By Monday morning, Emily had been in town for three days. By Monday afternoon, she had learned three things. First, her father had changed. Second, the three women across the street were completely responsible for it. And third, they were dangerous.
Not dangerous in the ordinary sense.
They didn't own weapons and they weren't criminals. They didn't appear capable of planning anything that required more than fifteen minutes of concentration. But they had a particular talent for getting involved in things that were none of their business.
Emily had discovered this shortly after breakfast. She was sitting on her father's porch drinking coffee when Vivian crossed the street carrying a plate. Martie followed with a casserole. Lou followed with a birdhouse.
Emily watched them approach. She turned to her father. “Do they always travel in groups?”
Art took a sip of coffee. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I stopped asking questions.”
“That seems wise.”
The sisters climbed the porch steps. Vivian smiled. “Good morning!” Emily smiled back. “Good morning.”
“I brought you something.” Vivian handed her the plate.
“What is it?”
“Chocolate pie.”
Emily looked at Art. “Does she always bring pie?”
Art nodded. “Mostly when she wants something.”
Vivian gasped. “Arthur!”
“I've lived across from you long enough to know.”
“What I want,” Vivian said, “is for Emily to feel welcome.”
Martie set down the casserole. “And I brought chicken.” Lou held up the birdhouse. “And I brought a birdhouse.”
Emily stared at it. “Why?” Lou looked surprised. “For the birds.”
“Oh.” Emily nodded. “Of course.”
Art closed his eyes. “Don't encourage her.”
Lou looked at him. “I'm not sure how to encourage birds.”
“That wasn't what I meant,” laughed Art.
Emily laughed. Vivian sat beside her. “So.” Emily looked over. “So?” Vivian lowered her voice. “Your father tells us nothing.”
Art opened one eye. “That's because I don't want to tell you anything.”
“Exactly.”
Emily smiled. “What do you want to know?” Vivian leaned closer. “Everything.”
Martie shook her head. “Don't answer that.”
Lou sat down on the porch step. “I want to know what Art was like when he was young.”
Art sat up. “No.”
Emily laughed. “Oh, I can answer that.”
Art pointed at her. “Don't.”
Emily smiled innocently. “He was handsome.”
Vivian's eyes widened. “I knew it.”
Art groaned. “Emily.”
“He had dark hair,” Emily continued.
Vivian looked at him. “You had dark hair?”
“Everybody had dark hair at some point.”
Emily laughed and said “He was skinny.”
Martie laughed.
Art shook his head. “Can we please discuss something else?”
Emily wasn't finished. “He thought he was very funny.”
Lou gasped. “You?”
Art stared at her. “Yes.”
“You were funny?”
“Sometimes.”
Emily smiled. “He told the same joke at least twenty times.”
Art sighed. “I was a young man.”
“And Mom laughed every time.”
That stopped him. Emily looked at her father. A softness came over his face. “She really did.” “She thought you were hilarious.”
“She had questionable judgment,” Art smiled.
Emily laughed. “She loved you.” Art looked down at his coffee. “I loved her.”
Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Lou said quietly, “She'd be glad you're laughing again.”
Art looked at her. Emily did too. Lou shrugged. “What?”
Art smiled. “Nothing.”
By noon, Emily had learned more about the Bellamy sisters than she probably wanted to know. Vivian had been married twice. Martie had been married once. Lou had never married because, according to Lou, “I was waiting for the right man and he never got here.”
Nobody knew what that meant. Emily suspected Lou didn't either.
They were sitting around the kitchen table when Martie suddenly said, “You know what?”
Everyone looked at her. “We need to have Emily over for dinner.”
Vivian nodded immediately “Absolutely.”
Lou raised her hand. “I vote yes.”
Emily laughed. “Do I get a vote?”
“No,” all three sisters said together.
Emily looked at Art. He shrugged. “They do that.”
“When?”
“Whenever they want something.”
Vivian stood. “Friday.”
Emily smiled. “Friday works.”
Martie pointed at her. "Seven o'clock.”
Lou leaned forward. “Bring your father.”
Emily looked at Art. “I think he comes with me.”
Lou nodded. “Good.”
Art looked at the three women. “What are you planning?”
Martie smiled. “Dinner.”
“Just dinner?”
“Yes.”
Art stared at her. Vivian smiled too sweetly. “Just dinner.” Lou nodded. “Nothing suspicious.”
Art narrowed his eyes. “That makes it more suspicious.”
Emily laughed. “You really don't trust them, do you?”
Art looked at his daughter. “I trust them.” He paused. “I just don't trust what they're going to do next.”
Vivian stood. "That's hurtful.”
“You installed a garden gnome on my property.”
“He needed a home.”
“You put a birdhouse on my fence.”
“The birds needed somewhere to live.”
“You named my rooster Gerald.”
Lou raised her hand. “That was me.”
“And you,” Art said, pointing at her, “rescued a turtle and put it in my bathtub.”
Lou frowned. “He was injured.”
“He was wet.” Art rubbed his forehead. “He was a turtle.”
Emily was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. Art looked at her. “You think this is funny?” “Yes.”
“Don't encourage them.”
“I think I'm already too late.”
Friday came quickly. By six thirty, the Bellamy house looked like a wedding reception. Flowers were everywhere. Candles were burning. Martie had prepared enough food for fifteen people. Vivian had changed clothes twice. Lou had put a tiny bow tie on Hank. Art stood at his front door staring across the street.
Emily came outside. She looked at him. “What?” Art pointed. “Do I have to go over there?” Emily smiled. “Yes.”
“They're going to do something.”
“Probably.”
“Do you know what?”
“No.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because you're going anyway.”
Art looked at her.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
He shook his head.
“That's my punishment for getting you back.”
Emily slipped her arm through his. “No.” She smiled. "That's your reward.”
They crossed the street together. The front door opened before they reached it. Vivian stood there. “Finally!” Art looked at Emily. “See?” Emily laughed.
Inside, the table was beautiful. There were five place settings. Art stopped. Five. He looked at Emily. Then at the sisters. “You set five.” Martie smiled. “Of course.”
Vivian pulled out Emily's chair. “Sit.” Emily sat. Art took the chair beside her. He looked around. For just a moment, he saw something he hadn't seen in years. A family dinner. Not a memory or an old photograph.
Not something that belonged to another life. Just tonight. Right now. His daughter beside him. The sisters across the table. And Hank lying underneath the table because apparently he had decided he was the sixth member of the family.
Art smiled. Emily noticed. “You okay?” He nodded. “Yeah.”
Vivian lifted her glass. “To family.” Martie raised hers. “To family.” Lou raised hers. “To family.” Emily raised hers. “To family.”
Art looked at them. Then slowly lifted his glass. “To family.”
They all drank. And nobody noticed the little tear that slipped down Art's cheek. Except Emily. She reached under the table and squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers back.
Then Vivian cleared her throat. “Well.”
Art looked at her. “What?”
She smiled. “We have something to tell you.”
Art froze. Emily looked at her father. “Oh, no.”
Martie smiled. Lou grinned. Art put down his fork. “What did you do?”
Vivian leaned back. “We've been thinking.”
Art stared at them. “That is never a good sign.”
Lou nodded. “We've decided something.”
Art sighed. “What?”
Vivian smiled. “Your birthday is coming.”
“I know.”
“And we've decided you need a proper birthday party.”
Art closed his eyes. Emily giggled.. Martie reached over and patted his hand. “Don't worry.”
Art opened his eyes. “Why?”
Martie smiled. "Because we've already planned it.”
Art stared at her. “How bad?”
Lou thought about it. “Define bad.”
Art looked at Emily. She was laughing. He pointed at her. “You're helping them.”
Emily shook her head. “No.”
She smiled. “I'm helping you.”
Art frowned. “How?”
Emily reached across the table. She took his hand. “By making sure you know something.”
“What?”
She looked around the table. “You don't have to be afraid of being happy anymore.”
The room went quiet. Art looked at his daughter. Then at Vivian. Martie. Lou. And finally at the five chairs around the table. He smiled. “No.” He shook his head. “I don't.”
And somewhere outside, the wind moved gently through the magnolia tree. For once, Art didn't hear the silence. He heard Margaret's voice in the quietest corner of his heart. Don't make that house quiet, Arthur.
Art smiled. “I won't,” he whispered. And this time, he knew exactly what he meant.