“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.”
Still, my hands shook as I cleaned it.
Daniel watched.
He did not comfort me.
He did not correct me.
He stored it away.
He did not comfort me.
***
By late afternoon, Elaine clapped her hands.
“All right, everyone. Family picture before the kids turn into raisins.”
People groaned and gathered beneath the big oak tree at the far end of the patio.
It was tradition.
Same tree.
Same angle.
Every Fourth of July.
I had been in 15 of those pictures.
It was tradition.
At first, I stood beside Ryan with his arm around me.
Then with babies on my hip.
Then with toddlers pulling at my dress.
Then gradually, year by year, farther toward the edge.
Children knelt in front. Adults lined up behind them. Lucille stood beside Ryan, smiling like she had earned the spot.
At first, I stood beside Ryan with his arm around me.
Elaine pointed to the last empty chair near the center.
“Maggie, sweetheart, sit here.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No, someone else should have it.”
I stepped backward.
“No, someone else should have it.”
My heel bumped the cooler.
“Sorry, I don’t want to mess up the picture,” I added.
Daniel looked at me.
Then at the chair.
Something quiet settled over his face.
Daniel looked at me.
He reached for the chair and slid it toward me.
The metal legs scraped across the patio.
Everyone heard.
Elaine lowered the camera.
Daniel’s voice was gentle.
“Why is everyone else’s comfort automatically more important than yours?”
I stared at him.
Daniel’s voice was gentle.
There was no answer in me.
Only the terrible awareness that people were watching again.
Daniel didn’t look at Ryan.
He looked at me.
“Can I tell you something I’ve noticed today?” Daniel asked.
A hot, sharp sting anchored itself right at the base of my tongue.
I nodded.
There was no answer in me.
He spoke softly, but every person under that tree heard him.
“Every time something happened, you assumed it was your fault, Maggie.”
The yard went still.
“Traffic.”
A pause.
“Your kids being kids.”
