From the Desk of Zoe Washington(56)

Marcus was actually there, in my house, celebrating his birthday. I still couldn’t believe it. The process of appealing his guilty verdict took a lot longer than I expected—years instead of months. But once his lawyers at the Innocence Project finally got him a new trial, they made a strong case to prove his innocence. They explored new DNA evidence and named a new suspect—another man who had lived in Lucy’s building. In the end, Marcus’s conviction was overturned, and that other man ended up being found guilty of the crime. I cried so hard when I heard the judge name Marcus “not guilty.” We all did.

Not only did Marcus get justice, but Lucy’s family did, too.

Now, Marcus wore jeans and a green Celtics T-shirt, which was one of the gifts I gave him after he came out of prison. In it, he really looked like an older version of the Marcus from my first picture of him.

His parents—my grandparents—were also there. They’d flown up from Atlanta for the party. I first got to meet them during Marcus’s new trial, so it was nice to see them again.

“Let’s cut the cake!” Trevor said. “It is chocolate, right?”

“Sorry, Trevor,” I said.

“Aw, man,” he said.

Dad started cutting the cake and Mom helped him with the plates. Marcus took the first slice, and I took the second one, even though I was still full from all the food. I’d helped Marcus make macaroni and cheese, and he also made barbecued ribs that turned out really yummy. His mom helped my parents make a bunch of food, too. He was right—she was an amazing cook.

Still, there was always room for dessert. Especially when it was the cake I helped make at Ari’s Cakes. It was a two-tiered cake made with my cereal cupcake recipe. I’d done some more experimenting with cake flavors since then, but this recipe felt right for today, since it reminded me of the summer I first started writing to Marcus.

Marcus came up next to me. “Hey, Zoe, I want to give you your present now.”

“What? It’s your birthday!” I said. “And I still haven’t given you my gift.” I’d gotten him some cooking supplies—an apron embroidered with “Big Tomato,” my nickname for him, and a nice cast iron pan.

“I know, but there’s something I really wanted to get you,” Marcus said. “Come to the living room with me.”

I knew Marcus didn’t have a lot of money yet. He was working two part-time jobs—one in the office of a legal nonprofit organization in Boston, and he also started assisting Vincent at Ari’s Cakes. After hearing about his cooking experience while in prison, Ariana took a chance on Marcus and gave him a job. It was Mom who’d suggested it, since she knew Ariana was looking to hire more staff.

Grandma said Marcus was lucky. A lot of men who got out of prison—whether they were truly guilty or not—had trouble finding jobs. Marcus was saving up to be able to rent his own apartment. He was staying in Grandma’s guest room in the meantime.

I’d get to work alongside Marcus at the bakery the next summer—this time, as a real employee, since I’d finally be old enough. I never got to audition for Kids Bake Challenge! The Food Network ended up canceling the show. But I was still going to be a professional baker with several cookbooks one day. It would happen no matter what.

In the living room, there was a large rectangular box covered in purple wrapping paper on the coffee table. We both sat down on the couch, but Marcus couldn’t sit still, clearly excited for me to see whatever was inside. “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

I started ripping the wrapping paper off.

“You got me a record player?” I said. “This is so cool.”

Marcus grinned at me. “Let’s plug it in.”

“I don’t have any records,” I said.

“I thought of that.” He pulled a gift bag from behind the couch. “I got you a few to start you off.”

“Oh my gosh!” I flipped through the records, and they were artists from my Little Tomato playlist: Lauryn Hill, Boyz II Men, and Stevie Wonder. “Thank you! How did you get all of these?”

“I worked some extra shifts at the bakery,” Marcus said. “There’s one song I really want to play for you.” He unwrapped the Stevie Wonder album, which was called Hotter Than July. He got up, found a plug for the record player, and turned it on.

“The one thing about records,” Marcus said, “is that you can’t skip songs too easily. The one I want you to hear is the last track, so I have to guess where to put the needle.”

I watched as he carefully positioned the record on the turntable and gently placed the needle on it. The record started spinning and Stevie Wonder’s voice filled the room.

Marcus smiled. “Now, doesn’t he sound especially good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He has such a great voice.”

The current song ended and a new one started.

“Okay, this is the one I wanted you to hear,” Marcus said. “Dance with me.”

“Right here?” I asked.

“Yeah, right here. C’mon.” Marcus grabbed my hands and we started dancing to the upbeat music.

And then the chorus started. “Happy birthday to ya. Happy birthday to ya. Happy birthday!” Stevie sang.

“Oh!” I said.

“This is the best version of the happy birthday song, hands down,” Marcus said. “It’s got flavor.” He spun me around and around, and I laughed.