Chapter 5 — The Anniversary

Our eleventh wedding anniversary fell on a Saturday in early October. For once, I wanted to celebrate it the way I remembered our earliest years — warm, unguarded, and entirely our own.

One week before dinner, Grantham asked whether his mother and sister could attend. “Just this once,” he said. “It would mean a lot to Mom to be included.”

It was never only once. They were included in nearly everything. Still, because I kept trying, I agreed.

I spent three days preparing the meal. I roasted chicken with rosemary and lemon. I made the wild-rice dish Mom had taught me when I was young. I baked the chocolate torte twice before the texture satisfied me.

I set the table myself and pressed every linen napkin. That morning I drove to my parents’ house and cut fresh flowers from Mom’s garden.

Finanella arrived first. She walked into the dining room and ran her fingertips across the linen as though inspecting a business she had never expected to succeed.