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“And you can’t ever write them down!” Sophie warned. “It’s top secret, and we need to make sure that even if someone sees the written recipe, they can’t re-create our special cake.”

Lucy giggled. “But why?”

“Absolutely no idea,” Sophie said with a laugh. “That’s how my mother taught it to me, and she said that’s how hers taught it to her. I taught my Claire the same way, but—” She broke off, face flashing with pain. She took a deep breath, touching Lucy’s cheek. “Now I’m teaching it to you, sweet girl.”

After meticulously baking the cake to perfection with the recipe amendments she had memorized all those years ago, Lucy set the cake to cool, going upstairs to get ready. She changed out of her pajamas into a comfortable T-shirt and cotton shorts before bouncing back downstairs. She put the treat into a disposable cake box, then slid on her sneakers.

She went outside, where the sky was a marbled gray. It would probably rain soon. Getting into her car, she drove to Charles’s place.

She parked in the driveway, finding it empty. Lucy wondered if Charles and Grayson had gone somewhere, but she walked up to the front door in case, ringing the doorbell.

Charles answered, so the car was probably in the garage. His blue eyes were puffy behind his glasses. He had a handkerchief in his hands, and his nose was red, but when he spotted the cake box in Lucy’s hands, he smiled, eyes growing wet.

“Oh, Lucy,” he said as she entered. She passed the box to him, and he inhaled a deep breath of the cinnamon-sugar topping, sighing. “Thank you for this. You know, even I don’t have the real recipe.”

“I hope it’s good,” Lucy said, squeezing his arm. They walked to the kitchen, and he set the cake down, popping the box open. The cake was still warm, steam rising from the top.

“It always is,” Charles said. “Makes me feel like she’s still here. Thank you, truly.” He turned, pulling her into a hug, and she held on tight. She missed Sophie, too.

Lucy waved her hand to get mugs out from the cupboard for tea, and a knife floated out of the drawer, cutting the cake into slices. She didn’t make the cake often, as if baking it too frequently would make it lose some of its specialness. But whenever she did, it was a treat they cherished.

As Lucy brewed the tea, she looked around, wondering why Grayson hadn’t come down yet. She brewed him a cup of tea as well, waiting.

Usually he was there the moment she arrived, but today, he was nowhere in sight. She hoped he wasn’t still in bed, too sad to get out.

When the tea was finished, Lucy brought the mugs to the table, where she sat down with Charles, the plates with the slices of cake floating behind her and landing softly on the table.

Lucy put Grayson’s mug in front of the seat beside her, watching as steam rose from the top. Finally, she asked, “Where’s Grayson?”

If he was still upstairs, she would go to him, comfort him however she could. Today would be hard for him, but she was glad he would be here with Charles, the two of them together in their grief.

“I don’t know,” Charles said, looking down. He frowned. “He wasn’t here when I woke up.”

Lucy was taken aback. “He’s not here?” she repeated. Charles shook his head, pressing his mouth together. Not wanting to upset Charles with further questions, she didn’t push the matter.

Instead, she forced a smile. “Is the glaze okay?” she asked, gesturing to his slice. Charles took a bite from the piece of cake, eyes warming.

“Delicious, as always. Perfectly moist,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. Lucy smiled.

Under the table, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She texted Grayson, asking where he was.

How could he leave Charles alone on a day like this? she wondered.

She thought back to Sophie’s funeral; Lucy had been seventeen. She remembered how heartbroken she’d been to lose such a bright, beautiful soul, and how even more heartbroken she’d been for Charles to have lost the great love of his life.

That day, Lucy had thought for sure that Charles’s only grand-son would visit. She had waited all day for him to arrive, watching as Charles waited too, growing stiller and quieter. Grayson never came.

Fear of history repeating spiked through Lucy, but she pushed it away.

Things were different now. Grayson wouldn’t be so careless, he just wouldn’t. Of course he would come.

But apparently nothing was different.

All day, she and Charles waited. She felt like she was back at Sophie’s funeral, heartbroken with loss and disappointed on top of that, waiting and waiting and waiting. She texted Grayson multiple times, but he didn’t respond.

It felt just like every single time she waited for her parents, wanting to tell them something, to share her life with them, and they didn’t notice, didn’t care. All those times that she had been let down, again and again and again.

It hurt too much and hurt twofold to see Charles go through the same pain.