Chapter 24: Make a Wish, Again

A year after the party he walked out of, Birdie turned seven on a Saturday in October, and she had a list.

It was written in purple marker on the back of a paper plate and taped to the refrigerator door.

There were twelve guests, not thirty-one, and nobody was allowed to bring a clown.

Dennis arrived first, with a bag of balloons and his phone already out.

"Don't film my hair," Birdie said.

"I'm filming the cake."

"There's no cake yet."

"I'm filming where it's going to be."

Jasper came at two.

Regina's car stopped at the end of the driveway and did not turn in.

She had a rule with the hospital's guardian, and she kept it.

From the porch I watched her raise one hand off the steering wheel.

I raised mine back.

Neither of us did anything else.

Jasper ran up the walk in a green sweatshirt.

His hair had grown out dark and thick, and he had a drawing rolled under his arm.

"Happy birthday," he told Birdie. "It's a dragon."

"It's purple."

"It's your favorite."

"I know it's my favorite. I'm saying it's good."

The baby was eleven months old and pulling herself up on every table leg in the house.

She had four teeth, and she bit Dennis's finger in greeting.

The ring was on my left hand.

I had put it there in April, the week after the night he handed it back, on an ordinary Tuesday in the kitchen, without telling anyone first.

Randall had looked at it for a long time and then gone out to the porch for a while.

The house was loud all afternoon.

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