Chapter 5 - THE TOAST
Mara almost did not wear the swimsuit.
She stood in the guest bathroom at the estate with the navy fabric in her hands while laughter drifted through the open window. She could hear Lila giving instructions near the pool, directing photographers, complaining about flower placement, calling everyone “babe” the way she did when she was nervous.
On the counter lay a black cover-up Mara had brought from home.
She put on the swimsuit.
The scars traveled from beneath her ribs, across her waist, and down her left thigh in pale ridges that caught the light differently than the rest of her skin. She had seen them thousands of times. Still, she sometimes looked at them and felt she was seeing the fire instead of her own body.
She left the cover-up on the counter.
Not because Lila had told her to stop hiding.
Because Lila no longer got to decide what hiding meant.
When Mara stepped onto the terrace, conversations changed. Some guests looked away politely. Others looked too long. A few knew enough of the old story to recognize the scars and then glanced toward Lila with expressions Mara could not read.
Lila hurried over.
For a moment, surprise stripped the performance from her face.
“You wore it.”
“You bought it.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I know.”
Lila’s eyes dropped to the scars. Something like guilt flickered there, but it vanished behind a bright smile.
“You look good,” she said.
Mara almost answered, Thank you.
Then Charles appeared.
His gaze moved over Mara’s body with visible irritation. “Is this necessary?”
“What?”
“The drama.”
Mara looked down at herself. “Skin is dramatic now?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
Charles lowered his voice. “Your mother told me you’ve been speaking to people about the fire.”
Mara’s pulse jumped.
“People speak.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He stepped closer. “There are consequences to reviving a childhood tragedy.”
“For whom?”
His eyes hardened.
Before he could answer, Evelyn called them to the stage for photographs.
The afternoon unfolded beneath a surface of luxury. Champagne moved through the crowd. A chef carved salmon beside an ice sculpture shaped like the number eighteen. A DJ replaced the quartet. Guests posted videos of the coastline with captions about “the birthday event of the year.”
Mara saw Adrian Cole arrive at 3:47.
He wore a dark suit and entered through the side gate with another investigator. They remained near estate security, speaking quietly. Charles noticed them at 3:51.
At 3:53, he disappeared into the house.
Mara checked her phone.
COLE: Stay visible. Do not confront anyone alone.
At 4:02, Lila announced the birthday toast.
The crowd gathered near the pool.
Mara’s stomach tightened when she saw the montage begin on the giant screen. Childhood photographs appeared in quick succession, each accompanied by sentimental music. Lila as a baby. Lila at five. Lila at ten. Lila at thirteen. Lila holding awards and flowers and horses’ reins.
Then came a photograph of Mara.
Eleven years old, face half-covered in hospital bandages.
The music continued.
Mara froze.
The next image showed the burned pool house.
Then another showed Lila in a hospital waiting room, wrapped in a blanket.
A caption appeared beneath it.
THE DAY OUR FAMILY ALMOST BROKE.
Several guests murmured.
Lila took the microphone.
Mara looked at Evelyn.
Her mother’s face was pale.
She knew.
“This wasn’t in rehearsal,” Evelyn whispered.
Lila had planned it herself.
“I know my family doesn’t talk about this,” Lila began. “But becoming eighteen made me think about what it means to let go.”
Mara felt the world narrow.
Lila looked toward her.
“Mara, come here.”
She did not move.
“Come on,” Lila said with a small laugh. “Don’t make it weird.”
The sentence had followed them since childhood.
Mara walked onto the stage.
Lila spoke about forgiveness. About accidents. About growing up. About how pain could make people cruel but love could make them better.
Then she said the sentence that ended everything.
“I forgive you for the fire.”
Mara stared at her sister.
Behind Lila, the photograph of the ruined pool house filled the screen.
Ten years earlier, Mara had been told silence was love.
She no longer believed it.
She took the microphone.
“No.”
The word was quiet, but the speakers carried it across the terrace.
Lila blinked.
Mara continued. “You don’t get to forgive me for something I didn’t do.”
A wave of whispers spread through the guests.
Charles emerged from the house, moving quickly.
“Mara,” he warned.
She looked at him. “No.”
Evelyn stepped forward. “Please.”
“No.”
Lila’s face flushed. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping.”
“Stopping what?”
“Protecting everyone except myself.”
Charles reached the stage.
“That is enough.”
Then Adrian Cole raised his badge.
“This is a family matter,” Charles snapped. “Leave.”
Cole’s voice was calm.
“It stopped being private when new evidence suggested obstruction.”
Every phone in the crowd turned toward him.
Charles’s face went rigid.
“What evidence?” Lila whispered.
Mara saw movement beside the fountain.
George Hale stepped out from the shade.
Lila stared at him as if she had seen a ghost.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Charles said one word.
“No.”
Hale raised the small black drive.
“I saved the pool-house security recording before they demolished it.”
Mother lunged for the microphone.
“He is confused.”
Mara caught the stand before Evelyn could pull it away.
“No,” Mara said. “You counted on him being poor and frightened. You never counted on him keeping a copy.”
Adrian Cole gave a signal to the technician near the projection system.
The birthday montage vanished.
For one breathless second, the screen went black.
Then the image of the old pool house appeared.
Date stamp.
Time stamp.
May you like
Ten years earlier.
And on the screen, eight-year-old Lila rode into frame on a pink bicycle.
