For my parents

Rev. Pamela Flower and Thomas Flower

and

in memory of

Calvin

Special thanks to Rosalind Greenberg for plucking my manuscript out of the thousands, and to my editor Jerri Corgiat for helping it shine.

Thanks to my Sisters in Crime, Maria Hudgins and Sarah Parrott, for their critiques and support, and to my dear friends, Melody Steiner, Jen Pula, and Melissa Williamson, who read and commented on the manuscript.

Hugs to Mariellyn Dunlap for her edits, friendship, and willingness to always accompany me on a road trip, be it near or far.

Love and gratitude to my mother, Rev. Pamela Flower, who read every word ten times over and was there every step of the way.

Finally, to my Father in Heaven, thank you.

As a child, I dreaded the Fourth of July despite the fireworks, the barbecue, and the general flag flapping. The holiday signaled that summer was half over. And though my mother chided me about my attitude, called me her pint-sized pessimist, and told me to see the “glass half full,” I moped through the holiday. I knew—come the next day—the discount store and supercenters would have fresh back-to-school displays of yellow number two pencils and college-ruled notebook paper. I was a fair student and mid-list popular, but I never wanted to go back to school. As an adult, when I actually had to work every day, my attitude toward Independence Day changed. To me, any day that starts as a paid holiday is a good one.

But that Independence Day morning, my brother called.