23. Hattie

The Fourth of July is finally here, and the Stars and Stripes Spectacular is going to be nothing short of magical.

The beach outside the country club has an energy that's simply vibrant and electric. This evening is already shaping up to be quite the celebration of freedom and joy.

The entire country club—specifically the beachfront—has been transformed into a glamorous scene straight out of a movie. String lights twinkle from above, casting a golden glow on both the sand and the festivities. Red, white, and blue buntings flutter gently in the breeze as they hang along the railings of the country club's deck.

Throngs of people have shown up for the star-spangled event as they mill around in their finest summer evening wear, the women in flowing dresses and the men in crisp shirts and slacks, each outfit accented with patriotic colors.

Tipper is congregating near the seafood buffet along with my brother, Henry, and the two of them keep pointing to the different dishes and nodding. But I'll bet dollars to donuts, or in this case dollars to Holiday lobster tails dipped in butter, that they're not discussing the dinner menu.

Chevy and Hillary are nearby pecking at the dessert offerings. Kick is right behind them shouting at her children and scooting their little hands away from the eclairs. My sisters and parents are here, too, somewhere, hobnobbing with the who's who of Brambleberry Bay.

Laughter and animated conversations fill the air, creating a buzz that feels downright contagious. The sound of easy listening rock music strums from the speakers and the scent of freshly grilled burgers and hot dogs lights up our olfactory senses. And my stomach is demanding both.

I crane my neck into the crowd of polished people with their bronzed tans which make their teeth glow like flashlights, their pricey Birkin bags worth more than my truck, and their carefree laughter that screams one percenters. But there's no sign of the person I was hoping to see tonight.

I'm not sure why, but I'd swear that Killion has been avoiding me.

He picked up Rookie the other night right after speaking to his mother about her questionable tax practices and I haven't seen either Rookie or Killion since.

And he hasn't exactly been quick about returning my text messages either.

I shake my head at the grand display before me.

At the heart of the event is an extravagant spread of festive appetizers and the yummiest food you ever did see. I worked tirelessly with the kitchen staff to create the perfect menu for this patriotic event, and seeing that there's a buffet spread even Uncle Sam would be proud of, I'm hoping Peyton will be proud of me, too.

And I was sort of hoping Killion would be here to enjoy it with me.

Tables laden with red, white, and blue themed delicacies line the area. Miniature flags and sparklers decorate each dish, from star-shaped sandwiches to fruit skewers arranged in the pattern of the American flag. And don't get me started again on the hypnotic scent of those grilled burgers, grilled hot dogs, and grilled corn on the cob. That, mingling with the salty sea air, tantalizes my senses.

There's a food and beverage station for everyone—a bar serving Fourth of July-themed cocktails garnished with berries and mint, a dessert table brimming with pies, cupcakes, a large, beautifully decorated Independence Day cake decorated to look like the flag, and enough miniature red, white, and blueberry trifles for each person here to have six of the custard-filled treats. And sitting in the middle of it all is a champagne fountain that's brimming with the priciest bubbles known to man.

From the stars to the sand, the attention to detail is impeccable this evening, if I do say so myself. But that doesn't mean I expect to get on Peyton's good side tonight. Heaven knows not even the U.S. Army can help win that war.

Cricket threads her way around my ankles and I quickly scoop her up.

I stopped by the pet store this afternoon and picked up a miniature red, white, and blue scarf that I tied around her neck. I picked up a patriotic bowtie for both Rookie and Jolly, but now I'm starting to wonder if I'll see them at all this evening.

I'll admit, it's been pretty quiet without the furry oaf,she mewls.

"I miss him, too," I sniff as I bury my face in a patriotic flower arrangement on a nearby table. The pale blue hydrangeas may be luscious to look at, but there's not a single scent to them.

I never said I missed him,she corrects. I simply stated that it's been quiet. There's a lot to be said for some solitude. Although I do miss Jolly. It really drives the point home that Jolly Beary should always spend the night with me. That way when you and your hooman oaf break things off for good, we won't have to fight for custody of Jolly. I saw something just like it on the Divorce Dispute show. It comes on after Animal Paws and I've learned a lot about hooman behavior that way. Word to the wise, if you have a favorite china, it's best to claim it now before the destroyer of hopes and dreams tries to steal it from you.

"The destroyer of hopes and dreams?" I scoff at the furry cutie. "Cricket." I laugh at the thought.

She nods and her whiskers twitch in the process. It's the nickname the divorcee gave to her soon-to-be ex-husband. It turns out, he was going to sell her grandmother's antique china for some cheap cash. The woman was lucky to be rid of him. And you'll be lucky to be rid of Killion, too. I don't like seeing you check your phone twenty times an hour. Besides, you're never alone when you've got me around. I won't just walk out of your life one day and forget you exist.

"Killion hasn't walked out on me. He's just been—busy."

I think.

Hope.

And pray.

"Hattie Pattie!" someone calls out and I turn to see both Peggy and Clarabelle making their way over. "Are you ready to have some F-U-N tonight?"

"I am most certainly ready to have some fun." I laugh. "I'm just hoping the explosions are relegated to the sky."

"Here's to an explosive good time," Peggy sings while lifting the fruity cocktail in her hands.

Peggy is clad in a red and white striped sundress, accented with a blue scarf, while Clarabelle sports a white top with star-spangled blue pedal pushers. The two of them are the epitome of patriotic chic this evening.

"Look at you, Cricket." Clarabelle swipes Cricket from my arms and coos at the furry cutie. "All ready to celebrate with the lucky Tom cats prowling the grounds. And looking like the red, white, and blue cutie you are, you're going to have the pick of the litter," she coos at her, and yet Cricket gives me a look that clearly says, rescue me.

"Speaking of roving Tom cats prowling the grounds," Peggy purrs. "We've got big plans for your mind-prying capabilities, Hattie. Imagine the fun we're gonna have with the gentlemen here tonight!" Talk about an evening that ends with a bang. She primps her hair with the thought and I gasp her way. "Oh, pish-posh, mind your own beeswax, would ya?" She winks my way. But you know it's the truth.

That I do.

"Think of it, Hattie," Clarabelle chimes in, still holding Cricket hostage. "You can be our secret weapon. You're going to take the guesswork out of what every Tom, Dick, and scary-hairy cat here is thinking. Is he into me? Does he think my outfit is cute? Or is he just thinking about how many fireworks it would take to launch a hot dog to the moon?"

Peggy rolls her eyes. "Case in point, Hattie. We need you to help divide the Tom cats from the wieners."

"Point taken," I say. "But remember, with great power comes great responsibility. We can't judge a man for craving something hot from the grill this evening."

"Or craving something else that's pretty hot." Peggy waves a hand over her dress. "Oh, Hattie, you'll be our spyin' little Cupid for the evening. And who knows, maybe you'll find out some juicy secrets along the way."

"I sure hope so," I say as I spot Missy Livingston mingling with the crowd. Now there's someone I'd love to spy on. Speaking of Missy, here I thought she was working at a settled discounted rate for the country club, and yet the bill she sent the front office was twice that much. Talk about bait and switch. "All right," I say, glancing at Cricket, who seems to be silently judging the whole conversation, and then back at the giddy grannies before me. "I'll see what I can do, but no promises. And no using my abilities for evil. I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"Oh, honey, so am I," Peggy says, slinking off with Clarabelle in tow and Cricket by proxy. "We'll go round up those Tom cats!"

Help,Cricket yowls. I'm being abducted by a couple of cats on a hot tin roof.

"Oh, hush, you little cutie pie," Peggy tells her. "You sit there and look like the doll you are. You're gonna help bring all the big boys to the proverbial yard. And in exchange for your services, I'm going to hand-feed you some lobster."

Never mind!Cricket yelps my way. They know how to treat a cutie like me.

I'll say.

I'm about to scour the grounds for signs of Killion, or any traces of that jewelry-gifting stalker I seem to have amassed, just as a pair of icy cold hands clamp over my eyes from behind.

"Don't move a muscle or you're a dead woman."