Chapter 6: Twenty-Six Candles

"No," said Donovan.

He was already at the window beside me, in yesterday's shirt, with his hair still wet from the shower.

"She's six days out of surgery," I said. "She's standing in the rain with a cake."

"She's standing in front of a camera with a cake."

"Then let her do it in the house where I can see her face."

"That was my second rule, Deirdre."

"I know. I'm asking you to break it with me watching."

He looked at the gate.

He looked at me.

"Dermot checks the box first," he said. "I'm in the room. The door stays open."

Dermot did not find a weapon in the cake.

He did find a card with a lemon drawn on it in Maeve's loopy hand, and he held it up to me, eyebrows high.

"Lemon," I said. "She remembered I like lemon."

"Many people like lemon," said Dermot.

Maeve came into the sunroom on Dermot's arm, walking slowly, in the oversized coat.

She had lost more weight, and her short red hair was damp, and she kept one hand flat on the front of her chest.

She stopped in the doorway when she saw the pump on my shoulder.

Her face crumpled.

"Oh, Deirdre," she said. "Oh, you stupid brave girl."

She crossed the room and hugged me, carefully, around the battery pack.

She smelled like hospital soap and the lavender my mother used.

I stood there with my arms at my sides.

I hadn't known how much I wanted to be held by someone from my own house until it was the wrong person doing it.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," I said.

"Dad wanted me home. They let me go early." She laughed wetly. "I've been home for two days and I couldn't sit still. I had to see you."

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