She carries Suzy into the house, up the stairs to her bed, tucks her in, places her fingers on Suzy’s temple and feels her pulse. She steps away from the sleeping birthday girl, brings up her fingers and licks them, lightly. But all Annie tastes is the salt of her own skin.

Annie descends the stairs slowly. Because she can still hear the murmurs of Mrs. Keller’s voice on the phone in the kitchen. Outside, Mr. Keller is cheerfully trying to shepherd the rest of the guests out, into their minivans. They’ve all forgotten to distribute the party favors, little bags filled with candy and a stuffed animal, and Annie can picture them sitting listlessly on the kitchen counter, where Mrs. Keller is still speaking to her doctor on the phone. She knows she should move forward, run after the lingering mothers, and thrust the bags into their hands, but she is frozen on the landing, straining to hear Mrs. Keller even if it’s impossible through the walls, the closed doors, the quick rhythm of her heart, prancing around in her rib cage. So, so alive.

Annie can see two moms picking up the light jackets they hung in the front hall closet. “What the hell was that? The mom just left, shoved the kid into the nanny’s arms and stalked off. Who does that at her own kid’s party? She’s definitely not invited to book club,” one says to the other, pulling their children like dogs behind them, out of Annie’s view.

“She always seemed cold. Not worth getting to know, those types. They think they’re holier than thou because they’re not from here. You’ll learn. The city transplants are the worst. Francesca, quit it, will you? I’m trying to put on my coat.” And then they’re outside, and the last of them are gone, and Annie is still standing on the landing.

Finally, Annie hears the swinging door, and there’s Mrs. Keller, her face haloed by the afternoon light streaming in, her eyes blinking rapidly, fingers fumbling, flinching, desperate for a cigarette, something to stop the shaking.

“Do you know where my husband is?”

“Outside. Cleaning up.” And Mrs. Keller closes her eyes, breathes, opens them, and goes out the front door, around the side to her husband. And it is he who breaks, whose sharp cry Annie, still frozen on the landing, hears from outside. Anguish for this cold, cold woman.

And something alights in Annie as she stands there, something so powerful that she grips the banister to keep from collapsing into herself. Relief? Is it relief, this wash of feeling steadying her heart? And she is buzzing with it as she finally walks down the rest of the stairs and peers outside at the backyard, everyone gone except for two huddled figures, streamers and cake and presents and plastic forks and napkins and ribbons scattered in the grass.