by Grace Palmer
“Brent texted her after Holly and Pete got here. To gloat, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, a tinge of fondness in her expression.
“What did she say?”
Sara shrugged. “Probably nothing. I’d ignore Brent, too.”
Brent was across the lawn rolling on the grass with Susanna. Mae skirted around the edge of the tables, avoiding the squeals and flying marshmallows. Her son playing father was still new for Mae, but she couldn’t be prouder of the job he was doing.
Right now, though, Mae had something else on her mind.
“Brent, dear,” she said, “hate to intrude, but did you ever hear back from Eliza?”
“Watch out, Gramma!” Susanna cried.
Mae ducked as a marshmallow went streaking past her ear.
Her youngest son rolled onto his back, chest heaving from exertion. “I don’t think so.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket to double-check and shook his head. “Nope. No word yet.”
“Have you tried Oliver?”
Susanna, sensing that the time for marshmallow warfare was over, curled up against Brent’s side with her head on his chest. They made a cute pair. Another photo-worthy moment for the Inn’s social media pages.
Another moment Eliza was missing.
“Maybe I’ll text Oliver,” Mae mused.
Brent lifted his head for a moment. “I’ll do it. You have fun. It’s your party.”
Everyone kept saying that. As though Mae’s birthday precluded her from all of her usual activities. As though she was supposed to flip some party switch in her mind and turn off all of her busybody tendencies and her worrying.
Impossible, of course. In Mae’s experience, a mother never took a break from worrying about her kids.
“I didn’t ask how the kids were doing, Mae. I asked how you were doing,” her friend, Lola, would always say on their weekend walks along the beach.
Truthfully, Mae didn’t know how to separate herself from her children. How to focus on herself and her own happiness without it being intricately tangled up with the happiness of her little Benson brood.
But maybe the night of her sixty-fourth birthday was the evening to try. Even hummingbirds have to land sometimes, right?
“No, it’s okay,” Mae said, waving Brent away. “You’ve texted them once. That’s enough.”
“Twice,” Brent corrected, swallowing Susanna’s hands in his grip to keep her from poking him. “And a phone call.”
Mae’s stomach turned, but she ignored it. “Right. Of course. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
As soon as she walked back towards the tables, Dominic was waiting, his sights set on Mae.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Sara is asking if we can cut the cake now.”
Sara was waving nonchalantly from the cake table, but her smile looked more like a wince than anything else. Mr. Zombie must be in bad shape.
Before Mae could answer there was a shriek of excitement behind her. “Cake!”
Alice was still sitting at the table in front of her untouched plate of fried tilapia sticks and potato salad. Holly sat across from her, looking defeated.
“I think we have to wait on cake until everyone has eaten dinner, darling,” Mae said.
Holly lifted an arm and waved it in the air like a white flag of surrender. “I concede. It’s fine. Cake time!”
So much for the battle of wills, it seemed.
“And presents!” Grady added, jumping up and wagging his brows at the gift table.
“Cake first, then presents.” Pete ruffled his son’s hair.
The news of cake spread fast. Soon, everyone was gathered around the table. Sara stood behind it at the ready, large cutting knife in hand.
Mae couldn’t ask them to wait on Eliza now. Not when Alice and Susanna were bouncing on their toes with excitement. Not when Grady’s troublesome zombie was clinging to the precipice of the third cake layer by one crumbling fondant finger.
“Are we ready?” Sara asked, making special eyes at Grady.
Joey sauntered up to the back of the gathering next to Brent. “Is there a fruit tray around here?”
“At a birthday party?” Brent snorted.
“Just, like, with filming coming up,” Joey mumbled, “I’m not sure about eating cake.”
Sara glanced his way for a second, her smile faltering. Then she rebounded and bulldozed right over the fruit tray objection. “Here we go!”
Slowly, she removed the lock from the cake stand and began spinning the cake around. As soon as the blood icing dripping down the frosting came into view, Grady roared with pure delight.
“A zombie cake!”
The little girls screamed in terror, but they still wore smiles as they scrambled away from the cake and to their parents.
“You didn’t think I’d make you a boring old green cake for your birthday, did you?” Sara taunted.
“Maybe,” Grady laughed. “But this is so much cooler!”
“And bloodier,” Pete remarked under his breath.
Grady nodded enthusiastically. “You’re the best, Aunt Sara!”
Seventy-four balloons had been festive party décor, but seventy-four candles seemed like a fire hazard. So they opted for two sets of candles.
After they sang, Grady went first, scrunching up his eyes like making a wish required maximum concentration before blowing out his ten candles.
Then it was Mae’s turn.
She only got one candle, but it was rather special. As soon as Sara lit it, sparks began shooting out of the top, spraying into the air like a thousand tiny stars. The light danced across the smiling faces of her whole gathered family.
Well, almost whole.
“Make a wish, Mom!” Brent shouted.
“No wishing for more wishes,” Sara warned seriously.
“And make it for yourself,” Dominic added with a stern finger point.
Mae smiled. Silently, she wished Eliza and her family would arrive soon.
Then she blew out the candle.
13
Brent
Sara cut the cake slices while Holly plated them. In stark defiance of birthday protocol, Susanna and Alice ran back to the tables with the first two slices of chocolate cake.
Brent would have said something to Susanna about waiting her turn, but he’d learned fast that it was best to choose his battles with the kiddo. And she had already taken two messy, frosting-filled bites.
Grady didn’t mind, anyway. Sara gave him a slice topped with the zombie and puddles of red icing. Brent had never seen a kid’s eyes go wider with pure glee.
“This is grotesque,” Holly said, wrinkling her nose at some red icing on her fingers. “Impressively done, but grotesque.”
“Come on, Holls, it’s cool,” Brent said. “You used to watch zombie movies back in the day.”
“I was a teenager,” she argued, voice a low whisper. “Not ten.”
“Kids are maturing faster these days. You can thank the internet.”
“Don’t remind me,” Holly groaned. Then she levelled a plastic fork at Sara and Brent like it was a knife. “And do not encourage this.”
“Encourage what?” Sara asked innocently, swiping the bloody icing from her plate and smearing it on her tongue.
“I swear,” Holly warned, “if either if you show Grady a zombie movie, I’ll… I’ll tell your children every bad thing either of you ever did.”
“I don’t have children,” Sara reminded her. “And even if I did, I’m as pure as the driven snow. No secrets to be told.”
“Bah! Future children, then. I’m fine playing the long game.”
For his part, Brent just shrugged. “I’m pretty sure everyone in this town knows my secrets. All they had to do was read the crime blotter in the newspaper.”
Sara dropped another slice of red velvet cake on the plate Holly was holding, but when Brent reached for it, Holly yanked it back. “Fine. Then I’ll toilet paper your house in vengeance.”<
br />
Brent barked out a laugh. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” Holly narrowed her eyes. “If he has nightmares, I’m the one he wakes up in the middle of the night. As soon as I get him back to bed, I’ll be heading to your house with my toilet paper rolls and a thirst for justice.”
Brent shuddered. “You’ve got a twisted mind for torture. Fine, fine. No zombie movies. Scout’s honor.”
Sara scoffed. “Since when were you a Boy Scout?”
“Close enough. I had Dad. He taught me all the same stuff, no uniform required.”
That seemed to be good enough for Holly. She finally relinquished Brent’s slice of cake.
Teasing aside, Brent liked being with his siblings. It was easy to talk about Dad with them. To bring him up casually without bringing down the mood of a conversation or getting pitying looks and sympathetic eyes thrown his way.
Sometimes, he just wanted to remember his father without it turning into A Big Thing. They understood that.
Though, today, being with his sisters—minus Eliza; wonder where she’s at?—came with a sting in the tail.
What if there was one more Benson sibling at the party?
The name on the mobile appeared in Brent’s mind as though he was holding it in his hands, staring down at the letters his dad had carved out by hand.
Christopher.
An older brother, based on the name and the date carved on the back. He’d be the oldest of all the Benson’s.
Brent could’ve had an older brother to teach him how to skip rocks, how to arm wrestle, how to talk to girls—or, failing that, to laugh at him when he flubbed it up. He would have welcomed either. Anything would’ve been better than his mom pinching his cheeks and assuring him he was the “most handsome boy” after Maria Carver turned him down for eighth grade formal. A brotherly noogie would have been far more preferable.
But he didn’t know what that was like. He couldn’t know. He’d never know.
And the not knowing was driving Brent bonkers.
Maybe a few years earlier, he would have wrapped the thing back up in the trash bag and hid it away again, forgotten about it entirely.
But now, after everything he’d been through, he needed to know the truth.
He needed closure.
“The Scouts were not a waste of time,” Pete said, joining in the conversation. “I was an Eagle Scout, and I learned some incredible life skills.”
Holly smirked and nudged her husband with her hip. “Like how to slip the switch for the electric fireplace at home?”
“You make fun now, but wait until the apocalypse comes.”
“The zombie apocalypse?” Sara fake-gasped.
Pete shook his head, only half as amused as everyone else. “Mock all you like. The grid will go down, and I’ll show you all.”
Brent was only halfway through his slice when Grady finished devouring his helping—zombie and all—and tossed his plate in the trash can by the table. “Can we do presents now?”
“Everyone else is still eating their cake, buddy,” Holly soothed. “Why don’t we wait a little longer?”
His shoulders slouched in disappointment as he walked off.
“The excitement over the zombie cake faded pretty quickly,” Sara said, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“That’s the trouble with edible art. It doesn’t last as long.”
“Or at least, not as long as all the toys everyone bought him that’ll be broken within the next week,” Pete added.
They were all laughing when Mom’s voice cut through the party noise. “Brent, have you heard from Eliza?”
At that moment, the bugs hiding in the trees roared to life, drowning out even the sounds of Elvis crooning from the upstairs window.
Instead of responding, Brent shook his head.
Mom frowned, and then Susanna tugged on her grandma’s arm, pointing to the balloon that was coming untied from around her wrist.
The adults had spent the last ten minutes tying half a dozen party balloons to each of the little girls. Rather than finishing their cake, they’d been dancing around the tables, watching the balloons bounce and trail behind them with glee.
“Stop playing and eat faster!” Grady urged his sister, growing impatient. “So we can open presents.”
“None of the presents are for me,” Alice fired back, dropping down into her seat and taking the smallest possible bite of her cake in defiance. Her eyes were locked on her brother’s the entire time. Grady glared daggers right back.
“Maybe we should call her one more time,” Mom suggested. “I don’t want to open gifts until all of my kids are here.”
All of my kids…
Brent shuddered.
“Sure, Mom,” he mumbled. “Can do.”
For the third time, he called his sister. And for the third time, she didn’t answer.
It wasn’t like Eliza to go MIA, but Brent wasn’t worried. He did want to talk to her, though. She was the oldest, wasn’t she? Maybe she knew something. Maybe she’d heard something, seen something, cajoled the truth out of Mom or Dad at some point and then been sworn to secrecy.
He wished he could let it go. Just untie this particular thought balloon from his wrist and let it float up in the night sky.
But it bobbed and tugged at him. Refused to be set aside.
A familiar hand gripped his shoulder gently. “Did she answer?”
Brent shook his head and spun around to face Rose. “Not yet.”
“Are you worried?” she asked.
“Not really.”
Rose frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She dragged her hand down his arm. “You just seem… distracted. Like something is bothering you. I noticed it at home, too.”
Sara wasn’t wrong—Rose was perceptive. She paid closer attention to his moods than even he did.
“You don’t miss a thing.”
She smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m a mom. It’s my job.”
“Is that so?”
She hummed confidently. “Yep. For instance, I know Susanna is eating the extra frosting I scraped off my cake right now.”
Sara just happened to be walking by and stopped cold, turning to Rose. “You scrape off the frosting?”
“Nothing personal,” Rose assured her. “I’m not much of a dessert person.”
Sara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Noted.” Then she walked away with her double portion of red velvet cake.
Brent and Rose laughed quietly together at how strange his family could be. After a moment, though, the laughter faded. Her expression turned serious and she squeezed his waist. “But really, are you okay?”
“I am,” he assured her. Because it was true. True enough, at least. “I just need to talk to my mom. Maybe my sisters first.”
Rose poked a finger into his stomach, making him flinch, and then winked. “Okay. You’ll tell me later?”
He bent down and kissed her nose, grateful to her for understanding what he didn’t even have the words to say. “Later. I promise.”
He told Rose everything, and he always would.
But this still felt like his mom’s secret. Like something he didn’t have the right to share.
As everyone finished eating their cake, Mom did her best to distract the grandkids with the scavenger hunt. Ten minutes later, they emerged from the trees with arms full of candy and soda, taking turns trading long, pirate-y “Arggghhs!”
Then, the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the sky entered the final slate blue phase before going black. The period when lightning bugs came out to play.
All of the kids, even Grady, ran around the lawn trying to catch them in their hands, breathless and giggling as they made dizzy circles in the grass and tried to catch a little bit of starlight.
Grady’s attention wavered first. He staggered over groaning to his mom. “The moon is out. It’s almost Alice’s bed time. When are we going to open gift
s?”
Pete knelt down next to his son. “Bud, I know it’s your birthday, but the day is about more than gifts. It’s about being together with your family.”
“And I’ve been with my family forever. I want to open gifts now.”
Brent couldn’t help laughing. When Holly shot a warning look at him, he held up his hands in apology. What could he say? The kid had a point.
Eliza and Oliver were excessively late.
Alice had been yawning for the last thirty minutes and Susanna’s frosting-induced sugar high wasn’t going to keep her afloat much longer.
“Mom,” Brent called, laying an arm over his mom’s shoulders. “I think we’ve got to call it. Eliza isn’t gonna make it. We should open gifts.”
Mae chewed on her lip for a moment and then relented. “You’re right. I’m sure she’s fine, right?”
“Sure,” Brent agreed. “Just busy. I’ll tell her we waited as long as we could.”
Mae nodded and clapped her hands, though she didn’t look overly pleased about it. “Gift time!”
Grady sprinted away from his dad’s sage advice and straight towards the gift table. The little girls trailed after him.
“Can I hand out gifts?” Susanna asked, raising her hand like she was in school.
Rose smiled and rushed to help her. “Sure. Here. This one is for—”
“Grady, duh,” Susanna finished. Her eyebrows were raised as though it was more than obvious. “It has dinosaurs.”
Everyone laughed, and within a few minutes, the gifts had been distributed.
“Well, Grady,” Holly said, “you’ve waited long enough. Go for it!”
The kid had made one solitary rip in the wrapping of the first box when Brent’s phone rang. He pulled it out, and Eliza’s name flashed on the screen.
“Oh, hold on!” he called, holding up his phone. “Eliza has phoned in to explain herself.”
Grady groaned, but everyone else was riveted. It wasn’t every day Eliza screwed something up.
“Hey, sis. Long time, no hear. You’re missing a great party,” Brent said, conscious of everyone’s eyes on him. There was a long pause, and he frowned. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Eliza said, her voice soft. “Sorry, hi. Sorry I missed your calls. My phone was dead.”
