She kissed the top of his head as she passed.
“I’ll be right back.”
Her footsteps disappeared upstairs.
Graham waited until we heard her bedroom door open.
Then he placed his fork down.
The warmth disappeared from his face.
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice.
“I did my part of the deal. Now it’s your turn.”
I froze.
“What deal?”
He gave a quick, nervous chuckle.
“Mercy, please. Don’t tell me Henry didn’t explain any of this to you.”
My hands went cold against the edge of the table.
“What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Graham stared at me.
And one horrifying explanation arrived before I could stop it.
Henry.
Had he done something?
Paid Graham?
Made some arrangement?
My chair scraped backward.
“If somebody offered you money to date my daughter…”
Any trace of humor vanished from Graham’s face.
“What?”
“If Henry promised you something…”
“Mercy, no.”
I stood.
“Then what deal are you talking about?”
Graham rubbed one hand over his face.
“Oh God. That’s what you thought?”
“Tell me what I’m supposed to think.”
He glanced toward the hallway.
“Not here.”
“You don’t get to say something like that in my house and then tell me ‘not here.’”
“I’m not talking about my relationship with Mari.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Graham stood.
“Come with me.”
I didn’t move.
He pointed toward the kitchen.
“Please.”
“Why?”
“Because if I explain it here, you’re going to think I’m insane.”
“I passed that point about 30 seconds ago.”
Graham walked toward the back door.
I followed him.
Outside, the backyard was nearly dark.
Only the porch light and a small garden lamp near Henry’s shed were glowing.
Graham walked toward the far end of the yard.
“What exactly did you do?” I demanded.
He kept walking.
“Graham.”
“You’ll see.”
“What exactly did you do?”
“I am not enjoying those words.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.”
Then I noticed someone standing beside the shed.
A man.
For one second, I couldn’t make out his face.
Then he stepped beneath the garden light.
I screamed.
“HENRY?”
My husband lifted both hands.
“Hi.”
I stared at him.
“You are supposed to be four hours away!”
“I was this morning. I drove back early.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Henry glanced at the covered shape beside the shed.
“That would’ve ruined this.”
Graham muttered, “I’m going inside.”
“No, you’re not.”
He stopped.
Henry looked almost guilty.
That frightened me more than anything.
“What did you two do?”
Henry glanced toward Graham.
Graham nodded toward something large beside the shed.
It was covered with an old moving blanket.
“What is that?” I demanded.
Henry took a slow step toward me.
“Mercy, before you get angry…”
“I am already angry.”
“Fair.”
“Did you make some kind of deal with Graham?”
Henry winced.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
Behind us, the back door opened.
Marissa’s voice floated across the yard.
“Mom?”
All three of us froze.
She hadn’t seen us yet.
“Mari, stay inside!” I called.
“Why?”
Graham whispered, “That sounded suspicious.”
Marissa stepped onto the porch holding a cheesecake.
“What are you doing out there?”
Henry quickly grabbed the edge of the moving blanket.
“We’re out of time.”
“Mari, stay inside!”
He pulled.
The blanket slid onto the grass.
Underneath was an old wooden vanity.
Cream paint.
Three little drawers.
A round mirror with a tiny chip near the top.
One scratch along the left corner where a nine-year-old Marissa had once caught it with a metal bracelet.
I knew that vanity.
I had bought it for my daughter when she was six.
She used to sit in front of it, singing into a hairbrush and covering herself in glitter she called makeup.
She’d make ridiculous faces at herself until we both laughed.
And then, years later, she had carried the mirror into the garage and told Henry:
“I don’t want something in my room whose whole job is looking at me.”
I had thought we’d thrown it away.
What I didn’t know was that Henry had spent the last few weeks restoring it.
Even the chipped edge of the mirror had been carefully stabilized.
Marissa finally reached the yard.
Then she saw Henry.
“Henry?”
He turned.
Her eyes shifted toward the vanity.
The cheesecake tilted dangerously in her hands.
Marissa walked closer.
“No.”
Henry didn’t move.
She set the cake down on the patio table.
Then she reached for the small top drawer.
Her fingers rested on the old brass handle.
I looked from Graham to Henry.
“You still haven’t told me what the deal was.”
Henry glanced at our daughter.
Then back at me.
