Part 1
Chapter 1 — The Account He Wouldn’t Name.
“Could you stop correcting me in my own house for five minutes?”
Sloan froze with the serving spoon halfway above her plate. Harrison’s hand tightened around his beer bottle.
“I wasn’t correcting you,” she said.
“You told me where I’m allowed to put my own serving dishes.”
“I said they were in everyone’s way.”
“They’ve been there twenty years.”
Harrison cleared his throat. “Mom, can we just enjoy dinner?”
I looked at him across the patio table.
“Whose birthday is it?”
His jaw shifted.
“Yours.”
“Then maybe your wife can let me arrange my patio.”
Sloan placed the spoon down with deliberate care.
“There. Problem solved.”
Nobody touched it afterward.
My sister Brenda sat two chairs away, watching her plate. She had brought the lemon cake herself that afternoon.
Sixty-five white candles waited beside it in unopened boxes.
Brenda glanced toward Harrison.
“Honey, could you help me with those candles later?”
“Sure.”
His phone buzzed against the table.
He flipped it facedown without checking the screen.
Sloan noticed.
Her eyes stayed on the phone for one second longer than necessary.
“Harrison,” she said.
“I know.”
I looked between them.
“You know what?”
“Nothing.”
His answer came too quickly.
Sloan lifted her wineglass.
“Your son has work things happening.”
“At seven-thirty on a Saturday?”
“Some people don’t get to retire.”
Brenda’s fork stopped against her plate.
Harrison finally looked up.
“Sloan.”
“What?”
“Just don’t.”
She smiled into her glass.
I reached for the serving bowl Sloan had moved.
Her fingers landed on it first.
“I can get that.”
“I’m capable.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You rarely have to.”
Harrison pushed his chair backward an inch.
The scrape cut through every conversation around the table.
He stared at his phone again.
Another vibration sounded beneath his palm.
This time, Sloan reached over and silenced it for him.
Neither of them explained why.
I watched my son pull his hand away from hers.
“Are you expecting trouble?” I asked.
Harrison looked at me, then immediately toward Sloan.
“No.”
The word hung there because nobody believed it completely.
“You bought the wrong sparkling water again.”
Sloan held the bottle near her face as though I had handed her medicine.
I kept cutting lemon wedges.
“That’s the brand I buy.”
“Harrison doesn’t drink this one.”
Harrison opened the refrigerator behind me.
“I drink it.”
Sloan turned.
“You hate it.”
“I said I drink it.”
Her expression changed for half a second.
Then she smiled.
“Fine.”
I slid the knife onto the counter.
Through the open patio doors, Brenda was arranging candles around the cake stand.
Harrison remained beside the refrigerator.
He wasn’t taking anything from it.
“You need something?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip.
“Mom, did you get any calls from the bank this week?”
Sloan appeared beside him.
“Harrison.”
His shoulders stiffened.
I looked at him.
“What kind of calls?”
“Spam calls,” Sloan said.
“I asked him.”
She leaned against the counter.
“And I answered because that’s what he meant.”
Harrison opened the refrigerator again.
Cold light crossed his face.
“I just wondered if they called about updating security.”
“They haven’t.”
“Okay.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
Sloan laughed softly.
“Your mother interrogates everyone.”
I folded my arms.
“My son asked about my bank.”
“He asked about spam.”
Harrison finally took out a bottle of water.
His fingers slipped against the cap.
“Can we drop it?”
I watched him struggle with the bottle.
“Sure.”
Sloan moved closer to him.
Her voice softened.
“Go outside. Your aunt needs help.”
He didn’t move.
“Harrison?”
“I heard you.”
His phone buzzed again.
He pulled it from his pocket this time.
Whatever appeared on the screen drained the color from his face.
Sloan took one step toward him.
“Give me that.”
He locked the screen.
“It’s handled.”
“What’s handled?” I asked.
Harrison slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
He walked past me toward the patio.
Sloan waited until he disappeared outside.
Then she looked at me.
“You really should stop checking on him so much.”
I glanced toward the doorway.
“I wasn’t checking on him.”
Her smile returned.
“I know.”
“Sixty-five candles are excessive, Brenda.”
Sloan stood beside the cake with her arms folded.
Brenda kept placing them anyway.
“That’s how many years she survived all of us.”
I laughed.
Harrison didn’t.
He stood near the patio railing, staring beyond the yard.
“Harrison,” I called.
He turned.
“You planning to join my birthday?”
“I’m right here.”
“Your body is.”
Brenda suppressed a smile.
Sloan didn’t.
She adjusted the belt of her dress.
“He’s tired.”
“He can answer for himself.”
“I just did,” Harrison said.
His voice was sharper than usual.
He immediately looked ashamed of it.
I held his gaze.
“What’s going on with you tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“That word is getting popular.”
Brenda lit another candle.
Sloan picked up her Gucci handbag from the chair beside her and moved it farther from the table.
The gold clasp caught the patio lights.
“Careful with this,” she told Harrison.
He glanced at the bag.
“I’m not touching it.”
“It cost more than your first car.”
Brenda looked up.
“That seems practical.”
Sloan’s smile tightened.
“It was twenty-five hundred.”
I stared at the bag.
“For something that holds lipstick?”
“And cards.”
Her eyes shifted toward Harrison.
He looked down.
The movement was small.
I almost missed it.
“What cards?” Brenda asked.
Sloan laughed.
“Credit cards, Brenda.”
Harrison stepped toward the table.
“We should do the cake.”
I studied him.
“Suddenly in a hurry?”
“No.”
Sloan moved beside him.
“We have plans later.”
That was news to me.
“You do?”
Harrison opened his mouth.
Sloan answered first.
“Just dinner with friends.”
“You’re eating dinner now.”
“Drinks, then.”
Harrison rubbed the back of his neck.
I watched him avoid my eyes again.
Brenda finished arranging the candles.
“All sixty-five.”
Everyone applauded except Sloan.
Harrison forced a smile.
Brenda reached for the lighter.
My son caught her wrist gently.
“Wait.”
She blinked.
“What?”
He looked at Sloan.
Then at me.
For one strange second, he looked frightened.
“Nothing,” he said. “Go ahead.”
“Move the cake closer to Mom.”
Brenda placed both hands beneath the stand.
Sloan stepped into the narrow space beside her.
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You’re blocking everyone.”
Brenda stopped.
“I’m carrying the cake.”
Sloan gave a little laugh.
“Yes. I can see that.”
I stood near my chair.
“Harrison, help your aunt.”
He looked toward Sloan.
“I think she’s fine.”
Brenda’s mouth tightened.
“Apparently I’m an obstacle now.”
“You said it, not me,” Sloan replied.
“Honey,” I said, “enough.”
Sloan turned toward me.
“What did I do?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
The conversations around us died.
Two neighbors stood near the patio doors with untouched wineglasses.
My cousin Paul stared at the table.
Nobody stepped in.
Harrison looked at the stone beneath his shoes.
I waited.
“Are you going to say something?” I asked.
His eyes lifted briefly.
“Mom, please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t make this bigger.”
A familiar phrase.
Sloan exhaled through her nose.
“She always does this.”
Brenda shifted the cake stand.
“Can we light the candles before the frosting melts?”
“I’ll take it,” I said.
I stepped forward.
Sloan moved at the same moment.
Her elbow swung outward.
It struck the metal stand.
Hard.
The cake tipped.
Brenda gasped.
I reached for it, but the plate slid beyond my fingers.
The lemon cake hit the stone patio upside down.
Yellow frosting burst across my shoes.
Candles scattered beneath chairs and rolled between people’s feet.
One stopped against Harrison’s shoe.
Nobody spoke.
Brenda covered her mouth.
Paul looked away.
My son stared at the ruined cake.
Then he looked at Sloan.
I saw it happen.
He knew.
His eyes dropped to the ground.
I slowly raised my head toward Sloan.
She was looking at the frosting on my shoes.
The corner of her mouth moved.
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