She’d become painfully thin in the last month but looked happy tonight.

“Make a wish, Aunt Cass,” Meg’s eleven-year-old daughter, Gabi, echoed, crowding in close to Cass, unable to contain herself, the flickering candlelight reflected in her shining brown eyes.

“Make a wish, babe,” Tommy Jr. said, patting his wife’s back. “Before your cake catches fire.”

Cass Brennan crinkled her nose and tucked a long blond curl behind her ear. She’d married into this family eleven years ago and they’d immediately made her one of them. “Not too worried,” she said lightly, even with her candles ablaze. “I’ve got two of the city’s finest firefighters here.”

Dad lifted his hands. “I’ve retired, hon, and we don’t know how good Tommy is. Better make a wish and blow out those candles.”

“Come on, Aunt Cass,” Gabi shouted, trying to be heard above the good-natured laughter. “Wish for a baby. Wish hard!”

The laughter immediately died.

Cass froze.

Tommy’s shoulders squared aggressively. “We don’t need a baby.”

“Yes, you do, Uncle Tommy,” Gabi argued. “You’ve been wanting a baby for a long time!”

“Time to wish for something else. Like a vacation. Or winning the lottery.”

Cass flinched, as if struck. Tears slowly filled her eyes.

All pretense of happiness was gone. Kit could feel Cass’s grief, was sure everyone else felt it, too. The endless sorrow hung in the air, heavy, aching, a tragic specter weighting the room.

Tommy reacted first, his strong jaw—Dad’s jaw—tightening, his blue eyes snapping. He didn’t do this. Didn’t break, grieve, mourn. Not in public. Not even in front of his family. He clapped his hand impatiently on Cass’s slender back, between her shoulder blades. “Come on, babe. Blow out the candles.”

The edge in his voice brought Cass to life. She gulped a breath, leaned toward the tall coconut cake with the fluffy icing, staring at what was left of the candles, formulating the wish before blowing out the flames in a broken rush of air.

Everyone clapped and the kids cheered. Meg rose and rushed to get the knife and delicate porcelain dessert plates. Meg’s husband, Jack, asked if anyone wanted coffee or tea. Mom wanted tea and Jack headed to the kitchen to make it, and all the while Dad was talking loudly, carrying the small stack of presents from the sideboard to the table, making a big deal about which present Cass would open first. Everyone was talking, busy doing something, but Tommy.

Tommy sat stiff and silent and grim in his chair at the corner of the table. Kit refilled water glasses but kept an eye on her brother.