I should have known to stop Collette after we sang “Happy Birthday.” One of the girls piped up, “Where is the birthday girl?” And I should have answered for her.
I should have distracted the children with more slices of cake or announced rides on the carousel when Collette turned to the door and said, “Here she is.” Whatever their mothers had tried explaining to them, the children are still confused.
And when Collette leans forward and whispers to no one in the chair, when she says, “Happy Birthday, my sweet darling,” and leans down to give the invisible child a kiss, the children’s eyes grow wide as saucers. A few start giggling as they watch Collette blow out every candle on the cake.
But then Collette is telling the kids to run off and play, and they don’t have to be told twice. With the attention span of preschoolers, they’ve forgotten to ask who on earth she is talking to.
In the excitement, one of the boys knocks over a centerpiece. Collette looks upset about keeping it upright. She brushes the glitter that’s fallen from its place.
And that’s when I hear him. Mr. Bird.
The unmistakable booming sound of his voice. “What in the hell?”
I stop dead in my tracks. So does everyone else.
He stands at the entrance to the dining room. His cheeks are bright red and the sides of his mouth puff air as he surveys the room.
What is he doing here? I didn’t think he would show up. From what I understood, he never attends the party. But here he is, glaring at the children and looking like he wants every single one of them to disappear.
I’m confused—I thought he’d be thrilled to see we’ve pulled it off, the party he told me he wanted. He said, Throw Patty the most spectacular party. He asked me to stay and help. And I did. Mr. Bird has known every detail of the planning as for days Collette has talked about nothing else at dinner. Mr. Bird has seen the men assembling the carousel each morning as he walked out the door for work.
What did he think—that no one was going to come here and ride that thing? That they paid for an entire carousel to sit in their dining room and never be used?
Collette whirls around. Pauline does too, and she drops a plate, her skin blotching red from her neck to her cheeks. Pauline is staring at me, and then at Mr. Bird—she’s panicked.
But why? He wanted this—I thought this was okay—
He marches toward me, and I instinctively back up.
I look to the carousel, to the kids who are still playing, before Mr. Bird bellows in my face, “Sarah!” The kids freeze and the parlor door opens. Alarmed, one of the mothers pokes her head out.
Stephen runs into the room next, his eyes opening wide when he finds a room full of kids. And he skids to a stop, his stare taking in the ridiculously ornate carousel spinning in the background, the party decorations, and balloons. The children he’s never seen before.
Suddenly I understand I’ve messed up. Royally.
Nausea roils through my stomach. I know where I went wrong.
Anna didn’t invite kids to the party because she knew better. Collette had been upset about no one showing up, but Anna lied and told her the children were standing right there. She tried to make her believe when there had been no one.
I thought I’d done well. I thought this was what the family wanted—what Collette wanted.
But I’ve screwed up and Mr. Bird is screaming at me and it’s too late to fix it.
Because I broke the rule the Birds stressed above all: I told someone else. I’m not supposed to let anyone into this apartment to observe how Collette acts around her make-believe daughter. And now I’ve brought into this building twelve strangers who’ve all seen Collette.
Confidentiality agreement or not, they will talk. I was stupid to think they wouldn’t. They won’t be able to help it.
Did you hear about that family on West Seventy-eighth Street? Last name Bird?
How could I be so stupid?
If I could dissolve into the wallpaper, I would. If I could press myself into the wall so hard I disappeared and never have to face this family again, I would do it right now.
I’d been so close to pulling this party off without a hitch. I’m so close to getting the hell out of here.
I turn to Pauline—why didn’t you warn me? I want to cry out. Why didn’t you tell me not to let the kids in?
But in the last few days, I’d failed to share my plans with the housekeeper. Stupidly, I didn’t think it was necessary. Still, when I brought the group to the door, why didn’t she stop me? Why didn’t she say, Are you crazy? You can’t bring kids to the apartment no matter what Collette demands. We’ve got to get them out.
She should have protected me from this disaster, but she didn’t. She didn’t even give me a warning.
I stare at Pauline now, my heart racing, my piercing eyes asking all these questions, but she doesn’t say a word. Only lets her chin quiver and shrinks back, furiously snapping the rubber band on her wrist. She’s scared to pieces and doesn’t know how to help me.
I’m on my own.