The Lies I Told(10)

“So you won’t be in a rush to get to bed early?” he asked softly.

Warmth spread over my face. We’d been lovers for six weeks now and were still in the can’t-keep-hands-off-each-other phase. I shifted in my seat, already anxious to cut the cake and leave. “No. No rush at all.”

“Good.”

The flicker of candles on a chocolate cake on a cart appeared in the doorway. Four waiters had gathered, and they began to sing “Happy Birthday.” At first Marisa didn’t look up, seemed almost mutinous. But as the others at the table started to sing and clap, she found a smile and watched as the waiter set down the round cake with thirty-one candles. (The extra was for luck.) As the song wound down, Marisa drew in a breath, closed her eyes, and blew on the flames, which she extinguished immediately.

Over the smoking candles of the cake, Marisa met my gaze. “Thanks, Brit. This was really nice.”

“It’s chocolate cake. Your favorite.” I knew for a fact that I’d gotten the cake flavor right. I’d always baked two cakes on Clare and Marisa’s birthday. Red velvet for Clare and chocolate for Marisa.

“I never could resist it.”

The waiter carried the cake to a side table, where he set the slippers aside and sliced it into generous portions.

“I wanted tonight to be all about your favorites,” I said. I might have gotten the barbecue wrong, but Marisa had eaten a generous portion, so it wasn’t exactly a miss.

“You spoil me,” Marisa said. “Clare would’ve been thrilled by all this.”

The smiles dimmed at the mention of Clare’s name. Jo-Jo of course had brought her up, but I wished Marisa could have waited until it was just the two of us. Clare needed to be remembered, but there were times when I wanted to forget the damage our sister’s death had caused. It wasn’t selfish to want a few hours of normal, was it?

Marisa raised her glass. “Here’s to Clare.”

Kurt cleared his throat as he lifted his beer bottle. “Does anyone remember her laugh? No matter where I was, when I heard that laugh, I always smiled.”

Jo-Jo gulped her wine. “And who else could talk her way out of a speeding ticket or ace the SATs? We all loved her.”

I moistened my lips as the waiter placed a plate in front of each guest.

Marisa nodded, dropped her gaze. She jabbed her fork into the cake. “Thanks again, Brit.”

My counselor had warned me that Marisa might experience moments that could trigger her drinking again. I had considered ignoring this day altogether but then decided to take the bull by the horns. Clare was dead. And Marisa and I had to deal with that fact every day for the rest of our lives. End of story. I didn’t need to drink or to do drugs to dull that reality. But then I was the practical one. The one people called when they needed help or money. For a good time, the calls had always been for Marisa and Clare.

A collection of clown balloons appeared in the doorway. Everyone turned, and nervous laughter rippled over the room. The balloons lowered, revealing Jack’s grinning face. He still was a good-looking man; in fact, thirteen years had added just the right amount of crow’s-feet around his eyes and toughened his frame. The tattoos on his arms enhanced his bad-boy mystique, which even now was attractive.

Jack released the balloons into the room, barely noticing how they’d floated to the ceiling as he leaned down and kissed Marisa on the cheek. “Happy birthday, kid.”

“I thought you were working,” Marisa said.

“I am. Will be again soon but had to stop by.” His hand lingered on Marisa’s shoulder as he kissed Jo-Jo on the lips, shook Kurt’s hand, and then glanced up to me. His grin reminded me of a host welcoming a patron walking into his restaurant. Nothing special. Very vanilla. Seemed it should have been more.

We’d dated in high school, but that had been a long time ago, and we’d both clearly moved on. Still, I wanted him to remember I’d been there for him like few would have. My steadfast loyalty had, in the end, been the ruin of us. I knew all his early secrets, and he’d finally admitted every time he looked at me, he remembered what he’d done wrong. His fuckups had become my fault. And still to this day, when he screwed up, he came to me for legal advice.

“Hey, Jack,” I said brightly. “Thanks for getting this room for us.”

“Only the best for the Stockton girls,” he said.

Jack met David’s gaze, held and studied it. His jaw pulsed. “I’m Jack. I own this place and another across town.”

“David Welbourne. Brit’s other half. Great place you got here.”

“You two dating?” Jack asked.

“We are,” I said, hoping it made him a tiny bit jealous.

“Congratulations.” Jack laid his hands on Marisa’s shoulders. “You guys need anything? What can I get for you?”

“We’re all set,” I said brightly. “Why don’t you join us for cake? There’s a hat waiting here for you.”

His laugh was easy, quick, and slightly menacing, meaning if I pressed, it wouldn’t end politely. “I wish I could. Jo-Jo, save some cake for me.”

She smiled, her cheeks warming a little. “Sure.”

“As always, great job, Brit.”

He kissed his wife one last time, squeezed Marisa’s shoulders, and stepped back. “I’ve work out front but just wanted to duck my head in. Sorry I can’t stay. Enjoy the balloons, M.”