I closed my eyes.
“She said, ‘It’s only a few minutes faster,'” Neil added, voice breaking. “Like minutes were worth more than safety.”
Rosie’s hand shook. “That isn’t what happened.”
Neil continued. “You told Cassie to take Nancy and buy you a pair of fancy lamps for our bedroom. You told your sister to do it before our housewarming party.”
“That isn’t what happened.”
A guest covered her mouth.
Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”
“And after the crash,” Neil continued. “You told me to let everyone believe that it had been Cassie’s decision to travel on that road. In that horrible weather. I feel guilty and I didn’t do anything!”
Rosie’s bravado cracked. “It was an accident. Accidents happen.”
I met her eyes. “But you set everything in motion, Rosie. And then you blamed me.”
“Oh my God.”
Neil took a deep breath, his hand resting on the back of a chair for support.
“I should have spoken up sooner,” he said, voice tight. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”
Neil’s jaw tightened. He turned toward the living room. “The party’s over. Everyone needs to go.”
For a second, no one moved; then chairs scraped. People filed out with their gifts still in their hands.
Rosie lunged for the doorframe. “Don’t — please —”
Neil didn’t look back. “I won’t host a lie.”
“The party’s over. Everyone needs to go.”
Then a cousin stepped forward and asked, “Rosie, is that true?”
Rosie looked at the floor. “I just wanted things to go well. I didn’t think —”
“You don’t think! You don’t ever think about anyone else other than yourself.”
“If you let them blame me, Cassie — if you say it out loud — don’t expect Mom to ever speak to you again.”
A woman near the kitchen leaned in, whispering to her husband.
Another woman I didn’t know spoke up. “Rosie, you moved your party to the day of your niece’s funeral? Who does that? We don’t want people like you living here.”
“Rosie, is that true?”
Rosie snapped. “That’s not fair. I have my own life. Do you all expect me to disappear every time something goes wrong for Cassie?”
I stepped forward.
“Rosie, when you called, I was standing in my kitchen with a casserole and an empty seat at my table. You were throwing a party, and I had just buried my child. I still had cemetery dirt under my nails. That’s how fresh it was.”
Rosie’s eyes flicked around the room. “I — I just thought maybe you’d want something to look forward to.”
“You were throwing a party, and I had just buried my child.”
I looked right at her. “Pretending this didn’t happen is what keeps us broken, Rosie. Grief doesn’t end because you hang up the phone.”
Neil’s voice shook as he spoke. “Cassie lost her daughter, and you managed to make it about you. And our home.”
“So, I’m just the villain for moving on?”
He looked at her, eyes full of hurt. “No, but your version of moving on leaves everyone else behind.”
A neighbor’s voice broke the silence. “Cassie, we’re so sorry. No one told us.”
“Grief doesn’t end because you hang up the phone.”
Another woman nodded. “Nancy deserved better. So did you.”
Around us, plates clinked down, and conversations stopped. Rosie’s bravado wilted.
“Fine. Blame me if it makes you feel better. At least I know who really stands with me.”
“I don’t need your blame or your approval,” I said. “I needed a sister. Nancy needed an aunt who saw her, not just her own reflection. Today was about you, and now you see who’s left.”
Rosie’s shoulders sagged. She looked small, suddenly years older.
“Nancy deserved better.”
Neil collected his keys and paused at the door. “Cassie, you don’t have to do this alone. Some people care. Come, I’ll take you home.”
I looked back at Rosie one last time.
“Keep your house. Enjoy your party. Enjoy the rest of our family who chose you…”
Stepping outside, I let the cool air fill my lungs. I untied a green balloon and watched it float upward, climbing past the rooftops and the trees.
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
