Page 3 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

It was true. The shrubs had grown, and the flower beds looked fuller. Still, the house itself felt the same, even with the updates.

I was the one who had changed.

The moving truck pulled into the driveway behind us. The brakes hissed, then the engine went quiet.

Neither of us reached for the door.

I kept staring. Grief does strange things. People think it makes you forget, but it doesn’t. Instead, you notice details no one else would.

The slight crack in the third porch column. The tiny chip in the brick beside the garage. The way the lemon tree leaned was just enough to cast shade over the front walk after noon.

My stomach tightened. Memory can be cruel. It shows up without warning.

"You ready?" Zaire asked.

Was I ready? Not really. But I’d spent too many years waiting to feel ready. I reached for the door handle.

As soon as I stepped onto the driveway, a strange calm came over me. It wasn’t peace. It felt like the house had been waiting for me just as long as I’d been waiting for it.

The front door opened across the street. I looked up.

A woman stepped onto her porch, holding a crystal cake stand with a fresh lemon pound cake beneath the glass dome. She smiled the way women do in neighborhoods like this. The word I’m looking for is “fake.”

She crossed the street without hesitation.

"You must be Maci."

She stopped in front of me, holding out one perfectly manicured hand and balancing the cake with the other.

"I'm Camille."

She smiled wider.

"Welcome to Lemon Grove Estates."

I hesitated a moment before finally taking her hand. Her grip was warm and sure. She laughed.

Camille’s smile was beautiful, but it was the first thing that unsettled me. Most people would probably find it warm and friendly. To me, it seemed forced. I couldn’t explain why it bothered me. It just did.

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." She lifted the crystal cake stand a little higher. "It's tradition around here."

I looked at the lemon pound cake under the glass dome. It was perfectly golden, with powdered sugar so evenly dusted it looked almost painted. The crystal stand seemed older than the cake. I stared for a moment, then made myself look away.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"I baked it this morning."

"I'm sure it tastes just as good."

She laughed, but it sounded practiced. It was as if she had done it so many times she didn’t even have to think about it.

Zaire stepped beside me and slipped his hand into mine.

"I'm Zaire."

"I know exactly who you are." Camille smiled. "You're the real estate broker everybody keeps talking about."

"I hope they're saying good things."