We stopped at a bakery.
I bought a small round cake with blue lettering.
The woman behind the counter smiled.
“Whose birthday?”
“My brother’s,” I said.
“We’re triplets.”
She added a candle.
The cemetery sits on a hill where the wind always blows hardest in December.
Daniel’s headstone stood where it always had.
Beside it was a smaller one.
Buddy.
Our golden retriever.
A firefighter had carried him out alive that night.
Buddy lived three more years before dying peacefully.
My parents buried him beside Daniel.
I placed the cake on the headstone.
Ben stood quietly beside me.
Snow began to fall.
Soft.
Slow.
The way it sometimes does on December 14th.
We cut the cake with the plastic knife from the bakery bag.
For the first time in thirty-one years, I wasn’t alone there.
Ben handed me a piece.
I handed one to him.
We looked at Daniel’s grave.
Then we said it together.
“Happy birthday, Daniel.”
Ben put his arm around my shoulders.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
We stood there until the candle burned out.
And then we stayed a little longer.
