Born on the 4th of July - Heather Graham Pozzessere
Prologue
The 4th of July was almost upon them.
Annie Green sat in the grass at the cemetery, feeling the wind, breathing in the scent of the earth and the breeze. It was a beautiful day, the first day of July. It might have been horribly hot, and maybe it would be later; but right now the temperature was just warm and the air around her was light and the cemetery was quiet and pleasant.
She had brought flowers, of course. She always brought them in honor of her dad. She’d loved him with all her heart. He’d served in the military, seen horrible action, and been decorated; but in her mind, he’d come out of it an exceptional human being. He believed in education; and he believed when people were left in poverty and misery, it was easy to stir them to war. The world needed more understanding, more diplomacy, and more money spent on agriculture and schools than on machines for war.
He was pragmatic, too.
It wouldn’t be easy to get the whole world to agree on anything at the same time. Heck, you couldn’t get a city council to agree on anything!
But he had been a kind and amazing man.
He’d been gone ten years, but she came here for every holiday she could. She came religiously every Father’s Day, around the 4th of July, Christmas, and more. She brought a cup of coffee for each of them—his being poured into the ground while she drank hers—and of course, she brought flowers lest people think she was too weird. She and her dad had shared many a cup of coffee while talking when he’d been alive, and the coffee was . . . well . . . it was a ritual that meant something to her, and she hoped to him.
She glanced at her watch. Kyle would be by soon to pick her up. He’d park on the cemetery’s pathway and come to the grave; he would have come with her for the entire time, but he knew this was special to her and he didn’t interfere. She’d asked to come today with
the 4th of July still ahead of them because she’d wanted the cemetery to be peaceful and quiet. No fireworks, no groups of people—though she did have her mask hooked to her ear if she encountered others. She was so excited about her baby due so soon now. The seventh of July was her due date, but the doctor had teasingly told her that babies came when they wanted to, and it could be an all-American baby, born on the 4th of July.
Kyle was excited, also. He liked the idea of a birth on the 4th, but then again, if the baby was born on a different day, that would be a great day, too.
Kyle was a great husband. Her dad would have loved him.
She ran her hands over the grass, thinking the old cemetery really was beautiful, peaceful, filled with shade trees and graves that went from crooked slate with weather-worn memorials to modern stones, mausoleums, and above ground tombs.
She started suddenly. Crows let out loud caws and flit from one of the tall maple trees that graced the path. They were big, beautiful birds in flight.
“A murder of crows, Dad!” she said aloud. “How bizarre that we count a number of crows as a murder. A gaggle of geese and . . . a murder of crows!”
She shook her head. Language could be so strange!
She smiled at her father’s gravestone again.
“Kyle will be here soon,” she said aloud. “Dad, I so wish you could have known him! He’s so proud I want to name the baby after you. It’s a boy, and his name will be Cameron Alan Green. Well, you were Cameron Alan Adair, but you know what I mean!”
She could just imagine her dad in life. He’d have said, “If I knew what you meant, young lady, you needn’t be explaining it to me.”
She smiled at the memory and looked across the grass. At first, she thought Kyle was coming for her, or coming to the grave to pay his own respects before they both headed out. The sun was in her eyes, and she wondered why in heaven he would be wearing a big black coat—it was July! A beautiful day.
She smiled, thinking about the crows. He looked just like a crow, the black floating back like wings! He’d laugh, of course, when she told him what he’d made her think.
She glanced back to the grave.
“Okay,