Ray arrived empty-handed. I met him at the gate.
"No coffin?"
He looked offended. "One mistake and people never let it go."
"It was a memorable mistake."
Michael overheard us from the grill.
"You carried a coffin into an eight-year-old's birthday."
"Road case."
"Coffin."
"Road case."
"Children screamed."
"One child screamed because he dropped cake on his shoe."
I laughed.
The two men still argued, but the arguments had changed. No poison underneath. No hidden information. No one protecting me by deciding what I deserved to know.
At sunset, Maisie asked everybody to come near the garden gate. The gate Daniel had widened years earlier remained purple. Stars had faded along the wood. She parked beneath it and held up a folded sheet of paper.
"I have a speech."
Ray whispered, "We're in trouble." Maisie glared at him.
"Quiet."
Everyone obeyed. She unfolded the paper.
"When I was seven, my chair was bad and I thought I was hard to fix. Daddy said the chair was the problem, not me."
My eyes filled immediately. Maisie continued.
"Then Daddy died, and I thought the new chair was gone too. But Hammer finished it and Mommy learned he wasn't scary, except he is still really big."
Laughter moved through the yard. Ray wiped one eye with the back of his hand.
"Uncle Michael made a bad choice and then made ramps."
Michael bowed his head.
"Accurate," he said.
Maisie looked toward me.
"Mommy was sad for a long time. She's still sad sometimes."
I nodded.
"But she laughs more now."
That sentence undid me. Maisie smiled.
"Daddy said the chair was for going forward. So I think people are like chairs. We can go forward even if we have scratches."