Art should have known better.
He should have known the moment Vivian said the words proper birthday party that his life was about to become considerably more complicated. But he'd been distracted. He'd been sitting at a table with his daughter. He'd been happy. That had apparently lowered his defenses.
By Saturday morning, the birthday committee had already met. Unfortunately, Art had not been invited.
At nine fifteen, Vivian sat at the kitchen table with a notebook. Martie sat across from her with a pencil. Lou sat on the floor. Emily stood in the doorway holding a cup of coffee. “What are you doing?”
Vivian looked up. “Planning your father's birthday.”
Emily glanced at Martie. Then at Lou. Then back at Vivian. “How dangerous is this?”
Martie answered without looking up. “Very.” Lou raised her hand. “I have ideas.” “No,” Martie said.
“You haven't heard them.”
“I don't need to.”
Emily laughed. “What kind of party does Dad like?”
The room went silent. Vivian looked at Martie. Martie looked at Lou. Lou looked at the ceiling. Finally, Vivian said, “Well...”
Emily smiled. “You don't know.”
“We know what he doesn't like,” Martie said.
“What?”
“Attention.”
Vivian nodded. “Being fussed over.”
Lou nodded. “Being surprised.”
Martie nodded. "Being told what to do.”
All three sisters looked at one another. Emily slowly smiled. “So you're planning the exact opposite.”
Vivian smiled. “Exactly.”
Across the street, Art was sitting on his porch with Hank. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. The morning was peaceful. Quiet. Perfect. Then Hank lifted his head. Art followed his gaze.
Three women were standing across the street. All three were staring at him. Art lowered the newspaper. “What?” They waved. He waved back cautiously. They disappeared inside. Art frowned. Hank looked at him. “I don't like this.” Hank wagged his tail. “You're no help.”
Five minutes later, Art's phone rang. It was Emily. “Hello?”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You busy?”
Art looked across the street. “No.”
“Good.” A pause.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You sound suspicious.”
“I do not.”
“You sound exactly like your mother when she was hiding something.”
Emily laughed. “See you later.”
She hung up. Art stared at the phone. “I'm surrounded by criminals.” Hank rested his chin on Art's knee. Art scratched behind his ear. “At least you're loyal.” Hank immediately stood and walked across the street. Art watched him go. “Traitor.”
By eleven o'clock, Emily had learned the complete extent of Operation Birthday. There was a guest list. There was a menu. There was a seating chart. There was a list of decorations. There was a list of acceptable decorations. And, for reasons nobody could explain, there was a section titled:
EMERGENCY BIRTHDAY SUPPLIES.
Emily pointed at it. “What are emergency birthday supplies?”
Lou answered. “Extra cake.”
“That makes sense.”
“Candles.”
“Okay.”
“Balloons.”
“Sure.”
“Batteries.”
“For what?”
Lou shrugged. “You never know.”
Martie sighed. “Don't ask.”
Emily sat down. “I have a question.”
Vivian smiled. “What?”
“Is Dad allowed to know about this?”
“No,” they said together.
Emily laughed. “Poor Dad.”
Vivian looked offended. “We're doing this because we love him.”
“I know.”
“And because he needs to celebrate.”
“I agree.”
“And because seventy-nine is an important birthday.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Vivian thought for a moment. “Because it is.”
Martie nodded. “That's good enough.”
Lou leaned forward. “I think birthdays are proof that you survived another year.”
Emily smiled. “That sounds surprisingly wise.”
Lou shrugged. “I have moments.”
That afternoon, Emily and Art sat together on his porch. Hank was asleep at their feet. Emily looked across the street. “Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Did Mom ever throw you a big birthday party?”
Art smiled.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Fortieth.”
“What happened?”
“She invited everybody we knew.”
“How many people?”
Art thought.
“About seventy.”
Emily laughed.
“And you hated it?”
“Every minute.”
“But?”
Art smiled.
“But your mother was happy.”
Emily looked at him. “You loved seeing her happy.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet for a moment. “She'd been planning it for months.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“You didn't suspect anything?”
Art laughed. “She couldn't keep a secret.”
Emily smiled. “Neither can Vivian.”
Art looked across the street. “No.”
He paused. “But she tries.”
Emily laughed. Art leaned back. “You know what I remember most?”
“What?”
“After everybody left.”
Emily waited.
“Your mother and I sat on the porch.” He looked toward the magnolia tree. “Just the two of us.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Emily smiled. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her. “She took her shoes off. Put her feet up on the railing. We sat there until midnight.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.”
Art's smile faded slightly. “I thought we'd have a hundred more nights like that.”
Emily reached over and touched his hand. “I know.”
He nodded. “But we had the ones we had.”
Emily squeezed his fingers. “That's what matters.”
Art looked at her. “You sound like your mother.”
She smiled. “I'll take that.”
That evening, Emily crossed the street. She found Vivian on the porch. Martie was carrying laundry. Lou was attempting to teach a squirrel to come when called. Emily sat beside Vivian. “Can I ask you something?” Vivian smiled. “Of course.”
“Why are you doing all this for Dad?” Vivian looked toward Art's house. For once, she didn't make a joke. “Because he needed somebody.” Emily nodded. “I know.”
“We all did.” Emily looked at her. Vivian smiled faintly. “That's the part he doesn't understand.”
“What?”
“We weren't just saving him.” She looked at Martie. Then Lou. “We were saving ourselves, too.”
Emily's eyes softened. “From what?”
Vivian shrugged. “From becoming invisible.”
Martie stopped folding the towel. Lou stopped talking to the squirrel. Vivian continued. “People think when you get older, you don't need anything anymore.” She laughed softly.
“Well, that's nonsense.”
Martie nodded. “I still need people.”
Lou raised her hand. “I need people and squirrels.”
Martie sighed. “Of course you do.”
Vivian smiled. “Your father gave us something, too.”
Emily looked across the street. “What?”
“A reason to keep showing up.”
The next morning, Art found a piece of paper taped to his front door. He pulled it down. It read:
BIRTHDAY COUNTDOWN
6 DAYS
Underneath was a handwritten message:
Don't panic.
Art stared at it. He looked across the street. Three heads disappeared behind the curtains. Art shook his head. He walked back inside. Hank followed. Art put the paper on the kitchen counter. Then he smiled. He hated birthday parties. He hated attention and surprises. He hated being fussed over. But he had spent enough years pretending he hated things that he actually missed.
He looked at the paper again. Six days. He smiled. “Well,” he said to Hank. “I suppose we'll see what happens Hank barked. Art nodded. “Exactly.”
That afternoon, something unexpected arrived. A small box. Emily brought it inside. “This came for you.”
Art frowned. “Who from?”
“No return address.” He opened it. Inside was an old wristwatch. Art stared at it. His hands began to tremble. Emily noticed immediately. “Dad?” He picked it up. Turned it over. On the back were two initials.
A.C.
M.C.
Emily looked at him.
“Mom's?” Art nodded.
He sat down. “She gave me this.”
“When?”
“Our twenty-fifth anniversary.”
Emily sat beside him. Art ran his thumb over the worn metal. “I thought I'd lost it.”
“What happened?”
“I don't remember.”
He smiled sadly. “That's the strange thing about grief.”
Emily waited.
“You remember the big things.” He looked at the watch. “But sometimes you forget the little things.”
“What little things?”
“The sound of somebody's laugh.” He swallowed. “The way they took their coffee.” “The little things they said when they were half asleep.”
He looked at Emily. “You think you'll remember everything.” His voice cracked. “You don't.”
Emily put her head against his shoulder. “You remember enough.”
Art closed his eyes. For a long moment, they sat together. Then Art whispered, “She wore blue that night.” Emily looked up. “What?”
“Our anniversary.” He smiled. “She wore that blue dress she liked.” He laughed softly. “She said it made her eyes look pretty.”
Emily smiled through her tears. “Did you tell her?”
“I told her she was beautiful.”
“Good.”
Art looked down at the watch. “I don't know why I forgot this.”
Emily shook her head. “You didn't forget.”
“What?”
“You remembered when you were ready.”
Art looked at her. She kissed his cheek. “I think Mom knew you'd find it again.” Art smiled.
Across the street, Lou was watching through binoculars. Martie lowered them. “Give me those.” Lou handed them over. “What are they doing?” Martie looked. “Nothing.”
“Are they crying?”
Martie lowered the binoculars. “Looks like it.”
Vivian came up behind them. “What happened?”
Martie looked at the two of them. “His daughter found something from Margaret.” Vivian's face softened. “What?” “A watch.”
The three women looked across the street. Art and Emily sat together on the porch. Neither spoke.
Vivian wiped her eyes. Martie did the same. Lou sniffed. Then she said, “I think we should cancel the birthday party.”
Vivian looked at her. “What?”
“Maybe he doesn't need a party.”
Martie nodded slowly. “Maybe you're right.”
They watched Art. Then Emily. Then Hank, who had climbed onto the porch and placed his enormous head in Art's lap. Vivian smiled. “No.” She shook her head. “He needs it.”
Lou looked at her. “Why?”
Vivian smiled. “Because this year isn't about getting older.” She looked across the street. “It's about getting his life back.”
And none of them knew it yet... But Art's seventy-ninth birthday was about to become something none of them would ever forget.
Not because of the cake or the decorations. Not because of the party, but because someone was coming to town. Someone Art hadn't seen in thirty years.Someone who knew Margaret. Someone who knew Art before he became grumpy. And someone who was carrying a secret Margaret had taken to her grave.