a big pan of my mother’s famous baked beans. Then Aunt Deb and Uncle Frank. Then Tom’s parents, who drove in from two hours away, and his younger brother, and a bunch of Rachel’s friends from work.
Rachel had decorated the whole backyard. There were white paper lanterns hanging from the trees and a long table with a white tablecloth and bouquets of sunflowers in mason jars. There was a banner strung between two oak trees that said HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY RACHEL & TOM in
gold letters.
Rachel was wearing a white sundress. Like a bride. She floated around the yard hugging everybody and laughing and holding a glass of champagne.
Michael was out there too. In the yard. He was helping set up the chairs. Every time I looked out the kitchen window, Rachel was somewhere near him.
I stayed in the kitchen. I told myself I was being helpful. Really, I was hiding.
Tom stayed in the kitchen with me. He was quiet. He helped me carry food. Trays of sandwiches. A big bowl of potato salad. My mother’s baked beans.
He kept checking his watch. And every few minutes, he put his hand on the front pocket of his
