Dinner went better than I’d hoped.
Graham asked about Henry.
He listened while I explained how Marissa and I had managed before Henry came along.
He knew which parts of the lasagna Marissa disliked.
He refilled her water without interrupting her.
At one point, Marissa started telling me about their disastrous weekend at a cabin.
Graham pulled out his phone.
“No,” she warned him.
“Oh, yes.”
He showed me a photo.
Marissa stood beside a dead campfire, hair blowing across her face, laughing with her eyes nearly closed.
Her birthmark was completely visible.
No careful angle.
No flattering lighting.
Nothing hidden.
I looked at my daughter.
Years ago, she would have grabbed the phone.
“Let me see.”
“Delete that.”
“Is it awful?”
That night, she simply kept eating.
“That picture is evidence of a crime,” she said.
“You killed the fire,” Graham teased.
“It was raining.”
“You poured half a bottle of lighter fluid on wet wood.”
“Because you said it needed encouragement, Gray.”
“I said air.”
I laughed.
But the photograph stayed in my mind.
After dinner, Marissa stood.
“I forgot the cheesecake.”
“You made cheesecake?” I asked.
“It’s upstairs in the little fridge.”
Graham stared at her.
“You hid cheesecake from me?”
“I know you.” 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 set down his fork.
The warmth vanished 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 laugh.
“Mercy, please. Don’t tell me Henry didn’t explain any of this to you.”
My hands went cold against the table.
“What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Graham stared at me.
One horrifying possibility came to mind immediately.
Henry.
Had he done something?
Paid Graham?
Made some kind of arrangement?
My chair scraped backward.
“If somebody offered you money to date my daughter…”
Any trace of humor disappeared from Graham’s face.
“What?”
“If Henry promised you something…”
“Mercy, no.”
I stood.
“Then what deal are you talking about?”
“Oh God.” Graham rubbed one hand over his face. “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.”
He headed toward the back door.
I followed.
Outside, the backyard was almost dark.
Only the porch light and a small garden lamp near Henry’s shed were on.
Graham walked toward the far end.
“What exactly did you do?” I demanded.
He kept going.
“Graham.”
“You’ll see.”
“I am not enjoying those words.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to.”
Then I noticed someone standing beside the shed.
A man.
For a second, I couldn’t see 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 toward a 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 looked toward Graham.
Graham nodded at something large beside the shed.
It was hidden beneath an old moving blanket.
“What is that?” I shrieked.
Henry slowly stepped 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 carrying a cheesecake.
“What are you doing out there?”
Henry grabbed the edge of the blanket.
“We’re out of time.”
He pulled.
The blanket dropped onto the grass.
Beneath it stood an old wooden vanity.
Cream paint.
Three little drawers.
A round mirror with a small chip near the top.
One scratch along the left corner where nine-year-old Marissa had once caught it with a metal bracelet.
I knew that vanity.
I’d bought it for her 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.
Years later, she 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 thought we’d thrown it away.
I had no idea Henry had spent weeks restoring it.
Even the chipped edge of the mirror had been carefully stabilized.
“Oh my God… how did you arrange all of this?”
Henry looked toward Graham.
“He helped.”
My head snapped around.
“The deal.”
Graham nodded. “Part of it.”
“Part?”
Before he could explain, Marissa’s footsteps sounded behind us.
She had reached the yard.
Then she saw Henry.
“Henry?”
He turned.
Her gaze shifted to the vanity.
The cheesecake tilted dangerously in her hands.
Marissa walked closer.
“No.”
Henry stayed still.
She set the cake on the patio table.
Then reached toward the small top drawer.
Her fingers rested on the old brass handle.
I looked between Graham and Henry.
“You still haven’t told me what the deal was.”
Henry glanced at our daughter, then back at me.
“No.” He sighed. “Graham’s part was telling me when Mari stopped checking every photograph. Mine was restoring this if that day ever came.”
Henry looked at Graham.
“Then tonight, he apparently decided you needed a part too.”
Graham shrugged. “I needed to get you outside somehow.”
I stared at them both. “My turn to do what?”
Henry held my gaze. “See what Mari doesn’t need from you anymore.”
Marissa reached the vanity.
“Henry, why do you have this?”
Henry touched the polished edge.
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