Isabeth twirled her hair around her finger leaning against the kitchen's door frame. Waiters with empty trays streamed in, refilling at the taupe granite island layered with trays of tiny morsels of deliciousness fresh from the oven, straight off the grill, or chilled in the hidden camel oak fridge. Once the slave-driving, toque topped, double-breasted jacketed wearing chef placed a warm tray in the hands of a steady line of waiters they buzzed out like a Camaro charged with a full tank of gas. Mr. Franz was useless, truthfully everyone was useless but there was one last person she hadn't gotten to yet.

Camilla Hamilton, the little sister of Fiona, dutiful daughter in a crisis. This was all her doing. The casket, the flower arrangements at the church, every piece of food ushered out on the trays, even the music emitting from the speakers; it was all her doing. Mr. Hamilton was too occupied with who to invite, what to say, and how to say it without falling apart. Mrs. Hamilton had fallen apart after the sheriff spoke the words Fiona and death in the same sentence. She didn't make it to the morgue to claim her daughter's body, Camilla also did that and as Fiona's country South Carolina Aunt Mercy rummaged through every cabinet, slamming doors and opening drawers in search of a platter for her Sock-it-to-me cake, it would be Camilla to the rescue removing the woman from the kitchen and out of Chef Luke's nerves.

"You already looked in that cabinet Aunt Mercy." Isabeth reminded her emerging into the kitchen.

"I did, baby." With a heavy hand, Aunt Mercy slammed the cabinet door close. "This kitchen is just too big. I'm forgettin' where I looked. Who needs this many cabinets Karen can't even cook, she was blessed she married a rich man but we won't travel down the road she just lost her baby, God bless her heart." Aunt Mercy journey to the next cabinet whipping the door open; only plates. She closed the cabinet with a huff.

Camilla rushed in the kitchen, "Aunt Mercy we don't need a cake. We already have dessert." Chef Luke violently shook his head dropping a dollop of butter in a skillet, sizzling in seconds. "I told you this on the phone. I told you at the hotel when you told me you bought a cake."

Aunt Mercy walked back over to her cake as if Chef Luke was going to start slicing into it and claim it as his own. "Milla, I bring my sock-it-to-me cake to every family gathering. Your mama loves my sock-it-to-me-cake."

Isabeth placed a tray of shot glasses filled with steamy tomato shop coupled with triangle sliced grilled cheese sandwiches into the hands of Martin, the only waiter she knew by name.

"She loves Fiona." Camilla balled her fist looking down at the stone floor. "She wants Fiona back, not a damn piece of cake!"

Camilla closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, and exhaled. Isabeth watched Aunt Mercy's wide eyes and tight lips, more surprised that the little girl raised her voice than cussed at her.

"Aunt Mercy, I'm sorry. Forgive me." Camilla placed her hand on her neck massaging her tight muscles. "I'll find the platter and cut the cake."

Aunt Mercy walked around the island, took both of Camilla's hands into hers, "Don't worry yourself; leave it. It was stupid of me to bring it."

"No, your right" Camilla squeezed Aunt Mercy's hands. "Mama loves the cake, daddy, too. They need some comfort food for the soul. Just go rest your feet. I'll handle it."

Aunt Mercy caressed Camilla's small slim cheek "Okay, baby."

"Let me help you." Isabeth offered to take her hands off the Tupperware cake box.

Isabeth walked around the island, scooted pass Chef Luke tossing ripe, sweet yellow onions in the skillet at the stove, "I think I remember were the cake plate is."

Isabeth relied on her many memories of the house. When Faith, Harper, Fiona and her would spend the summers in Evening, sitting on that very island talking about what outfits they were going to wear at every event on the summer social calendar, scarfing down apples and cantaloupes to ensuring their bodies stayed firm and toned in their bikinis.

It was in this kitchen that she learned to bake brownies. Double chocolate, walnut brownies that she sat on two scoops of French vanilla ice cream. She watched the ice cream melt under those warm brownies as Fiona went on and on about Leon breaking her heart. So, yes she knew where the cake plate was; in the cabinet next to the stove, in the back behind the soufflé bowls.

"Found it!" Isabeth carried the crystal cake plate back to the island where Camilla's eyes bore down on the golden-brown cake drowned in a sticky, sweet veneer of glazed sugar.

Camilla was four years younger than them and looked nothing like Fiona with her short stature, big brown eyes, long face, and bone-straight black hair which allowed her to pass freely among them without beckoning thoughts of Fiona. She was the annoying little sister they pushed aside and left in their dust when they fled the house to travel down whatever excursion conquered their hearts at the moment.

Isabeth removed the dome top off the cake plate. "Milla, it'll get better."

Camilla opened the silverware drawer. "What do you know Isabeth, you don't have a sister." She picked up a cake knife, the cold metal sat in her hand.

Isabeth rested her hand around the cake plate's pedestal. "I lost Maya and Brittany, my friends. Losing Kevin." Isabeth stopped. She remembered herself standing in the wet grass as the coroner rolled out Kevin's body in that suffocating black plastic bag. All she could think was: he can't breathe, he can't breathe. She thought it as tears dropped from her eyes holding Malachi's hand.

Isabeth continued, "To this day losing him still hurts. We've known each other since birth, for God sakes we all played on the same little league team (The Evening Tasmanian Devils). We may not share DNA but for all intents and purposes, we are siblings. So, I have lost a brother and now a sister so, don't ask me what I know because I carry around a whole hell of lot of grief."

Camilla laid her hand on Isabeth's "I'm sorry. I forgot how close you all are...were because I haven't seen you guys in a year." She tried to smirk but her lip just quivered.

"Not by choice" Isabeth pulled the cake over to her. "Fiona just fell out the loop. Do you happen to know why?"

"I don't know." Camilla moved out of the waiters' way. "You guys never invited me in your little posse, I'm a teenager. I don't understand why you guys hang with Harper but I can't be included."

Isabeth placed the fluffy cake onto the plate, sugar sticking to her fingers. "Harper's nineteen. She's a year behind us." She went to the chrome sink, letting the warm water surge over her hands. "People tend to frown at twenty-year-olds hanging out with sixteen-year-olds. I don't think Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton would be happy with you chilling with Malachi and Dalton, you know with them being twenty and all." She wrung her hands and turned the faucet off.

Camilla handed her a towel. "Maybe but it would have been good if you guys would have dropped by when my sister was gone. You all weren't just a fixture in her life you were one in mines too." Her voice got caught in her throat.

"We didn't mean to cut you out." Isabeth folded the towel, delicately laying it on the countertop. "We were just navigating life."

"Understood. You guys have been through a lot." Camilla pierced the flaky, firm crust of the cake with the knife and drug it down all around the cake until elongated slices laid on top of each other.

"You mentioned Fiona was gone. Where was she gone again I don't remember where she got accepted." That was a lie Isabeth knew actually where Fiona was accepted. Each of them gloated about where they would be for college, showed off their big envelopes, and proudly wearing their school shirts on college day.

"NYC. She was accepted into Parson's," Camilla placed the lid over the cake to ensure its moistness.

"Parson's... Design school, right. She wanted to start her own line." She smirked. "She use to make dressed and demanded we model them."

"She was good...almost better than Daddy." Camilla proclaimed. "She showed me some of her sketches when I visited her four months ago." She lit up, the darkness that hung in her eyes started to fade away.

Isabeth wrinkled her nose the clouds of black pepper smoke streamed over her head. "You visited her four months! How was she?"

"Like herself. I mean she was stressed she said she had midterms. I couldn't stay long."

"Uh." Isabeth bit on the inside of her bottom lip "Midterms. Four months ago."

"What?" Camilla pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator.

"Nothing." Isabeth placed clean, streak-free wine glasses on an empty tray. "I was just thinking about my midterms. Wow, college. Are any of her friends from Parson's here?"

Camilla grunted as she drilled the corkscrew into the cork. "We didn't find any in her contact list."

"Boyfriend?" Isabeth placed a wine glass onto the tray.

"She didn't speak of one. Why?" Camilla pulled back the corkscrew's arm and Pop...the cork, sprung up. "Why are you so full of questions?"

"I just want to know what her life was like—" Isabeth pushed the tray of glasses over to Camilla.

"Without you." Camilla pulled the cork off the corkscrew.

"Yes. Yes." Isabeth took a mini zucchini quiche off a tray and bit into it.

Yes, Isabeth did want to know what Fiona's life was like without her. What was Fiona like without them? They used to spend almost every hour with each other and some nights too, sleeping in each other's beds. So whom was she talking to if she wasn't talking to them? Who was she eating with if she was eating with them and who was she trusting if she wasn't trusting them.

Camilla lifted up the bottle gripping the bottom. "From what I saw on my visit it wasn't too great."

"I hate to hear that. I really do." Isabeth wanted to devour another quiche but she didn't want to be one those people, the ones that seem like they only came for the food.

"Miss Hamilton your father's looking for you." A waiter announced standing in the doorway holding her tray up at her side.

"I'm sorry Isabeth I have to go." Camilla sat the bottle down.

"Don't be sorry. Um, will it be okay if I go to her room, reminisce a little?"

"Sure." Camilla lightly smiled; happy Isabeth was remembering the times she spent in her house. "Just don't touch anything, mama's one rule."

"I won't touch anything," Isabeth assured. "And Camilla, Fiona was my sister, which makes you mines too. This time I won't fall out of touch, promise."

Camilla nodded walking out the kitchen.

Isabeth took a half-filled glass of wine into her hand. The chilled elixir sent a sensation up her arm. She rose the glass up to her full lips and poured the nectar into her mouth. She sat the glass down and let the liquid roll down her throat. She found it. The lie.   

What are your thoughts on Aunt Mercy and Camilla?