Chapter 1 - The Cake Luke Made Himself
Three hours before Madeline kicked the cake away, Luke had been standing on a kitchen stool with chocolate frosting on his nose.
“Grandma likes flowers,” he announced.
He carefully pressed a yellow sugar flower into the center of the small cake we had baked for Madeline’s birthday.
The flower leaned sideways.
Luke studied it seriously.
“Maybe it needs a friend.”
He added a second flower, then a third, creating a crooked garden across the top.
I stood behind him with one hand near his waist so he would not fall.
“It looks beautiful,” I told him.
“Do you think Grandma will like it?”
The question hurt more than it should have.
Luke adored Madeline despite the fact that she had never made loving her easy.
She rarely hugged him. She corrected the way he spoke, criticized his clothes, and complained when he touched anything in her house. At Christmas, she had given expensive gifts to Victoria’s two daughters and handed Luke a coloring book from a grocery store.
He had still thanked her.
Children did not understand calculated cruelty. They kept offering love because they believed adults would eventually accept it.
“She’ll see how hard you worked,” I said.
Luke smiled and returned to his decorations.
Brandon entered the kitchen while fastening his watch. He stopped when he saw the cake.
“That’s impressive.”
“I made the flowers,” Luke said.
“I can tell. They look professional.”
Luke beamed.
Brandon smiled back, but something was wrong. His expression changed the moment Luke looked away.
He had been distant since returning from his mother’s house two evenings earlier. He checked his phone constantly and had barely slept.
I had asked him what was bothering him.
Each time, he said it was work.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing your worried face.”
“I don’t have a worried face.”
“You absolutely do.”
Normally, he would have laughed.
Instead, he glanced toward Luke and lowered his voice.
“Claire, there’s something we need to discuss after the party.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of something?”
“Not here.”
Before I could question him again, Luke turned around with frosting on both hands.
“Daddy, can you carry the cake in?”
Brandon looked at our son for several seconds.
Then he crossed the kitchen and lifted him from the stool.
“I’ll carry anything you need me to carry.”
Luke wrapped his arms around Brandon’s neck.
In that moment, no one looking at them could have doubted they were father and son.
They had the same blue eyes, the same serious expression when they concentrated, and the same small crease between their eyebrows when they were worried.
More importantly, Brandon had been there for every fever, every nightmare, and every ordinary morning since Luke was born.
He had taught Luke how to throw a ball and how to apologize when he hurt someone’s feelings. He knew which bedtime story Luke preferred and how to cut his sandwiches into triangles with the crust removed.
Whatever Brandon wanted to discuss, I could not imagine it involved our son.
I placed the cake inside a carrying box and gathered our coats.
On the way to Madeline’s house, Luke practiced what he planned to say.
“Happy birthday, Grandma. I made this because I love you.”
He repeated the sentence four times.
Each time, Brandon gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
When we reached the Reed home, Madeline opened the door before we could knock.
She ignored me and looked directly at Luke.
Then her eyes moved to the cake box in Brandon’s hands.
Her expression hardened.
“You brought that?” she asked.
Luke nodded eagerly.
“I made it for you.”
Madeline looked at Brandon.
A silent message passed between them.
I did not understand it then.
Later, I would realize she had already decided what she intended to do.
May you like
She was merely waiting for an audience.
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