Chapter 4: No Chair for Me

On Sunday I baked the lemon cake.

Jason left at ten in the morning with Max.

He told me he was taking Max to a batting cage.

I didn't argue.

I iced the cake, put on a green dress, and drove to Upper Arlington at one.

The Hensleys' driveway was full.

His sister's SUV. Andrea's white Audi. Jason's car, parked behind his father's truck.

I carried the cake up the walk.

I could hear laughing through the open front windows.

I rang the bell.

Andrea opened the door.

She was wearing Pamela's blue apron with the little lemons on it.

Her hair was up. There was flour on her wrist.

She looked at me, then at the cake, and for one second she didn't know what to do with her face.

Then she smiled with all her teeth.

"Heather! Oh my gosh. Nobody said you were coming."

"Nobody asked," I said.

I walked past her into the house.

The living room smelled like pot roast and candles.

In the middle of it sat a huge brown leather recliner with a red bow on the arm.

My father-in-law was in it, his feet up, a beer in his hand.

The recliner hummed as it kneaded his back.

A card was propped on the side table.

I picked it up.

"Happy 65th, Dad. From Jason and Andrea."

My thirty-eight hundred dollars, with her name on it.

"Heather."

Jason was in the kitchen doorway, holding a carving knife and a dish towel.

His face had gone completely white.

Behind him, the dining room table was set with the good china.

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