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Duncan cleared his throat. He tried taking a step back, but the row of chairs from the nearest table was too close.
“I’d really like to see Grandmother open her gift, if you don’t mind. That’s why we’re here, after all. For her.”
“There you are. Beverly, looks like your son finally made it.” The older woman’s voice trailed from Duncan’s left.
It was pleasant, as far as voices went. Yet, for some reason, it struck me the same way agitating noises did to people, like fingernails on a chalkboard or the loud, piercing noises microphones made that made everyone cover their ears.
“Here we go,” Duncan muttered to me before turning to face Grandma Hawthorne.
I peered over his shoulder as he helped her to her seat. She smoothed a hand over her purple gown and rested her cane against the table’s edge.
“Happy birthday, Grandmother,” Duncan said, placing a kiss on her white hair.
Veronica and Mrs. Hawthorne circled closer to where she sat. Each of them rested their hands on the back of a chair, and from the black fabric draped on the chair with Veronica’s claws on it, I suspected she’d been invited to join the family at the table.
“I told you he would come,” Grandma Hawthorne said to Duncan’s mom and Veronica.
“How could he not?” Veronica cooed. “Especially since he knew I’d be here.”
She straightened her shoulders, displaying her graceful neck and her dress’s capabilities to keep her covered.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Hawthorne,” I said, wanting to both direct the attention away from Duncan and Veronica and to show these women how much I didn’t care about their opinions.
“What’s this?” Grandma gestured to the box in front of where I stood, not bothering to acknowledge me at all.
I screwed my smile into place. Dad had taught me to leave every place I went better than I’d found it—and I cared about Duncan too much to let these people get under my skin. Even so, I felt a worm of irritation wriggle in.
“Duncan got you something,” I said, retrieving the box before Duncan managed to.
Mrs. Hawthorne strode over to stand beside her mother-in-law. She pegged me with a glower that rivaled her son’s on one of his worst days.
“You say that as though you had something to do with it.”
“Rose helped me pick out Grandmother’s gift.” Duncan’s tone was careful.
Rose. He was really doing this.
He shouldn’t. We’d agreed. He needed to keep his feelings hidden—we both did. Even so, I still couldn’t help the little flutter in my chest.
He loved me—and he’d meant it.
“Rose?” Grandma Hawthorne’s derisive eyes flashed toward me. She lifted her chin. “I thought her name was Rosabel.”
At least she’d gotten it right. I still couldn’t believe Mrs. Hawthorne had called me Rosanne.
Were they really that bothered by the sight of me?
“Here.” I attempted to ignore the discomfort swimming around us.
With the box in hand, I wove around the chair situated between Duncan and his grandma and me. Except someone at the table behind us scooted his chair out at exactly the same time, knocking me off course.
I sidestepped into the chair. My heel caught on its leg. I lost my balance, tumbling forward.
In my attempt to catch myself, I shoved the hat box and sent it flying—right in Grandma’s direction.
“Oh,” Duncan said, lunging to keep the box from clocking his grandma in the face.
He caught it just in time, but not before knocking into her.
