in the kitchen," Mabel replied.
"Still." Tully gently pulled the plate away from Dietrich, who had a look of mock disappointment on his face.
"Could be worse—could be him and Moffitt fighting over it," Hitch said.
"Well, better them fighting over chicken than fighting a world war in the desert."
