Renee shook her head.
“I told her we could put it somewhere until everybody calmed down.”
“Everybody?”
Maya stared.
“I wasn't angry.”
Simone scoffed.
“You were smug.”
Maya turned.
“What?”
“You have been smug all week.”
“I've barely talked to you.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Simone pointed toward the burning gown.
“You walk around this house acting like none of this affects anybody.”
Maya looked around.
The ocean beyond the glass railing.
The huge pale-stone terrace.
The six-bedroom house behind them.
Dunes covered in sea oats.
“What does my dress have to do with the house?”
Simone laughed.
Renee immediately said:
“Simone.”
Too late.
Maya heard it.
“What house?”
Simone stared at Renee.
Then back at Maya.
Something crueler than anger appeared in her face.
“You seriously don't know.”
Maya’s heart began beating faster.
“Know what?”
Renee stepped between them.
“This is not the time.”
Simone’s voice rose.
“Of course it isn't.”
“Nothing is ever the time when she might actually learn what everybody else has to live with.”
Maya looked toward Renee.
“What am I supposed to know?”
The sliding glass doors opened behind them.
No one noticed at first.
The wind carried the sound away.
A man stepped onto the terrace holding a brown leather travel bag.
Adrian Caldwell had left the house at six that morning for what was supposed to be a two-night trip to Atlanta.
He was fifty-two, tall and broad, with a shaved head, gray beginning through his beard, and the tired posture of someone who had spent most of the day in airports.
His black knit polo was wrinkled.
Khaki trousers had a dark crease from sitting.
He stopped after two steps.
The travel bag slipped from his hand.
It hit the stone.
Renee turned.
Her face went white.
“Adrian.”
Maya spun around.
“Dad.”
He looked at her.
Barefoot.
Crying.
Then at Simone.
Then the fire.
Pink fabric burned across the black stones.
Adrian became completely still.
“What is that?”
Nobody answered.
He walked closer.
The wind lifted a scorched section of tulle.
One half-melted bead rolled onto the terrace.
Adrian looked at Maya.
“Is that your dress?”
She nodded.
His expression changed.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Worse.
He turned toward Simone.
“Who did that?”
Simone lifted her chin.
“I did.”
Renee said:
“Adrian, listen.”
He raised one hand.
Renee stopped.
Adrian looked only at Simone.
“Why?”
She laughed bitterly.
“You really need to ask?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“I do.”
Simone pointed toward Maya.
“Because tomorrow everybody is going to stand in this house and pretend she earned all of it.”
Maya stared.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“What does her birthday have to do with you burning her property?”
“Everything.”
“No.”