Evelyn sat in her high chair in a little white dress with yellow daisies on it, the same daisies as the curtains Diane had sewn. Her hair had not turned brown. If anything, it had gotten redder. It stuck out in a wild halo of copper curls that no barrette on earth could control.
“She’s gonna keep it,” my mom said, watching her. “Look at that. Copper Tom would be proud.”
When we brought out the cake, everyone sang. Evelyn stared at the one lit candle with her mouth hanging open, like it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her life. Ben crouched down beside her high chair.“Blow, Evie,” he said. “Like this. Whooo.”
She didn’t blow. She grabbed a fistful of frosting and smashed it straight into her own face. Then she laughed. That big, shrieking, joyful laugh. And everyone laughed with her, and my dad took about a hundred pictures, and for one second, standing there in the backyard, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
