“It is. So, are Tyler and Hunter yours?” she said.

“Sadly, no. They’re my next-door neighbor’s children. Their mother was killed in a terrible car accident . . .”

I told her the story because she seemed to want to know the details.

“I heard about this. How awful. And he’s already married again? Pretty quick, huh?”

“I thought so, but it’s really none of my business,” I said.

“Well, what’s she like?”

I thought about it for a moment before I spoke because I didn’t want the story to travel. But on the other hand, why not stick it to Sharon with a total stranger? Just a little.

“The real reason I brought this cake to the park is because Tyler’s birthday is next Thursday and he’s not having a party because she doesn’t believe in them.”

“So she’s a big ol’ bitch?”

“Kind of the biggest one I ever met,” I said. “She’s having her parents and her aunt and uncle over for cake on the Sunday after his birthday.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Poor little guy! Oh, I just hate that story,” Maureen said.

“Me, too.”

We stood there and watched as Tyler ran around with Brian, Tommy, and her Matthew. And twenty other kids were playing tag, shooting hoops, and just generally having the time of their lives. On further inspection, I saw Hunter was hanging upside down on the jungle gym.

“Hunter!” I called out. “Get down from there!”

“He’ll break his neck,” Maureen said.

“No, he won’t. He’s part monkey. Hunter! Get down this instant!”

Hunter climbed down by grabbing the bar from which he was hanging and doing a flip, squarely hitting the ground like a junior Olympic gymnast.

“Kids,” she said.

We both grinned and shook our heads, but I hoped Hunter did not see that. He didn’t need an ounce of encouragement.

There was a magical Lowcountry mood that afternoon, as though the invisible sirens of Sullivan’s Island were poised to swoop down from the tops of all the bushy palmetto trees on the island to claim the boys of summer as their own. It made my heart swell to see all their energy and happiness. It was a snapshot I’d never forget.

Maureen said, “His birthday is next Thursday, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t we throw him a surprise party at my house?”

What an amazing idea. Amazing.

“Maureen? I think I want to be your best friend. Brilliant idea! When Sharon finds out, she’ll kill me. But this would be the first year of his life without his mother, with no real party and no friends to celebrate with. So let her kill me.”

“I’ll be your best friend. And, just so you know, I’m not afraid of her.”

Maureen was right. What could Sharon do?

“All righty then. Let’s do it! I’ll bring the cake.”