The garden gate clicked. A woman in a rust-colored blouse entered carrying a brown leather purse and a large cream envelope. Daniel recognized Lauren Collins immediately, though he had not seen her in almost a year. Her brown hair was shorter than he remembered, and she looked exhausted from the drive. Emma lifted her head at the sound of her name. "Aunt Lauren?" Lauren stopped when she saw the tears on Emma's cheeks and Daniel kneeling beside her. "Sweetheart," she said, her face changing, "what happened?"
Celeste took a step toward the gate. "Lauren, this is a private occasion. I was very clear about that." Lauren did not look at her. She looked at Daniel. "I got your message saying I wasn't welcome. I almost stayed home. But Emma turns ten only once, and I couldn't believe you meant it." Daniel stared. "What message?" Lauren reached into her purse and unfolded a printed email. The sender line showed an address Daniel recognized as their household account. The message said that Emma needed a clean start, that Lauren's presence encouraged unhealthy attachments to Hannah's memory, and that she should respect Daniel's decision not to contact them.
"I never wrote that," Daniel said. Lauren watched his expression and visibly struggled to remain calm. "I thought so. Two weeks ago I received another message, supposedly from you, saying Emma didn't want the birthday cards I'd sent. That didn't sound like you. Then a friend told me about this party, and I decided to come anyway." She turned toward Emma. "I have cards from your last two birthdays, honey. I mailed them. When I didn't hear back, I thought you needed time. I should have come sooner."
Emma pulled back from Daniel. "You didn't forget me?" Lauren shook her head and pressed a hand over her mouth. "Never." Emma moved toward her aunt, but hesitated and looked to Daniel for permission. That hesitation nearly undid him. He nodded, and she ran the few steps to Lauren, who held her tightly. Guests were no longer pretending not to listen. A man near the drinks table set his glass down. The photographer lowered her camera. For once, Celeste's carefully planned gathering had become a place where no one knew where to look, and there was no arrangement of flowers that could make it beautiful again.
Daniel held out his hand for the printed email. "Celeste, did you send this?" She said the household account was shared and anyone could have accessed it. Lauren offered to forward the original message. Daniel asked a second time. Celeste's eyes flashed. "I was trying to protect what we're building," she said. "Your daughter has been living in the past. Her aunt encourages it, and you never set limits. Someone had to be responsible." Daniel looked at her, waiting for the slightest sign that she understood