The party tried to continue.
Music played again. Kids raced toward the diving board. Someone asked if the burgers were done. Plates were passed. Lemonade spilled. Elaine’s sister complained about mosquitoes.
But the day had changed shape.
“It was a joke.”
Ryan kept watching Daniel.
At first, I thought he was waiting for Daniel to slip.
To prove he was fake.
Daniel didn’t give him anything.
He helped my daughter open a juice box. He asked my sons about baseball and listened like their answers mattered. He complimented Elaine’s garden. When an older aunt dropped her napkin, he picked it up before she bent for it.
He never overdid anything.
That made him believable.
Ryan kept watching Daniel.
Lucille noticed Ryan watching.
At first, she leaned against him harder. She laughed too brightly. She touched his arm whenever Daniel spoke to me.
Then her laughter thinned.
I noticed because I was trying not to notice Ryan.
Trying not to notice the way my own hands kept returning to my waist.
Lucille noticed Ryan watching.
Smooth the dress.
Pull the fabric.
Cross my arms.
Step aside.
Stay useful.
I carried paper plates from the kitchen.
“Sorry, excuse me.”
I carried paper plates from the kitchen.
I wiped lemonade off the patio table.
“Sorry, let me get that.”
When my daughter dripped ketchup near Daniel’s shoe, I grabbed a napkin.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel looked at the red spot on the stone, not his shoe.
“It’s ketchup, Maggie.”
I laughed faintly.
“It’s ketchup, Maggie.”
