Just then, Peter entered the kitchen through the breezeway and in a moment of panic, Marjory grabbed the bread knife from the counter and smooshed the butterflies into the white frosting in an attempt to lose the evidence. “The evidence of what, exactly?” Sheila would ask her later, as she and her sister-in-law attempted to space the twenty-three sparklers Marjory had insisted on instead of candles this year.
Marjory didn’t have time to answer because the fire-alarm system had started its deafening song. She saw Michael’s lips moving but all she made out was ‘something, something, didn’t you something off?’. “Oh pooh,” she muttered, “Now we can’t sing Happy Birthday.”
Of course, no one heard her. And Marjory didn’t think to sacrifice the cake to the kitchen sink. She was still standing there, at the dining room entrance, when the sprinkler system rained down on them all.