Free Maeve's Symphony by Marianne Evans

They’re in Tampa, right?”
    “Yep, have been for about eight months now.” The linen-covered table was laden by a stomach-tempting assortment of appetizers. Simultaneously, they reached for small china coffee cups. Following a hand bump, Josh retrieved two, and filled the first one for Maeve—black being her preference. He urged her to precede him in line. “They love the climate and love being close to the beaches and water. Winters in upstate New York were getting old.”
    “Fortunately, this year was merciful.”
    “I thought about that last night. I’ve been lucky during this visit. Weather patterns at the end of winter and start of spring are such a gamble. Right now temps are almost balmy.”
    Doug followed in from behind. He reached for tongs stationed near a massive crystal serving bowl and dished a generous helping of salad. In passing, he nudged Josh’s shoulder. “Maybe so, but do you remember the Snow Bowl?”
    Josh cringed and registered Maeve’s anticipatory grin. “Oh, man. Are you really going to bring that up again?”
    “You bet I am. It was my senior year. The weather was a nightmare, remember? We had an entire week, of, what, blizzard-like conditions? Man, all it did was snow.”
    Josh caught Maeve’s attention and rolled his eyes. The sound of her snicker tickled his ear.
    “As the newly elected captain of the Eagles, Josh here decided to call a scrimmage. On February twentieth. During a brief break in epic eight- to ten-inch snow squalls.”
    AJ paused from eating to give the conversation his full attention which made Josh grin.
    “Be fair. It was sunny that day, and temps hovered near the mid-fifties, and the field had been cleared. Sorta. For the most part. Almost.”
    Doug answered that back-pedal with a teasing grumble. “Returning squad members looked forward to, oh, say, six months of down time—”
    “Loafing.” Josh interjected over an exaggerated cough. He tossed back a pair of creamy, spicy ham roll ups, plated some veggies and strawberries, a few chunks of pineapple.
    Undeterred, Doug continued. “You called the scrimmage, but furthermore, expected all attendees to show up in shorts, short-sleeves and cleats. He wanted to kill us.”
    Laughter built among those who made their way around the table. Josh moved to a crème cheese, hot-pepper jelly spread and slathered a helping atop a few large crackers. Nobody knew how to feed the masses like Mrs. Callahan.
    “As I was saying, Josh was bent on destruction. The team superstar forced us to run patterns for almost an hour—across a frozen football field.”
    “It was a blast. Everyone loved it.”
    “Or so they said, following treatment for hypothermia.”
    “Dude, I was trying to earn my spurs and become an awesome team captain. Remember, I was only a junior at that point. I felt a hardcore need to impart the ideals of self-discipline, stamina—”
    “I reiterate. He wanted to kill us.”
    “Almost succeeded, too.”
    “After that awful snowbound, gut-wrenching practice—”
    “Exaggeration.”
    “We dived...you heard me right, dived…straight into the nearby snowdrifts work crews had left behind when they plowed the school parking lot.”
    “It was invigorating. Let it also be stated, for the record, that I led the charge. I was the first one to sink into almost five feet of snow.”
    Doug snorted. “Yep. In shorts. And a t-shirt. You-da-man, Josh.”
    Josh did away with a few avocado spears and carrots. “Do you guys still have the tire swing out back?”
    Doug stopped chewing on a fork-full of salad and swallowed fast. “We took it down a couple years ago.”
    “Oh.” Time marched on, Josh thought. Time marched on. His attention moved briefly to Maeve. Man, she was stunning. “That’s a bummer. I come here and old memories hit. I get an itch to do some target practice.”
    Doug’s grin built slow until it split his features. “I hope you mean that, because in honor of your return, Dad strung it up