She nodded. “To Lacey’s house.”
An ember of happiness flickered. Had they remembered? “Let me get my keys.”
Kimberley walked into Lacey’s house without knocking. I followed as she made straight for the dining room. Lacey awaited us, the necessities for a manicure spread on the table.
They knew how much I loved having my nails done. All I could manage was a garbled “Thanks.”
“We didn’t forget. Sit.” Lacey pulled out the chair next to her and pointed. “Pick a color.”
While she polished my nails a glittery violet, Kimberley photographed the event. There were shots of just my hands. A still life of emery boards, clippers, and used cotton balls. Various poses of me and Lacey. A bottle spilling translucent blue goo on a towel.
Once my nails were done and drying, Lacey shouted, “Henry?”
Her brother’s head appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He banged into the room with a large wooden tray. It held a carafe of coffee with two mugs, one dainty china cup of tea, and a plate of slightly mangled cupcakes.
“Wow.” I really had to work at regaining my vocabulary, but from their smiles, my lack of eloquence hadn’t mattered.
Henry set the tray in front of me with a snap. “I decorated the cupcakes.”
“Well done. Very Picasso-esque.”
“Which means...?” His eyebrow arched in an adorable imitation of Grant.
“Abstract—although the message is clear to the discerning.”
“Exactly right.” He ran out.
We laughed while Kimberley took shots of the tray from all possible angles. After she was done, I—the birthday girl—served the feast.
The laughter faded. The room grew silent.
I opened my mouth to thank them again, but emotion rendered me mute. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes and waited for it to pass.
Two pairs of arms surrounded me. Supported me.
“This has to be a hard day for you,” Lacey murmured.
Kimberley laid her head on my shoulder. “We miss Sean, too,” she said, a catch in her voice.
“Thanks. You couldn’t have picked a better gift.” I straightened and whistled out a breath, pushing away the sadness. “Where’s the ice cream?”
Henry popped in the door with a carton of Moose Tracks. “Told ya she’d want ice cream.”
I arrived home mid-afternoon, surprised to find my mother’s car in the garage. As I walked in the door, I could see her moving about the kitchen.
“Hi, Sara,” she called out, in her I’m-busy-and-frazzled voice.
“Hi, Mom.” I stopped in the entrance. “What’re you doing?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Cooking.”
“Okay.” She had to be cooking for me. Right? I sniffed the air and...nothing identifiable, which didn’t matter becauseMom is cooking.It was guaranteed to be good. I smiled from sheer hope and continued up the back stairs.
I made a quick stop in my brother’s room—and no. I just couldn’t be in here today. Grant would have to handle the wish by himself.
