Page 16 of The Five Year Lie

“Oh my,” she replies with twinkling eyes.

“They went BOOM!” Buzz says, and he follows it up with an exaggerated sound effect.

“You don’t say,” my mother says indulgently as Ray ruffles his hair.

At least I know Ray won’t treat my mother like a servant. He won’t punish her with angry silences or critique her outfits. Once, in this very kitchen, my mother dared to get annoyed at my father for eating a deviled egg off the carefully arranged tray she made for Easter dinner.

I was eight or nine. Old enough to freeze like a frightened deer when I saw the anger in his eyes at her complaint.

Just to prove who was boss, he swept the whole platter off thecountertop. It landed with a terrifying crash, sending crockery and bits of egg in every direction, before he stormed out.

Mom and I were left standing here, frozen, our Easter dresses dotted with yolk and ceramic shards, like shrapnel. And it was Ray who strode in a few minutes later with a broom and a soft voice. “Stand still, ladies. Let me get the worst of this so nobody steps in it, okay?”

We didn’t discuss it then, and we don’t really discuss it now. My mother discovered therapy under the guise of “grief counseling” after my father’s death. And good for her.

But if I look hard enough, I can still see the ghost of my scared young self in the corners of this kitchen.

Mom is in the mood to celebrate, though. She pulls a clamshell cupcake holder out of her shopping bag and steps over to the countertop to open it. “How was the afternoon? What did I miss?”

“Ariel and I had a little chat,” Ray says, giving me a smile.

“Oh,” my mother says softly. She glances up at me, a vulnerable expression on her face.

I force my mouth into a smile that’s far more placid than the past forty-eight hours deserve.

When she smiles back at me, her obvious happiness makes me feel like a heel. If she can be a blushing bride at fifty-eight, I guess I can keep my brittleness to myself.

“Hey—funny story,” my uncle is saying now. “And I’m pretty glad we don’t run a cell phone company.”

“What’s that?” my mother asks, putting a full-sized cupcake into a Tupperware container for Buzz.

Maybe I can convince him to save half of it for tomorrow.

“I got a text yesterday morning from the Bagel Tree.” Ray swipes a drop of icing from the cupcake container and licks it theatrically off his finger. I can hear him winding up to tell a story. “... They said my smoked salmon and fried egg sandwich was ready. But I hadn’t ordered anything, so the text didn’t make any sense. I called over there, and they were just as confused as I was!”

My gaze snaps upward as I realize what he’s saying. “Wait. They... didn’t send the text?”

“Oh, they did.” Ray laughs. “Five years ago! But I didn’t figure that out until I heard a story on the radio—thousands of people got outdated texts yesterday. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Fiveyears?” I gasp.

“It was on the news!” he says with a hoot, oblivious to my distress.

“Wait, what?” My mother stops her work on the cupcakes and stares up at him. “What did you say about your text?”

Ray starts his story over again. He loves to tell stories.

But my mind is already spinning. And my limbs are suddenly cold—as if someone has drained all the warmth from my body.

“... A cell tower went out of service, somehow, and a bunch of texts never went through. Then yesterday all the old texts were delivered at once. Nobody knew that could happen.”

I finally remember to breathe. But it doesn’t help much. Five years agowhen? I still have only half the story.

My mother is staring at Ray, too. “That is wild.”

“Isn’t it?” He chuckles. “Here, Buzzy. Take this from Grandma before your mother decides it’s too much sugar.” He passes Buzz the sealed Tupperware. “What do you tell Grandma?”

“Thank you!” Buzz yells.