"Happy birthday, bug."
Maisie hugged him.
Children are capable of holding truths separately that adults insist on mixing together. Michael had hurt me. Michael had hidden something important. Michael was also the uncle who built blanket forts, fixed broken toys, and attended every school concert.
Maisie did not need to resolve my anger before loving him. I envied that clarity. After the final guest left, the Iron Harbor Riders stayed to help clean. I tried to stop them.
"You brought the chair. You don't have to sweep floors."
Lena Ortiz looked at the cake ground into the tile near a folding table.
"Lady, have you ever seen our clubhouse after chili night? This is nothing."
Within twenty minutes, tables were folded, trash bags tied, and the black road case loaded into Ray's truck. Ray stood near the door holding the final tool case.
"Rebecca has the service schedule."
"I know."
"Anything goes wrong, call her first. Not me."
I frowned. He explained. "Medical equipment first. Biker ego last."
A smile tugged at my mouth. Then the smile disappeared.
"Ray."
He waited.
"I'm sorry."
He looked down.
"You lost your husband."
"That doesn't make everything I did fair."
"No."
The direct answer surprised me. I almost laughed.
He continued. "But I don't need you apologizing because you were wrecked. I need you to understand I didn't keep him there."
"I do now."
His eyes lifted.
"And I need you to understand something else," I said. "Michael lied by omission. But I chose not to listen to you when you tried. That's mine."
Ray shifted the toolbox in his hand.
"Grief makes bad detectives."
"Apparently."
"Daniel would have been worse."
I stared at him.
"At grief?"