For eighteen months I’d asked why construction bills ran high, why vendor rebates disappeared sideways, why a six-figure “consulting fee” kept showing up with no consultant attached.
Paranoia, Vanessa called it.
Deployment stress, Colin called it.
My mother just wanted the noise to stop.
Michael shoved through the crowd still in his county emergency-management polo, eleven years in response work, five of them as a flight nurse before a desk took him. One look at Lucy and his whole face changed.
“What did she eat?”
“Cake. Strawberries. Nothing new.”
“What did she drink?”
I pointed at the pink insulated cup with the silver unicorn.
He picked it up like it was armed.
“Who made this?”
Silence. I looked at Vanessa.
“She made the lemonade. She brought Lucy that cup herself.”
Vanessa’s spine went rigid.
“Because she’s my niece. Because it’s her birthday.”
Michael set the cup somewhere no one could reach it.
