He just shakes his head.

Tildy grasps the black wrought iron railing to steady herself and wonders what his name is, then wonders whether she should have had that last mojito.

Of course she should have. Shes the birthday girl! And it was a great party.

But it would have been even more fun if Darn! The tail end of that thought has flitted right out of her head.

Hmm What was the reason she didnt have as much fun tonight as she expected?

Did something happen at the party?

Hey, dont forget to tell whats-his-name the code so the alarm wont go off,she reminds herself briefly as Daddys new driver sorts through the keys on her Tiffany key ring.

Then she resumes wracking her champagne and rum-soaked brain about the party again. Hmm She cant seem to come up with anything negative about it.

All she remembers is a wonderful night: dancing, friends, family, food, plenty of toasts in her honor Daddy was so proud. He waltzed with her, and he told her how beautiful she is and how much he loves her, and he said Wait, what did he say?

Oh. Right. He said hes looking forward to her wedding someday; that it will be an even bigger extravaganza than tonights birthday party.

Someday, she told him agreeably.

With all these eligible men under one roof, Daddy swept a hand around the ballroom, there must be someone close to being worthy of my baby girl.

There is someone, Daddy Right! Thats it.Thats why the party wasnt as much fun as she expected.

Becausehe didnt show up.

She thought he might, after all.

He said all along that he wouldnt. So why did she think he might?

Oh! Because of the roses. And the card that said hed see her tonight.

She really thought hed be there. But he wasnt.

Well, maybe the roses werent from him.

Maybe they were from What do you think? she asks Ed, or Dave, who is fitting the key into the lock.

Pardon me, Miss Harrington?

Who sent me the roses? Were they from you? She laughs, hard and shrill, at the thought that he might have a crush on her.

And Oh, wait, this is good: what if it was mutual? What if she was to march right up to Daddy and report that shes finally found the man she wants to marry, and its his new chauffeur?

G.o.d, Im killing myself,Tildy thinks, doubled over in glee.

Oblivious that hes the source of her hysterical laughter, Ed/Dave clears his throat as he opens the door. Here we are, home sweet home.

She straightens, sniffles, wipes her eyes. Thank you, Dave. She attempts a curtsy but almost pitches headfirst down the steps.

Its Albert, he says, after steadying her arm.

Excuse me?

My name is Albert, Miss Harrington.

Oh! Well then, who is Ed?

I have no idea.

And youre not Dave, either?

Im Albert. He tips his cap before turning and heading down the steps with a polite, Good night.

Good night Albert. She shakes her head, closing and locking the door after him.

She feels dizzy. And a little nauseated.

A lot nauseated, all of a sudden.

No, she probably shouldnt have had that last mojito. How many did she have altogether? One before the champagne toast, and at least one after and that final one Tildys stilettos wobble a bit as she steps farther into the entry hall, her hand fumbling for a light switch along the wall.

At precisely the same second she locates the switch and flips it, she realizes something strange: the alarm never went off.

But she never told Ed the code.

Albert.

She never told Albert the code.

Why didnt it go off?

And why Why isnt the light going on?

The bulb must be burned out.

Tildy feels her way forward unsteadily, then realizes that its getting easier to see.

Thats because of the candles.

Candles?

Yes, thats definitely flickering candlelight coming from the dining room.

h.e.l.lo? she calls, realizing shes not alone.

Only one person could have let himself into the town house. He has the key; he knows the code.

So the roses were from him after all, she realizes. This is what he meant by See You Tonight.

Hes waiting for her with candlelight and, undoubtedly, champagne and gifts, to celebrate her birthday privately.

You are too much, she calls, giggling, pausing to prop herself against the wall with one hand and pull off her shoes with the other.

Still nauseated, she dangles the shoes from one hand by their straps and proceeds, barefoot, into the dining room.

The first thing she notices is that the swinging door that leads to the kitchen is closed, for some reason Then she stops short.

What the ?

Tildy looks around in wonder at the pink streamers, balloons, party favors, the large cake in the center of the table. Thirty candles flicker amid the icing roses and Happy Birthday elegantly scrolled in pastel pink. Beneath those words, somebody has awkwardly written DEAR TILDY in gooey block letters using a gaudy shade of red.

Red? Why not pink? The red looks almost like fresh blood oozing over the cake No, dont think that. Not when you feel so queasy.

Why didnt he just have the bakery write in theDear Tildy? she finds herself wondering as her stomach churns.

And where the heck is he, anyway?

Honey? Im home! Oops, shes slurring.

She concentrates, trying hard to keep her words coherent as she calls, Are you there?

Im here, a voice answers softly from directly behind her, just inches from her ear.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet, Brynn thinks, lying on the couch and wondering whether she should turn on the television again.

She just clicked it off a few minutes ago in the midst of a cable movies opening credits, realizing she was starting to doze at last.

Now that the living room is dark and silent, shes suddenly wide-awake again and a little spooked.

Is it any wonder? Earlier, she channel-surfed until she found a Johnny Depp movie shed never seena scary, b.l.o.o.d.y thriller. But, of course, she couldnt stop watching until the whopping final twist, which she never saw coming.

With a creaking of old springs beneath her weight, she turns onto her side so that her back is pressed against the lumpy couch pillows.

There. Now sleep.

Startled, Matilda Harrington opens her mouth, but a firm open palm clamps down over it before she can make a sound.

Dont scream. Dont move. Just listen, okay?Okay?

Tildy nods, her momentary panic subsiding as she realizes that this must be some kind of birthday surprise. The voice is vaguely familiar, but in her inebriated confusion, shes unable to place it.

For a moment, the only sound is her m.u.f.fled breathing behind the stifling hand pressed over her lips. She wants to protest that this is uncomfortable, but, suddenly, an eerily singsong voice fills the room.

Happy Birthday to you I was right. Somebodys planned a party for me. A post-party party! Any second now, everyone will jump out and shout, Surprise!

She wriggles, trying to turn to see whos there, but shes held fast. She tries to speak, but the hand presses harder, the thumb jamming against her nostrils, cutting off her air.

Panic begins to steal over her again. She struggles to breathe in as her unexpected guest continues to sing to her.

Why isnt anyone yelling Surprise yet?

Where are all the other guests?

Why arent they singing along with whoever is holding her?

And why is that d.a.m.n hand covering her mouth so d.a.m.n tightly that she cant inhale?

Somewhere in her drunken daze, Tildy is struck by the irony that somebody went to all this trouble to surprise her on her birthday, and shes going to pa.s.s out right here, right now, because they dont realize she cant breathe.

Hysterical, bibulous laughter bubbles up inside her to commingle with irrational fear as her body reflexively fights for oxygen, squirming, trying to break free.

Surely the other guests see whats happening here.

Surely someone will put a stop to this.

But n.o.body comes forward, and the singing continues, and her alcohol-induced haze is beginning to lift.

Isthis a surprise party?

Or some kind of prank?

Or Dear G.o.d, Im not actually in danger am I?

Between the uncomfortable couch, her nerves, and the eerie silence, Brynns entire body is tense.

Just go to sleep.

She has to be up extra early to get both Caleb and Ashley to school.

Ashley.

She was a tremendous help with the boys, reading them countless bedtime stories and promising shed play with them in the morning. After Brynn gave the boys a final tuck-in and closed their doors, she found Ashley with a wistful look on her face.

I wish I wasnt an only child, she confided.

Brynn wasnt sure what to say to that. So, of course, she said the wrong thing.

Maybe your mom or dad will get remarried someday and have more children.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back.

Her own father remarried. Look how she herself still felt about that, and Dad and Sue didnt even have more children together, thank G.o.d.

Ashleys smile was sad. I dont think they will. And anyway, my mom doesnt really like kids.