Dana stared at me.
“Rachel, maybe we should—”
“Everyone’s waiting.”
I walked past both of them.
Outside, thirty-something adults and a dozen children were gathering around the patio table.
Someone turned down the music.
Mark’s mother was arranging her grandchildren for pictures.
His father had already started recording on his phone.
Tyler climbed into his chair.
“Cake!”
People laughed.
I carried the cake from the kitchen.
Four.
Zero.
Two candles.
Forty years.
Twelve of them spent married to me.
God only knew how many spent lying.
Everyone started singing.
Happy birthday to you.
I watched Mark.
He barely looked at the candles.
His eyes kept finding mine.
Then Dana’s.
Then mine again.
When the song ended, people cheered.
Mark blew out the candles.
Someone shouted, “Speech!”
Mark shook his head.
“No speeches. Please.”
Normally, I would have teased him.
Instead, I picked up a champagne glass and tapped it gently with a fork.
The yard quieted.
Mark froze.
“I’ll make one,” I said.
His mother smiled.
Dana didn’t.
I looked around at the people standing in my backyard.
People who had watched Mark and me get married.
People who came to Tyler’s first birthday.
People who knew Dana as almost another member of the Bennett family.
“For twelve years,” I began, “I thought I knew my husband pretty well.”
Mark swallowed.
“I know he hates mushrooms. I know he pretends not to like romantic movies but cried during one on our third date. I know he leaves coffee cups everywhere except the dishwasher.”
A few people laughed.
I continued.
“I know he snores after two beers. I know he checks the front door twice before bed. And I know exactly what the little scar above his right eyebrow looks like.”
Nobody laughed this time.
Mark’s face drained of color.
Dana took one step backward.
I turned toward her.
“Apparently, Dana knows that scar pretty well too.”
Silence.
Mark’s sister frowned.
