Balloons floated over the sofa and dining chairs. Wrapped gifts covered one end of a console table. The cake sat on a small round table near the center of the room, surrounded by photographs Claire had printed from different years of Ethan's life.
One photograph showed him at ten holding a fishing rod beside Thomas. Another showed him and Natalie at a county fair. There was a college graduation picture and a wedding photograph of Ethan and Claire walking through a tunnel of sparklers. Claire placed that one nearest the cake without thinking.
At six fifteen, Margaret watched Claire adjust the flowers for the third time. "You're nervous." "I'm hosting." "You're nervous," Margaret repeated.
Claire stopped moving. Margaret's expression softened. "Is everything okay with you two?" It was the first time anyone had asked directly.
Claire opened her mouth. The answer rose almost fully formed. I don't know. He feels far away. Something is wrong and I can't name it. But she looked across the room at Thomas teasing Mason about the New York Giants, at Natalie tying ribbon around a bottle of whiskey, at Brooke setting out champagne glasses, and the confession collapsed under the weight of the celebration.
"We're just busy," Claire said. "This year has been a lot."
Margaret nodded, but she did not look convinced. "Marriage has quiet seasons. That doesn't mean they're empty."
Claire held onto those words. At six forty-eight, Ethan texted.
Client dinner running long. Don't wait up. Hope your mom doesn't put you to work all night.
Claire showed the message to everyone and smiled. "He's going to be late." Thomas groaned. "I'm too old to hide in the dark for three hours."
"We'll eat appetizers," Brooke said. "This is not a hostage situation." They laughed.
Forty minutes away, Vanessa sat at the bar of a downtown restaurant, crossing one long leg over the other while she waited for Ethan. She wore a fitted red cocktail dress beneath a black wool coat and had chosen lipstick that matched the dress almost exactly. When Ethan arrived, he looked over his shoulder before kissing her cheek.
"Happy birthday," she said. "Thank you." "You look nervous." "I'm not nervous."
"You're always nervous when we're somewhere Claire might know someone." Ethan frowned. "Can we not do this tonight?" Vanessa took a sip of wine. "I thought tonight was supposed to be fun."
"It is. It will be." She studied him. "And she's really gone?"
"She left this afternoon." "For the whole night?" "That's what she said." Vanessa smiled. "Then relax."
The word would return to him later with such perfect clarity that he would hate it.
At the house, Claire's family ate cheese and crackers, told old stories, and checked the time every few minutes. Seven thirty became eight. Eight became eight twenty. Claire called Ethan once and got no answer. She did not worry; she assumed he was driving. At eight thirty-two, headlights washed across the front windows.