The sentence reached Jason in a place the cake had not. He looked at his daughter. The pink cardigan, the wrong button, the glitter. He had buttoned that cardigan himself an hour ago, kneeling on the rug, telling her that Mom was going to cry happy tears. His mouth tightened. He nodded, barely.
"Upstairs," he said to Megan. "Please."
Megan stood with Sophie on her hip as if the child were younger than eight, because sometimes the body remembers a weight the calendar has outgrown. "Bugs and I are going to read the shark book," she said, brightly false. "We are going to be extremely unavailable." She paused at the bottom of the stairs, and for the first time she looked at her sister. The look was not cruelty. It was grief wearing a younger face. "Rachel. Fix your face before you come up. She shouldn't see the rest of this on you."
They went. Sophie's white tights flashed once on the landing and were gone. A door closed, not slammed. The shark book was real. It lived on the second shelf. Megan would read it with a voice that only shook in the commas.
Carol sat because her knees decided for her. Richard remained standing, one hand on the back of the sectional, staring at the ruined cake as if he might still be asked to serve it. Daniel stayed on his feet between the island and his brother, not blocking, simply present, a piece of furniture that loved them.
Jason turned to Andre. "Name."