“Here,” I said, brushing by Pops and addressing the caregiver. “Let me grab that while I’m here. I’ll take it out.”
She smiled at me in thanks and handed it over, still open.
Delly relayed her weekend plans to Pops while I went to tie off the bag, my gaze snagging on something on top.
A Styrofoam takeout container with a drawing on top.
I carried the bag to the corner of the room to hide what I was about to do, but something about the drawing—balloons and dance shoes—rang like a warning bell.
The box was a bit worse for wear, and my thumb dipped into the gaping side of the container accidentally when I took it out.
Lordy, please don’t be mustard.
The lid opened with a sad littlepop, and my eyes widened. A single piece of cake laid on its side with a lone candle hanging on for dear life in the icing. But it was the words scrawled in marker on the upper lid that demanded my attention:
Happy Birthday, Ireland Hope Sewell
Dancing through life since May 7
After that, there were several marked out years, with holes poked through the lid in some spots where Beck had presumably gotten agitated and forced the marker’s tip through.
Ohno.
The information processed as I whipped out my phone to double-checked the date.
Today was May 10.
Which meant Ireland’s birthday had been three days ago. The day we’d all been in the cafeteria together—the day we’d moved into the house.
And when Beck had flipped out, saying he was missing a birthday party….
He’d meantIreland’sbirthday party.
He really had missed it. And her birthday, it seemed.
We’d all missed it.
And her cake was in the trash.
“Baby, you’re not making any sense. Please start over from the beginning for me.”
I was going to murder my best friend for making me say it all again.
Putting that cake back in the trash had haunted me all throughout our breakfast with Pops. I’d debated with myself fiercely about what to do with it, and in the end, I’d taken a photo of it before putting it back in the trash. Then Pops had lost his train of thought enough times forDelly to notice and give me a worried look, which compounded the dread cooking inside me.
“Cole, you’re not listening. And don’t call me baby. What would Gary think?”
He scoffed. “I don’t care what he thinks. He irons his socks. Heironsin general. I cannot with him.”
“Uh-huh.”
This was just one complaint on a long list lodged against his new roommate. He’d been texting me Gary’s offenses regularly the past few days, and I wasn’t sure any of them were valid, honestly.
“So,” Cole started, “you’re living at an old folk’s home with your sister and a mysterious woman whom you flashed your bikini areas to barely a day after learning her name. And then you found out that it was her birthday days after it happened and want to know if you should get her something?”
I yanked at my hair, wishing I could pace my room more effectively than with the stupid hobble I was currently doing.
“I want to say that you have it all wrong, but essentially, that’s what has happened.”
