A Mobster’s Independence Day Picnic

Beth Mathison

“I wonder if the heat can make firecrackers explode,” Harry said, looking at the colorful boxes stacked neatly on the grass. “Death Star Fireworks” was printed boldly on three large wooden boxes.

“Of course you need heat to make them explode,” Charlie answered. “That’s the whole point of lighting them up.”

“I mean the sun,” Harry said. “It’s pretty hot out here, and I’m wondering if the heat from the sun can make them blow up.”

“Ohhhhh,” Charlie said, looking down. They both took a step back.

“Maybe we should get some fans on them,” Harry said.

“We’re in a park,” Charlie replied. “They don’t have wall sockets out here in the wilderness.”

Harry and Charlie stood next to a classic brown 1970 Chrysler Town & Country station wagon. Other picnickers had parked under shade trees before lugging their gear to the picnic area. Harry and Charlie had parked the station wagon in a bright but empty corner of the lot, to give them privacy. They had unloaded three large fireworks boxes and had them stacked on the blacktop next to the car.

“I think we should ask the Mythbusters people,” Harry said. “You know, that TV show where they try to confirm or bust myths? We should have them see if the sun can explode fireworks. Maybe we could get on to the show.”

“Maybe it would work if these weren’t hot fireworks,” Charlie said.

Harry laughed.

“You know that hot means contraband, right?” Charlie asked.

“Of course I know what you meant,” Harry responded. “For a mobster, I have a highly refined handle on the English language.”

“I would stop lying before the sky opens up and lightning strikes you dead,” Jeremy said, walking up to them. He held a glass of lemonade in one hand, and a fine bead of sweat lined his brow.

“God wouldn’t do that,” Harry said. “It’s just a little fib. And besides, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

Jeremy eyed the fireworks boxes and took a step back. “That’s even more than last year,” he said. “Those are giant boxes. Where’d you get them?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in the family business anymore,” Charlie said. “You’re in the cupcake business now.”

“I’m interested in your business only because you have a pile of questionable explosives sitting a hundred yards from where my pregnant wife is eating her tofu salad. I’m concerned for the people I love, not the family business.”

“What the heck is tofu?” Harry asked.

“Basically it’s soy milk and bean curd squished into a brick,” Jeremy said.

“Ack!” Charlie exclaimed. “What happened to the traditional brats and hot dogs and burgers? What about the potato chips and watermelon and ice cream cones? I don’t think we can celebrate the Fourth of July without any of those things.”

“Relax,” Jeremy said. “Aunt Shirley’s got all of those things, including the red-white-and-blue gelatin mold in the shape of a flag. Carla’s eating the tofu because she thinks it’s better for the baby.”

“Well, she’s going to be surprised when it comes out looking like a bean curd,” Harry said. “It’s just not natural.”

“Hey, you’re talking about my wife and child,” Jeremy said. “Carla knows what she’s doing, and my son or daughter is not going to look like a bean.”

“Have you ever seen an ultrasound picture of a baby?” Charlie said. “They sure look like beans on those things. I think Carla should eat a big, juicy burger to give her and the baby strength.”

Uncle Tommy walked up to them, dressed in linen pants and a lightweight sports jacket, a pair of expensive sunglasses on his face. Harry and Charlie were sweating through their red flag t-shirts, but Uncle Tommy looked like he just stepped out of a cooler. Uncle Tommy towered over the three of them, glancing at the fireworks boxes.

“Aunt Shirley wants you to stop giving Jeremy baby advice and would like you all to join us for lunch,” Uncle Tommy said.

“How did she know what we were talking about?” Harry asked. “She’s way over there under the trees.”

“Another day, another inane conversation,” Uncle Tommy responded.

“Humph,” Charlie said. “I don’t think we’re insane.”

Uncle Tommy reached down and picked up all three of the fireworks boxes, his neck muscles straining. “We need to move these boxes out of the sun,” he said. Harry, Charlie, and Jeremy walked over to the picnic area while Uncle Tommy put the fireworks in the shade of a large tree.

“There you are,” Aunt Shirley said, handing everyone a paper plate. “I sent Jeremy over to get you, but he obviously got way-laid.”

“There was an issue with explosives,” Jeremy explained.

“Aunt Shirley, I think you’re psychic. There’s no way you could know what we were saying,” Harry said.

Aunt Shirley sighed. “It was just a wild guess,” she said.

“That’s a fine-looking vehicle you’ve got there,” Uncle Frank said, looking across the parking lot at the station wagon. “They sure don’t make them like that anymore.” He adjusted his tie and brushed imaginary lint from his suit jacket.

“You mean with the wood paneling and all?” Jeremy asked.

“No, with the storage space in the back,” Uncle Frank replied. “That rear seat is perfect for hauling merchandise. A minivan just doesn’t do the trick nowadays. When I was young, I transported five thousand hemp peace necklaces in the back of that station wagon. It was a beautiful thing. I’m glad it’s staying in the family.”

Aunt Shirley had an entire table filled with picnic food and a giant thermos of lemonade. The family spread out over a dozen picnic tables, with a group of kids playing a game of softball in a nearby field. The kids had raided the ice cream cooler and were hopped up on sugar, enthusiastically using water balloons in place of a softball.

Jeremy took a seat next to Carla, rubbing the back of her neck gently as she worked on her tofu salad. Annalisa, still in high school, was the youngest sitting at the table. She loaded up a plate filled with multi-colored gelatin and sat next to Carla.

“Isn’t this nice?” Aunt Shirley said. “Here we are, enjoying a nice normal Independence Day celebration.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Annalisa said. “It’s going to jinx the entire family.”

“I thought you were banned from talking about psychology in the presence of family,” Harry said. “Seeing as you’re sixteen and think you know everything but you really don’t. Even if you are in the advanced classes in school.”

“For your information,” Annalisa began. “I’ve given up my interest in psychology and have moved on to superstitions. That’s why I cautioned Aunt Shirley. It’s bad luck to mention something good, otherwise something bad will happen.”

“Well, I don’t think anything is going to jinx our family,” Charlie said. He stepped over to the picnic table and rapped the top with his fist. “Knock on wood.”

“Some people believe that knocking on wood is a reference to the cross in Christianity, or the mythical bond that wood or trees have with friendly spirits,” Annalisa said.

“I think it’s a sin to believe in superstitions,” Harry said. “I heard that on talk radio.”

“No way,” Charlie said. “I shalt not believe in superstitions is not a part of the Ten Commandments, I know that much.”

“A sin doesn’t have to be part of the Ten Commandments, you moron,” Harry said. “There’s no thou shalt not remove lost merchandize from off the back of a truck. They didn’t even have trucks back then.”

“Well, technically, the Ten Commandments do reference theft in a general way,” Jeremy started.

Mary Charlotte and Betty were sitting at the next table over, working on eating corn on the cob without losing their dentures. Betty was wearing a traditional old-country black dress, and was sweating bullets. Mary Charlotte wore a bright red pantsuit, a giant crucifix necklace hanging from her neck. Harry shouted over to Mary Charlotte to get her attention.

“What’s your opinion?” Harry asked her. “You were in training to be a nun when you were younger, so you’re really qualified in religious matters. Is believing in superstition a sin?”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to ask, since I got thrown out of the nunnery,” Mary Charlotte responded. “Dealing those hot rosaries is going to haunt me the rest of my days, although I’m so old I don’t know how many days I’ve got left.”

“I walked under a ladder once and got pooped on by a bird,” Charlie said. “So I can confirm that walking under ladders brings bad luck of the bird kind.”

Everyone had stopped eating and was looking at Charlie.

“I think throwing salt over your shoulder brings good luck,” Annalisa said. “It’s supposed to ward off the devil.”

Half the people at their picnic tables reached for their little paper salt packages, ripped them open, and tossed salt over their shoulders.

Uncle Frank opened up a salt package and sprinkled it over his potato salad. “I’m not letting good salt go to waste,” he explained. “And I need all the flavor I can get after Charlie’s poop remark.”

“Can we for once have a meal without talking about bodily functions?” Aunt Shirley sighed.

“We could talk about finance or politics,” Harry said. “That would spice things up.”

“I don’t have any salt,” Charlie said, searching the tables for extra packets. “How am I going to have good luck if I can’t find any salt?” He tried snitching Mary Charlotte’s salt packet from the picnic table, but she shooed him away.

“I’m going to get pooped on, I just know it,” Charlie said, looking up nervously at the trees.

“I think you need to settle down,” Uncle Tommy said. He had taken his seat at the picnic table and was eating a large green salad.

“The superstition thoughts have got me,” Charlie exclaimed. “I can’t stop myself. Do the spaces between the grass count as cracks? Sweet Mother of Jesus, can I break my mother’s back, even though she’s already dead?” He danced around on his tip-toes, finally giving up and stood on the picnic bench. He crossed all the fingers in his hands for luck, holding them in front of his body.

“I think that’s obsessive compulsive behavior,” Annalisa said.

“Stop!” Aunt Shirley said, lifting up a warning finger. “Remember, no psychology talk at family gatherings.”

“I really think we need some kind of intervention on Charlie’s behalf,” Harry said, looking up at him. An older couple, walking along a path next to the tables, saw Charlie standing on the bench and scurried away.

“Quick, somebody get me some salt before my fingers cramp up,” Charlie said. “I can’t create my own luck for much longer.”

Uncle Frank stood up and splashed his glass of lemonade on to Charlie’s face. Charlie unlocked his fingers and stepped to the ground, sputtering lemonade.

“I would have used water,” Uncle Frank said. “But all I had was lemonade. You’re going to be a bit sticky, but have you calmed down?”

“Thanks, Uncle Frank,” Charlie said with relief. “I feel much better now.”

“I’d like to make a toast,” Betty said, standing up next to the picnic table, swaying slightly. She fanned herself with her free hand, trying to ward off the heat.

“Have you been drinking?” Jeremy asked her quietly.

“Nope,” Betty said. “Not yet.” She paused, taking a deep breath, then held up her paper cup. “I’d like to toast God, family, and this great country of ours. And God, please forgive us for our superstitious natures, if in fact, they are sins. We’re having a little bit of confusion about the issue down here, so any clarification on your part would be much appreciated. Also, thanks a lot for this beautiful day, as some of us have the arthritis that makes it so hard to get around most days, and this warm weather rally helps a lot.” She paused. “The end.”

“Was that a toast or a prayer?” Carla whispered to Jeremy.

“I think that there was more in her lemonade than she let on,” Jeremy answered. “How’s your tofu salad?”

“Awful,” Carla said.

“What?”

“I’m trying to eat healthy for the baby, but I have to admit I’m not a tofu fan. I like the salad part, though.”

“See now,” Harry said, leaning in. “You’re already a good mother, not wanting your child to turn into a bean. It’s very touching.”

“I have to admit, I’m craving meat,” Carla said. “I think my morning sickness has finally passed, and I’m getting my appetite back.”

“When I was in high school, I ate twenty-three hamburgers in one sitting,” Harry said.

“That’s just not right,” Aunt Shirley said. “I can’t believe what you put your mother through.”

“What are you talking about? My dad got a shipment of surplus burgers the night before, and my mom had to cook them before they all went bad. I didn’t eat after that for days.”

“Really, I think we should talk about politics,” Jeremy said. “Even religion.”

“I think we should talk about your wedding reception,” Mary Charlotte said. “That was one doozy of a party last month. I’ve never seen people exit a building faster than that day. Even the old people like me ran out of there.”

Jeremy’s shoulders slumped, and Carla gazed up at the sky in a silent prayer.

“I thought we weren’t going to bring up the reception,” Jeremy said. “We initiated the fifty-year vow of silence rule.”

“I think it’s been fifty years in old-people time, since there’s no telling when we’re going to kick off,” Betty said. “Old-people time is like cat or dog years, only…faster.”

“I swear on my sweet mother’s grave, I didn’t know that those doves were going to flock together,” Charlie said. He was standing at the side, trying to clean off the lemonade from his arms and face with a wet wipe. “Talk about bird poop.”

“Here we go again, talking about bodily functions,” Aunt Shirley said.

“You know that some cultures believe if a bird poops on your head, it’s good luck,” Annalisa said.

Charlie was hopping from one foot to another, still trying to wipe off his arms. “Yeah, but it’s not good luck in my culture,” he said.

“Are you dancing?” Uncle Frank asked, squinting at him. “Is this some kind of new dance? It looks kind of awkward.”

“It’s not dancing. It’s ANTS!” Charlie yelled. “They’re on to my lemonade scent, and they’re climbing up my shorts.”

“You know when ants swarm together it could mean bad weather is coming,” Annalisa added. She peered up into the cloudless sky.

“Stop with the superstitions,” Aunt Shirley said. She told Charlie to go to the restrooms to wash off.

“It’s too late,” Charlie said. “They’re in my shorts and shirt!” He tossed the wet wipe aside and tore off his shirt and shorts. He circled the picnic tables, swatting at his skin.

“For goodness sake,” Aunt Shirley said. “Put your clothes back on. And just where did you get red-white-and-blue boxers?”

“Swim trunks!” Charlie yelled as he continued to swat the ants away. “I wore swim trunks in case we went swimming.” A man and woman stopped on the path, openly staring at Charlie. The woman had a white-knuckle grip on a baby stroller.

“You realize there’s no pool or lake in this park, right?” Harry asked Charlie.

“I wore them in case Connie Patchachi invited me to her house for the holiday. She has a Jacuzzi.”

“Don’t worry,” Annalisa yelled over to the young couple. “We’re just a normal family.”

The man and woman hurried off, pushing the stroller ahead of them.

Charlie gave up trying to brush the ants away and ran off towards the pavilion.

Uncle Frank cleared his throat. “I think we should stop trying to be a normal family. There is no such thing as a normal family. The world is filled with abnormal families. That’s what’s normal. Just look at all the people around us, they’re as normal as we are.”

Other park patrons were giving the family’s picnic area a wide berth, deciding to walk on the grass instead of the path. Annalisa invited several of them over for lemonade, but the walkers just hurried on.

“What’s the big deal about being normal, anyway?” Harry asked. “Who started all this normal business? I think we should just be comfortable with the way we are.”

“You’re suggesting we be comfortable in our dysfunction?” Annalisa said. “That doesn’t really sound healthy to me.”

“Stop with the psychology, please,” Aunt Shirley said. Uncle Frank put his fork down and stared straight ahead, breathing evenly. Most of the family took this as a cue to return to their meals.

“Speaking of superstitions, I carry around a lucky penny,” Harry said. He pulled out his wallet and fished the penny out, holding it up. “My dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday. I’ve been carrying it around ever since.”

Uncle Tommy leaned across the table and inspected the penny. “That’s a 1943 copper penny,” he stated evenly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “My dad said it was one of a kind and would give me luck with whatever I do. I’ve found that it’s worked pretty good except for Connie Patchachi at the deli. I keep on asking her out, but she never says yes.”

“That’s a very valuable coin,” Uncle Tommy said, returning to his salad.

“Tell me about it,” Harry said. “I can’t tell you the times it’s worked finding merchandise that’s fallen off of trucks. It’s almost like it leads me there.”

“I mean that the coin itself is valuable,” Uncle Tommy said. “It’s not one of a kind, there were actually about forty made.”

“I didn’t know you were a coin collector,” Aunt Shirley said. “How nice for you to have a hobby besides taking care of the family.”

Uncle Tommy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself.

Charlie came walking back to the picnic table, sopping wet. “Water balloons,” he said by way of explanation. “The kids pelted me with them and that finally got the ants away.” He put his shirt and pants back on, and Harry made room for him at the table.

“How valuable do you think it is?” Harry asked Uncle Tommy. “I mean, should I keep it in a piece of plastic, maybe? Should I laminate it?”

“I think a bank vault would be more appropriate,” Uncle Tommy answered. “Virtually all the pennies made in 1943 were made of steel. They’ve only found a dozen or so of the ones that were made of copper.”

Everyone at the table stopped eating to look at him.

“Just how much is it worth?” Carla asked.

“I heard of one recently sold for over $100,000,” Uncle Tommy said calmly.

Harry choked on his lemonade, and Jeremy absently patted him on the back. “You’re sure?” Harry asked Uncle Tommy, handing him the penny.

Uncle Tommy took it and turned it over in his palm. “You’ll have to get it appraised, of course,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure.” He handed it back to Harry and returned to his salad.

“Holy cow, you’re a penny tycoon,” Charlie said. “What are you going to do now that you’re rich?”

Harry rubbed the penny between his fingers. “Wow, the whole world seems open to me now. I’m kind of tongue-tied.”

“What have you always dreamed about doing?” Jeremy asked him. “My dream was to discover a new cranberry flavor for Thanksgiving, but that didn’t work out for me. My cupcake business dream has worked out really well.”

“Do?” Harry asked, still slightly dazed. “You mean what would I do besides work for the family? I’ve always worked for the family. It’s my life.”

“Just pretend that you’ve got a huge hunk of cash, and you can do anything you want,” Carla suggested. “You can sit on a beach in the Caribbean. You can buy real estate. You could give some money away to charity. You could have a job in the library. Just let your mind go. That’s what I did when I discovered my love for icing cupcakes. I asked myself if I could do anything in the world, what would it be?” Carla paused, considering the container of cupcakes in the center of the table. “Speaking of cupcakes…” she said, pulling out a cupcake frosted in white icing with sprinkles on the top. “I don’t think one little cupcake will be bad for the baby.”

Everyone reached in and grabbed a cupcake before Carla could close the cover.

“If you make babies half as good as you make cupcakes, you’re going to have a beautiful genius child,” Charlie said. He turned to Harry. “Really, what’s your dream?”

“Well—” Harry started, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Aunt Shirley gasped. “Really? You’ve been thinking about leaving the family business? You’ve been in the business since you were old enough to run numbers for Vito. I remember you running around on your tricycle with a fistful of paper picks.”

“Everybody has dreams, Aunt Shirley,” Jeremy said. “I don’t think it’s an affront to the family. What is it, Harry?”

Harry hesitated, focusing on the penny.

“It’s all right,” Carla said, reaching over to touch his arm. “What is it?”

“I’ve always wanted to own my own flower cart,” Harry said, biting his lip and looking around the table. “You know, one of those carts people roll out onto a city sidewalk? I was picking up a shipment of hot Japanese folding fans in San Francisco with my dad when I was seven, and there was a guy selling flowers on a corner. I loved everything about it—the colors in the flowers, the variety of his selection, the hat the guy wore, the way he made friends with everybody passing by. Everybody was happy when they bought flowers from him. I know it’s weird, but—”

“It’s not weird,” Annalisa said. “I think it’s charming.”

“It’s definitely not what I think of you doing,” Charlie said after a pause. “But everybody’s got their own dream. When I was little, I dreamt of being an astronaut. It was the whole math thing that destroyed that dream.”

“I think you should do it,” Jeremy said with conviction. “Sell your lucky penny, and buy yourself a flower cart. With the weather around here, you could be open for business a full nine months out of the year.”

“Wouldn’t he lose his luck if he sold his lucky penny?” Annalisa said.

Everyone sat still, considering her question.

“I think there’s an exemption,” Charlie said. “If your lucky piece has a value of more than six hundred dollars, you can sell it and retain all your luck.”

“I think that rule has something to do with the Internal Revenue Service, not luck,” Jeremy said.

“I know!” Charlie exclaimed. “We’ll just have to get him a new lucky charm.” He glanced around the park. “We could find him a four leaf clover or even a rabbit’s foot—”

“Eeew,” Annalisa said. “You will not be giving him a rabbit’s foot. That’s barbaric.”

“Well, I didn’t mean let’s get him a rabbit’s foot right now,” Charlie said. “We’d have to special order one from eBay. And I don’t think they really use an actual rabbit’s foot. That would be barbaric.”

“Still,” Annalisa said. “I think a four leaf clover is a fine idea. Traditionally, each leaf represents an idea. In this case, it’s faith, hope, love, and luck.” She joined Charlie searching in the grass. Uncle Frank abandoned his gelatin to help them.

“Gosh, I think it’s great that you’re studying superstitions instead of psychology,” Harry said, peering at the ground. “I didn’t know how much more dysfunction I could take.”

“Holy crow,” Uncle Frank said, trying to sit upright. “I think I’ve got one.” He gripped a clover between his thumb and index finger.

Uncle Tommy leaned in, lifting up his sunglasses. “There are five leaves on that clover,” he said.

“Five leaves!” Harry said. “Does that mean I get extra luck?”

“Maybe it’s an anti-luck leaf. You get faith, hope, love, luck, and destruction,” Charlie said. “I’d be careful of that clover.” He turned to Annalisa. “So really what does a five leaf clover mean? “

“I don’t think I’ve gotten that far yet,” she said. “I’ll have to do more research.”

“Well,” I’m going with the extra-luck theory,” Harry said.

“Hey, what’s that?” Carla asked, looking towards the station wagon. Red smoke was leaking out of one of the fireworks boxes under the tree.

“Oh, no,” Charlie said. “The sun was too much for it. It’s going to blow. It’s the fifth leaf. It’s raining death and destruction on our picnic!”

Charlie started to walk to the boxes, but Uncle Tommy snagged his collar. “Not a good idea.”

“Those firecrackers are dangerous,” Aunt Shirley said. “I’ve heard even smoke bombs can kill you.”

Sixty minutes later, the bomb squad had finished securing all three fireworks boxes. Although nothing had exploded, everyone in the park had seen the red smoke. A collection of fire trucks and emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly throughout the entire parking lot. A huge crowd of people ringed the lot, watching them finish up. Jeremy and Carla handed out cupcakes to all the emergency personnel, and they stood around, licking icing off their fingers.

“Good thing they didn’t know who brought those boxes,” Harry said.

“I think it’s a sign,” Aunt Shirley said. “A message from God telling us not to buy contraband fireworks any more. She paused. “Maybe contraband anything.”

Everyone in the family stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Excuse me,” Jeremy asked. “What did you just say?”

“Everyone heard me,” Aunt Shirley answered. “I think that smoke bomb was like Moses’ burning bush. It sent us a message.”

“We have to ask Pharaoh to let our people go?” Mary Charlotte asked. “Honestly, I don’t think Egypt has Pharaohs anymore. And unless a lot has changed since I was at the nunnery, I think God stopped using plagues a while ago.”

“No, I think the message is for us to look at…alternative family business arrangements,” Aunt Shirley said.

“But we’re mobsters,” Charlie said. “The only thing I know how to do is pick up stuff that’s fallen off trucks and run numbers. Even though we’re a gentle family, without all the violence and stuff.”

“Well, I moved away from the family business,” Jeremy said. “Cupcakes have certainly worked for me.”

“I’ve always wanted to sail the world in a boat,” Aunt Shirley said. “It doesn’t have to be a big boat. Just large enough for a captain and a couple of family members and a wine rack.”

“What would you want to do Uncle Tommy?” Annalisa asked. “If you weren’t working for the family.”

Uncle Tommy stood flat-footed and stoic at the back of the crowd, the sun glinting off his glasses. He made an imposing figure, muscles apparent even under his suit.

“I respectfully refuse to answer,” Uncle Tommy said.

“Oh, come on,” Harry said. “I told you about my flower cart dream. What do you want to be? A dancer? A stock broker? A professional wrestler? Honestly, you’d be great at professional wrestling.”

Uncle Tommy paused. “Actually, I’m going to school part time,” he said. “I’m studying the actuarial sciences.”

“The acta…what?” Charlie asked.

“Math,” Annalisa interrupted. “He wants to be a math geek.”

“Actually, it’s more than math. It’s dealing with the theories of risk and uncertainty. Not too far off from what I’m doing now. And please refrain from calling me a geek,” Uncle Tommy said.

“Sorry, Uncle Tommy,” Annalisa said. “Geek is actually a term of endearment with the younger crowd. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Hey,” Harry said, frantically patting his short pockets. “Where’s my lucky penny?” He paled, and sat down as his knees wobbled. “I’ve lost my lucky penny. The clover’s fifth leaf has struck again.”

“Did you really want your own flower cart?” Aunt Shirley asked, putting a hand gently on his head.

“I did,” Harry said. “I realized that I really wanted my own flower cart. It sounds corny and strange, but it was really my dream.”

“Then you go for it,” Aunt Shirley said, handing him the penny. “You left it on the picnic table when the fire trucks got here. I grabbed it before it got lost in the commotion.”

“Aunt Shirley, you’re a life saver,” Harry said, a huge grin on his face. He stood up and gave her a hug. “What would I do without you?”

“So what have we learned today?” Aunt Shirley asked.

“Leave fireworks to the professionals,” Charlie said. “They carry a high danger risk.”

“Follow your dreams,” Harry said. “And flower carts are a perfectly acceptable dream for anyone, including a mobster. Oh, and if you have a lucky penny, try really hard to hang on to it.”

“No one is entirely normal,” Jeremy said with conviction. He leaned over to kiss Carla. “And I don’t think we’ll ever…ever have to worry about this family being too normal.”

“Psychology and superstitions have more in common than I’d like to admit,” Annalisa said.

“Mortality tables are an accurate way of predicting life expectancy for the average person,” Uncle Tommy said.

Everyone looked at him, and Uncle Tommy shrugged. “I studied this morning,” he said. “Before the picnic.”

“That talk about life expectancy makes my skin crawl,” Uncle Frank said. “No offense, Tommy. It’s probably because I’ve got one foot in the grave already.” Uncle Frank raised his lemonade cup in a toast. “To this fine country, and the opportunities it gives us. May we discover what our dreams are, and work hard to fulfill them. Whatever they may be.”

“Amen!” Mary Charlotte yelled.