“Come on, Vivy,” she said in a low voice. “You weren’t really the first one to get married, now, were you?”

The few relatives who were standing nearby let out a collective gasp. It was a low blow, even for Vera.

“Vera!” Cousin Ruby hissed at her, while Uncle David, who could only hear the sound of his own voice, continued to talk. Vivian moved behind Ruby, away from Vera, her face reddened to the color of boiled beets.

After he finished his speech, David led everyone in a rousing chorus of “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” and while they all applauded the birthday girl, David received a wrinkled, smiling “Thank you, dear” from Grandma Kurtz. She must have been mellowing in her very old age, Vivian thought as she turned and took to the stairs.

Who the hell did Vera think she was, anyway? Calls me a bitch when I’ve just been through the worst time of my life? Vivian stomped past the second floor and continued up the staircase. Her skin felt prickly and the sting of tears threatened. Her self-esteem was hanging on by maybe just a ring and a ring finger. She could not believe what her sister had just done.

While friends and relatives milled around on the first floor, gabbing and eating cake, Vivian found herself alone and holding back tears while waiting to use the special bathroom Grandma Kurtz had had installed on the third floor of the house. “Because when I’m rememberin’ in mah picture books . . .”—“picture books” was what Grandma Kurtz called the photo albums her children and grandchildren gave her—“when I’m rememberin’ in mah picture books I don’t want to have to hightail it all the way down the stairs if I hear nature callin’.”

Almost no one else bothered with the third-floor bathroom because they had no interest in Grandma Kurtz’s picture books, and also because of all the stairs, but Vivian had made the extra effort to get away from everyone else at the party so she could be alone. But, wouldn’t it just figure, there was someone else in the special bathroom, and she had to wait.

Finally, the door to the bathroom swung open and Vera’s husband, Wally, and a fresh spritz of a woodsy cologne, greeted her. Vivian forced a smile (Fine, thank you!). She was never without her manners at events and gatherings, regardless of who was there. Wally stood in the doorway, all protruding stomach, armpit stains, and wide eyes, surprised at seeing someone else on the third floor. He then slapped a hand to his cheek and tilted his head.

“Well, if it isn’t the second wife of Edward Dalton!”

And that was all she’d needed.

She shoved her way past Wally into the bathroom, slammed and locked the door, and reached for the beige bath towel that hung folded on the rod. She didn’t even wait to hear if Wally had started down the stairs before she held the folded towel to her face and let out a muffled scream. She then sat down hard on the wooden toilet seat cover (which she’d had to put down, of course, since Wally was a typical animal who left the seat up) and screamed into the towel again.