Any way you look at it, last year’s Fourth of July cookout was a disaster for the Muller family; at least that’s how Irma sees it. Even if you rejoice in the fact that little Isabella’s recovery from the bee stings—who knew she was allergic?—was rapid and complete, you couldn’t deny that the entire affair was a fiasco. Even if you’re grateful, and Irma is, that there was only minor damage to Junior’s brand-new all-terrain vehicle when the tree fell on it during the thunderstorm, you couldn’t ignore the reality that not one member of the Muller family left with a smile on his or her face. And the food? Please don’t get Irma started.

She won’t say another word about how if she’d been in charge instead of Cousin Mary Jean, none of the unfortunate incidents—did Irma mention the forks that cracked in two every time you tried to spear a baked bean?—would have occurred, but that’s the honest truth. Mary Jean didn’t even spring for the good plasticware, that’s how cheap she is. (Did Irma just say that out loud?)

Now that Irma’s in charge of this year’s event, she’s moving the celebration from the state park to her backyard. The park wasn’t worth it, not after they lost Big Irma last year, only to find her in the restroom waiting patiently for someone to bring her a handful of toilet paper. Add to that the fact that they weren’t allowed to shoot fireworks on county property, and nobody had been happy. Never again, says Irma.

Thankfully, she’s always been hyper-organized, a trait that comes in handy at a time like this, even if her fine attention to detail does occasionally get on her loved ones’ nerves. She’s ordered two tents in case of rain, and there are five boxes of bottled water in the carport for those who can’t take the heat. She’s hired Boffo the Clown to put in an appearance for the kids, and she’s invited the volunteer firefighters in case Uncle Fred gets a little out of control with the Roman candles; they’re his favorites. Irma’s place is just beyond the county line, but you can’t be too sure. Fred means well; he’s just trying to be festive. But now that he refuses to wear his hearing aids, the chances of reining him in are greatly diminished. Irma decides she’d better bake an extra apple sheet cake for the fire chief in case she has to do some sweet-talking.

Irma knows that even with her uncanny ability to anticipate almost any potential outcome, there are some things she can’t control. Even if you pay your taxes in full, love your neighbor as yourself, and limit your swearing to two curse words a week, sometimes bad things do happen to good people.

“Even God blinks,” Irma says, “so you might as well be prepared.”

The risk of Irma’s mother showing up in that red, white, and blue sequined T-shirt, the one that emphasizes Big Irma’s ample bosom, is another thing Irma will have to let go of.

“It’s one of the few pleasures I have left,” responds her mother whenever Irma tries to talk to her about her loud clothing choices. Irma would use the word tacky instead of loud, but she doesn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings.

“I’m an old woman,” says Big Irma, her dangling daisy earrings, the ones she bought in Branson, swinging back and forth. “I’ve earned the right to dress as I please.”

So Irma realizes she can’t rein in Fred’s penchant for pyrotechnics or tone down Big Irma’s tendency to dress inappropriately for her age. But the food—the food Irma can control. She’ll make her barbecue peanuts, which the guys couldn’t get enough of down at the Rotary back when Dave was alive. She’ll ask Cousin Charlotte to bring her corn and roasted peanut salad, which might sound a little strange but tastes fabulous. Once, they caught Charlotte’s husband eating it straight from the serving bowl when he thought no one was looking. That’s how good it is. Of course, there will be plenty of meat: barbecue chicken and smoked pork baby back ribs. She’ll throw in some bacon cheddar deviled eggs, because they’re her boyfriend Hal’s favorite. Imagine, caring what a man thinks at her age!

After Dave died, and after dodging romantic overtures from several members of the grief group at All Souls Chapel, Irma had just about given up on love. But in walked Hal one day while Irma was arranging a horseshoe-shaped spray of carnations down at the Bouquet Boutique where she works two afternoons a week and one Saturday a month. Why Sylvia Hinkle wanted such a garish display on her recently departed husband’s final resting place is beyond Irma, but it is not her station to judge. Something to do with all those years of his playing the ponies, perhaps. Irma liked to have fallen for Hal right on the spot, seeing as how he was buying lilies of the valley, his mother’s favorite, to take to her out at Happy Trails Retirement Village. You know what they say about a man who is good to his mother.

Just to be double-dog sure that everyone will enjoy the cookout, Aunt Edith is going to mix up some fruit cocktail punch. It makes you think you’re getting a little buzz, without the hooch. Perfect for such a God-fearing yet fun-loving family as the Mullers. Edith got the idea for the punch after a holiday party with the Uptowners, her bridge club, where Virginia Tarver served her secret recipe rum punch. Several of the ladies thought they were tipsy, but it turns out there’s no rum in the punch; hence the secret. Oh, did they have a good laugh when they found out.

With a little luck, a fun time will be had by all this Fourth of July. And with Irma in charge, the Mullers’ chances are pretty good.