“As soon as Lydia comes in,” Marilyn said, “we’ll say surprise. And then we’ll have dinner, and presents after.” Nath was up in his room, packing for his trip, and alone with her youngest, she was planning aloud, half talking to herself. Hannah, delighted to have her mother’s attention even by default, nodded sagely. Under her breath she practiced—Surprise! Surprise!—and watched her mother pipe Lydia’s name in blue onto the sheet cake. It was supposed to look like a driver’s license, a white-frosted rectangle with a photo of Lydia in the corner where the real photograph would be. Inside, it was chocolate cake. Because this was an extra-special birthday, Marilyn had baked this cake herself—from a box, true, but she had mixed it, one hand moving the mixer through the cake batter, the other holding the battered aluminum bowl still against the whirling blades. She had let Hannah pick out the tub of frosting, and now she squeezed out the last of the tube of decorator’s icing spelling L-Y-D and reached into the grocery bag for another.
Such a special cake, Hannah thought, would taste extra-special, too. Better than just plain vanilla or chocolate. The box had shown a smiling woman hovering over a slice of cake and the words You mix in the love. Love, Hannah decided, would be sweet, like her mother’s perfume, and soft as marshmallows. Quietly she extended a finger, gouging a small dip in the perfectly smooth surface of the cake. “Hannah!” Marilyn snapped, and swatted her hand away.
While her mother smoothed the dent with the spatula, Hannah touched the frosting on her finger to her tongue. It was so sweet her eyes watered, and when Marilyn wasn’t looking, she wiped the rest of it onto the backside of the tablecloth. She could tell by the little line between her mother’s eyebrows that she was still upset, and she wanted to lean her head against Marilyn’s aproned thigh. Then her mother would understand that she hadn’t meant to mess up the cake. But as she reached out, Marilyn set down the tube of icing mid-letter and lifted her head, listening. “That can’t be them already.”
Beneath her feet, Hannah felt the floor shiver as the garage door groaned open. “I’ll get Nath.”
By the time Hannah and Nath arrived downstairs, though, Lydia and their father had already come from the garage into the hallway, and the moment for Surprise had passed. Instead Marilyn took Lydia’s face between her hands and kissed her on the cheek, hard, leaving a red smudge of lipstick, like a welt.
“You’re home early,” she said. “Happy birthday. And congratulations.” She held out a palm. “So? Let’s see it.”
“I failed,” Lydia said. She glared from Nath to their mother, as if daring them to be upset.
Marilyn stared. “What do you mean, you failed?” she said, honest surprise in her voice, as if she had never heard the word.
Lydia said it again, louder: “I failed.” It was almost, Hannah thought, as if she were mad at their mother, mad at all of them. It could not be just the test. Her face was stony and still, but Hannah saw the tiny trembles—in her hunched shoulders, in her jaw clenched tight. As if she might shiver to pieces. She wanted to wrap her arms tight around her sister’s body, to hold her together, but she knew Lydia would only push her away. No one else noticed. Nath and Marilyn and James glanced at each other, unsure what to say.
“Well,” Marilyn said at last. “You’ll just study the traffic rules and try again when you’re ready. It’s not the end of the world.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind Lydia’s ear. “It’s okay. It’s not like you failed a school subject, right?”
On any other day, this would have made Lydia boil over inside. Today—after the necklace, after the boys in front of the car, after the test, after Louisa—there was no room left in her for anger. Something within her tipped and cracked.
“Sure, Mom,” she said. She looked up at her mother, around at her whole family, and smiled, and Hannah nearly ducked behind Nath. The smile was too wide, too bright, cheery and white-toothed and fake. On her sister’s face it was terrifying; it made Lydia look like a different person, a stranger. Again no one else noticed. Nath’s shoulders unhunched; James let out his breath; Marilyn wiped her hands, which had grown damp, on her apron.
“Dinner’s not quite ready yet,” she said. “Why don’t you go up and take a shower and relax? We’ll eat early, as soon as it’s done.”
“Great,” Lydia said, and this time Hannah actually did turn her face away until she heard her sister’s footsteps on the stairs.
“What happened?” Marilyn murmured to James, who shook his head. Hannah knew. Lydia hadn’t studied. Two weeks ago, before Lydia had come home after school, Hannah had explored her room, looking for treasures. She’d pocketed Lydia’s book from the floor of the closet and, beneath it, had found the rules and regulations pamphlet. When Lydia started to study, Hannah had thought, she would notice her book was missing. She would come looking for it. Every few days, she had checked, but the pamphlet hadn’t moved. Yesterday it had been half-covered by a pair of beige platforms and Lydia’s best bell-bottoms. And the book was still tucked upstairs under Hannah’s pillow.
Upstairs, in her room, Lydia yanked at the necklace, which wouldn’t break. She unhooked it and slammed it inside its box, as if it were a wild thing, and pushed it deep beneath the bed. If her father asked where it was, she would say she was saving it for special occasions. She would say she didn’t want to lose it, don’t worry, she’d wear it next time, Daddy. In the mirror, a fine red line ringed her neck.
By the time Lydia came down to dinner an hour later, the mark had faded away, though the feeling that accompanied it had not. She had dressed up as if for a party, her hair ironed dry and straight and glossy on the big ironing board, her lips coated with jam-colored gloss. James, looking at her, had a sudden memory of Marilyn when they’d first met. “Don’t you look nice,” he said, and Lydia forced herself to smile. She sat bolt upright with that same fake smile at the dinner table, like a doll on display, but only Hannah spotted its fakeness. Her back ached, watching Lydia, every bit of her did, and she slouched in her own chair until she nearly slid off the seat. As soon as dinner was over, Lydia patted her mouth with her napkin and stood up.
“Wait,” Marilyn said. “There’s cake.” She went into the kitchen and in a moment emerged bearing the cake on a tray, candles aglow. The photo of Lydia was gone, the top of the cake refrosted to plain white, with just Lydia’s name. Hiding under the smooth white, Hannah thought, was the pretend driver’s license, the Congratulations and the blue L-Y-D. Though you couldn’t see it, it was there just underneath, covered up but smudged and unreadable and horrible. And you’d be able to taste it, too. Their father snapped picture after picture, but Hannah didn’t smile. Unlike Lydia, she had not yet learned to pretend. Instead she half shut her eyes, like she did during the scary parts of TV shows, so that she could only half see what came next.
Which was this: Lydia waited for them to finish singing. As they reached the last line of the song, James held up the camera and she bent over the cake, lips pursed as if to kiss. Her perfectly made-up face smiled around the table, sweeping each of them in turn. Their mother. Their father. Nath. Hannah did not know everything Lydia thought she understood—the necklace, Louisa, all I want you to remember—but she knew that something had shifted inside her sister, that she was balanced on a dangerous, high-up ledge. She sat very still, as if one wrong move might tip Lydia off the edge, and Lydia blew out the flames with one quick puff.