Constance drops her hand. “I can’t eat it then. Cold meats and fish aren’t good for the baby.”
Marlowe doesn’t flinch at the suggestion Constance won’t eat what she’s prepared. She says, “I’m heading upstairs to slip into my costume.”
I watch as she ascends the staircase, my gaze falling to the sideboard positioned closest to the banister. Earlier in the day, its surface was empty except for the flower bouquet from my father, but it’s now covered with cards and wrapped presents.
“Gifts aren’t necessary,” I say, walking to the display.
“It’s a party,” Constance says. She walks past me, putting her own card on the table. “Of course they are.”
My eyes scan the present table, noticing one card is prominently posed, its flap unsealed. My curiosity piqued, I pick up the envelope.
I slip out the thick cardstock rectangle inside, admiring the watercolor vista on the front. At first glance, I think it’s a sketch of a nameless city skyline. Upon closer inspection, I see it’s a portrait of downtown Boston. I open the card to see who it’s from.
Happy birthday, Tippi. Don’t have too much fun withoutme.
Love, Oliver.
My hands tremble. This can’t be right.
Why is a card from Oliver at Marmee’s house?
8
The rhythmic pounding ofmy heartbeat fills my ears. My mouth is suddenly dry, my tongue like sandpaper when I try to speak.
How did a card from Oliver end up here? At Marmee’s house. A place where I’m only supposed to be surrounded by my closest friends.
It doesn’t make sense.
“Everything okay?” Preston asks.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Constance adds, walking up behind him.
“It’s nothing,” I say, sliding the card into the wide pocket of my costume’s jacket before either of them sees. “Just getting hungry.”
I pull for a reasonable explanation. He might have sent the card weeks ago. Or maybe he left it during one of his many visits to the property, wanting to surprise me for my birthday. Those are practical excuses. Mrs. Wilson could have seen my name on the envelope and assumed it belonged with the pile of presents.
Except there’s no postmark. The flap isn’t even sealed. Earlier in the night, all that was on the sideboard were the flowers from my father.The card couldn’t have landed where it did without someone placing it by hand.
“Ava’s parties are always over the top, but it’s just us.” Constance wraps an arm around me, skewing the bird on my shoulder. “Try to relax and have fun.”
I realize how strange I must look, suddenly fidgeting over nothing. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to appear at ease. “I’m just a little nervous about having the party here,” I say. “You know, Marmee is upstairs resting.”
“I’d hoped she’d be joining us?” Preston says.
“She goes to sleep earlier and earlier these days, I’m afraid,” I say. “Although she did say she’d like to join us for breakfast in the morning.”
“That would be great.” Constance looks at her stomach. “She’ll probably get a kick out of seeing me like this.”
Mrs. Wilson exits the kitchen, wearing the same light blue and khaki ensemble she normally wears. “Could I request some help in the kitchen?” she asks, her hands placed gently in front of her.
“Sure,” I say, taking a step forward.
Preston holds out an arm, stopping me. “Please. Let me. You’re the birthday girl.”
He follows Mrs. Wilson into the kitchen, leaving Constance and me alone in the foyer. She wanders over to the bar inside the parlor. Ava purchased an array of ingredients to make nonalcoholic cocktails so Constance wouldn’t feel left out, not that she was a big drinker before getting pregnant. She prefers cannabis and stringent herbal tea.
“I feel guilty for not reaching out sooner,” she says, her voice low. “How are things?”
