Page 94 of Love Bound

Right now, he glances over at us, swivels his curly head toward The Inn, and runs up the porch steps, squealing. Then the hand flapping starts, like a bird. Laurel's tried to work with him on this, so kids don’t make fun of him in school.

"Cory! My man," calls Finn, jogging the last few yards and bounding up the steps.

Cory holds out his hand for a shake but doesn't look at Finn.

I don’t know how Laurel does it. And I think again: For every step forward there are three steps back. Something has set him off.

"Do we need to go inside?" asks Finn.

Cory grabs my hand and keeps flapping the other.

Finn glances at me and shrugs. "He seems excited."

Or nervous. "Where's Mommy?" I ask, suddenly scared. This is not normal. He shouldn't be here all alone. "Auntie Devon?"

But Cory just pulls me toward the door.

Finn lifts the door handle and we enter.

The first thing I smell is sugary carrot cake. My favorite. A flurry starts in my stomach. "Wait a minute," I say, pulling back, but Cory is relentless, with his hand flapping away, and I laugh.

From behind, Finn puts his hands on my shoulders and semi-pushes me into the dining area.

There's a white shelf paper banner with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CLAIRE-DARE” written in bright markers, and hand-drawn pictures of balloons, hearts, fireworks, and presents.

But it's the people in the room that I focus on. There are so many of them—enough for Cory to hide from.

Maybe it is really one step forward, another step forward, and we just don’t see the context necessary to assess progress.

There's Ralph and Emily Burke, Devon, Laurel, Travis, Nic, Bryce, Jackson, Molly with a horse T-shirt on, Brighty, and Geo. All the people who love me among the memory of people who once loved me, now gone.

Finn squeezes my shoulders and comes around, pointing to the center table already laden with party bags, a few gift boxes, and a cake. A stack of plates is off to one side, a tumble of forks and stash of napkins sitting picnic-style next to the cake.

Cory drops my hand and shouts, "Happy Birfday!"

Finn turns and smiles. "You never got one. So, this is your year and a month birthday. To the day."

Everyone starts talking at once and comes over to hug me. There's the singing of the celebratory happy birthday song which is mildly embarrassing, and Laurel assumes the position of cake slicer.

I insist on being last. While everyone is milling around, I enjoy watching Ralph talk with Jackson about lobstering—two men I never would have guessed to have anything in common.

Then, Devon comes over to sit across from me at one of the square tables. Her smile is swift, troubled, and I’m in no mood for trying to figure out what's wrong.

I take a stab of the cake. And then I stop, savoring the mouthful. It's our mother's recipe. With zucchini and carrots, no nuts, cream cheese frosting with a shot of double vanilla. I would know that cake anywhere. It’s from the family recipe book. My mom's book. Our book.

"There's something I have to tell you, but you have to promise not to get mad," Devon says.

"Devon, nothing could make me mad at you. I don’t get mad." I pause. "I get hurt. And I get scared."

"You were mad that day on the bridge."

"I was scared shitless. I thought you were trying to kill yourself," I admit.

"Why would I do that? See, you didn't trust me."

I can see old wounds reopening. Not today.

Not today.