Whit cleared his throat and stepped back, retreating to Junior’s liquor cart and pouring himself another drink. “Old blessing song.”
I moved to the open door that led from the Johnsons’ apartment to the back garden. “What language is that?”
“Uh…not sure,” Whit said with a shrug. “Old English, I think. Or maybe Gaelic.”
I laughed. “What happened toHappy Birthday?”
He grinned, visibly relaxing again. “Yeah, well, if you want to singHappy Birthdayto Mr. Dean, I’m sure he’d just glower at you for the duration of the song and not hold it against you for the rest of the night.”
I rolled my eyes. “Does the maneversmile?”
Whit took a sip of his drink and then shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.” He gestured toward the door. “But there’s a first time for everything, as they say. Better not miss it.”
I followed him outside and instantly hit a wall of heat. Thick, damp humidity wrapped around my lungs, making it difficult to draw a breath. Within moments, sweat began to creep along the nape of my neck. I scanned the yard to make sure Henry wasn’t suffering the same discomfort, but he was happily spinning on the rope swing Earl had hung earlier.
A grunt near my shoulder drew my attention. Mr. Dean glowered at the children as they played, clearly disapproving of their presence.
“Had a swing like that when I was his age.”
I blinked, surprised to see him standing there, let alone talking to me. “Really? That must’ve been fun.”
He grunted again. “Fell off and broke my arm in three places. My mother was so upset that my father cut down the tree and burned it for firewood.”
Andtherewas the Mr. Dean I was familiar with. “Henry and Addie seem to love it,” I offered. “Henry’s doing so much better now that he has someone to play with.”
Mr. Dean glanced at me and made a dismissive noise. “That’d be June and Pearlie’s doing.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant or how to respond. So, I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “Are you enjoying your birthday party?”
“A lot of nonsense,” he grumbled. “Don’t need a party. Need to be about fifty years younger. Why would I want to celebrate getting even older? Bullshit, if you ask me.”
I glanced around, hoping someone would come rescue me from the conversation, but they were all occupied elsewhere—either playing with the kids or enjoying another cocktail while chatting with the others. Even Whit was now talking quietly with Merilee who had returned. A brief, sharp pain stabbed me in my chest at seeing them together, but I shoved it aside.
“Well,” I said to Mr. Dean, exasperated by his attitude, “if you didn’t want a party, you should have said so. I doubt they would’ve gone to all this trouble if they’d known you didn’t want it.”
He stared at me and shook his head like I’d said something profoundly stupid. “I’m eighty,” he said. “It’s tradition.”
With that, he shuffled away toward Ms. Pearlie, who was waving him over to a tray of tiny silver goblets. Then Pearlie clapped her hands, calling for everyone’s attention.
“My beloved family,” she called as Earl picked up the tray and began handing out the drinks. She placed a hand on Mr. Dean’s shoulder. “Our dear Mr. Deanhas reached his eightieth year. Tonight, we toast him and bid him well as he takes his next journey.”
I accepted the goblet Earl handed me. He winked. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he whispered. “It won’t kill you.”
I gave him a weak smile and turned my attention back to Pearlie.
She glanced around the yard as if looking for someone and then a smile curved her lips. I turned to see who’d arrived and was surprised to see Billy Wayne and Kitty, the latter heavily pregnant and dangerously pale, leaning on her husband’s arm as if she was nearly too weak to walk. Earl immediately handed goblets to both of them.
The only one missing at this point was Ms. Netty.
Pearlie raised her goblet again. “As we enter, so shall we depart.”
Every resident raised their goblet, repeating Pearlie’s words. I quickly raised mine, murmuring the odd toast a beat late, and watched as they all tossed back their sherry in a single swallow—except Kitty who only took a tiny sip before handing hers to her husband to finish.
“Drink up, buttercup.”
I flinched and turned to see Merilee standing beside me, grinning.
“Is this the way you all usually celebrate birthdays?” I asked before obediently downing the sherry. It wasn’t like I knew what a normal birthday celebration was supposed to be except for what I’d seen on TV or read about in books, but this couldn’t have been typical.
