A Mobster's Independence Day Picnic by Beth Mathison Page A

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