Chapter Twenty-Six: Margaret at the Fence
Margaret appeared at Marcus’s fence on Thursday evening while he was checking the grill.
She did not carry her phone this time.
She held the yellow invitation between two fingers as though she expected it to disappear.
“Did you put this in my mailbox?” she asked.
“I did,” Marcus replied.
“Why?”
“Because we’re having a gathering on Saturday, and you’re a neighbor.”
Margaret looked toward the patio chairs.
“You expect me to come after everything that’s happened?”
“I expect you to decide for yourself.”
She unfolded the invitation and read the last line aloud.
“Everyone who is invited belongs here.”
Marcus waited while she looked at him.
“That sounds like a message aimed at me,” she said.
“It’s a message about the people my daughter wants to welcome,
” Marcus answered.
“You’re welcome if you can treat them respectfully.”
Margaret’s face tightened.
“People think I’m a monster now.”
“People heard what you said,” Marcus replied.
“They also saw how you treated my guests.”
“I was frightened.”
“You were told it was my house before you called the police.”
Margaret stared at the grass beyond the fence.
“I know what you think of me.”
“You don’t have to guess,” Marcus said.
“I think you made a dangerous choice, and I think you still want the fear you felt to excuse that choice.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
A car passed slowly along the street.
Neither of them moved until the engine faded.
“The association president asked me to speak at the next meeting,” Margaret said.
“About what?”
“About the photograph and the complaints.
”
“Then tell them what you actually know.”
Margaret folded the invitation into a smaller rectangle.
“And if I come Saturday?”
“You’ll be a guest,” Marcus replied.
“You won’t be the center of the party, and you won’t be asked to make a speech.”
She looked startled by that answer.
“I thought you wanted me to apologize in front of everybody.”
“An apology belongs to the person making it,” Marcus said.
“My daughter’s birthday belongs to my daughter.”
Margaret left without promising anything.
Marcus turned back to the grill and discovered that he had tightened the same loose screw three times.
He put down the screwdriver and went inside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Night Before
Friday evening arrived with a thunderstorm that lasted only twenty minutes but left the backyard soaked.
Marcus and Nia carried chairs into the garage while wind pushed rain across the patio.
Andre arrived with a borrowed canopy and found them arguing over whether the dessert table could fit beneath it.
“The weather forecast says tomorrow will be clear,” he announced.
“The forecast also said this storm would miss us,” Marcus replied.
Andre looked at the puddles gathering beside the steps.
“Then we’ll build a party that can survive a bad forecast.”
They worked until the canopy stood securely over the patio.
Nia tested the lights and discovered that one extension cord would not reach the far table.
Marcus moved the table instead of adding another cord across the wet walkway.
When the rain stopped, Mrs. Allen came through the open gate carrying a tray of covered rolls.
“I was baking,” she explained.
“I thought you might want these tomorrow.”
Nia thanked her and offered to carry the tray inside.
Mrs. Allen hesitated at the threshold.
“I also wanted to tell you something,” she said to Marcus.
“The association president called me this afternoon.”
Marcus set down a folding chair.
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether I would repeat my statement at the next meeting.”
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I know,” Mrs. Allen replied.
“I’m considering doing it because people keep claiming nobody else saw what happened.”
Marcus nodded.
“You should decide what you’re comfortable sharing.”
“I already decided what I saw,” she said.
“I’m deciding how much noise I can tolerate afterward.”
Andre walked over with a towel for the wet chair.
“Noise isn’t always a sign that somebody said the wrong thing,” he offered.
Mrs. Allen accepted the towel and smiled faintly.
“My students used to tell me that when they challenged my grading.”
Nia returned from the kitchen and pointed toward the canopy.
“You can judge the dessert contest tomorrow.”
Mrs. Allen raised an eyebrow.
“What are the qualifications?”
“You have to like dessert,” Nia said.
“Then I am exceptionally qualified.”
After she left, Marcus locked the garage and checked the gate.
He found a fresh envelope tucked beneath the latch.
It contained no threat and no demand.
Inside was a short handwritten note from Claire Whitcomb.
She thanked him for directing her to the city inspector and explained that the company had agreed to correct its advertisement.
She had also asked the city to preserve the front porch railing her father had built.
Marcus put the note on the kitchen counter beside Nia’s birthday candles.
For the first time all week, the approaching Saturday felt like a day they might actually enjoy.
Then his phone rang.
The caller was the association president.
She said Margaret had requested an emergency neighborhood meeting at nine the following morning.
Marcus looked through the window at the canopy and the chairs waiting beneath it.
“Nine tomorrow?” he repeated.
“That’s what she asked for,” the president replied.
“She says she has something important to tell everyone before your gathering.”
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
He ended the call and found Nia standing in the doorway.
“Is she trying to ruin Saturday again?” his daughter asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcus answered.
“But this time we’re not canceling your party to find out.”
