Daniel motioned for them to stay upstairs and opened the front door.
“Good morning, Erika,” he said.
“Don’t you good-morning me!”
She held up her phone.
“Do you know what people are saying about me?”
Daniel glanced at the screen.
“I imagine they’re concerned about the soaps.”
“They’re calling me irresponsible! Someone said I deliberately tried to make children sick!”
I looked at Daniel and asked, “What did you send?”
He took out his phone and showed me a message he’d posted in our neighborhood Halloween group shortly before midnight.
It was brief.
“Parents, please check your children’s Halloween treats for miniature cupcakes and pastries that are actually decorative soap. I accidentally bit into one tonight. They were not clearly marked as nonfood items. If your children received any, please make sure they know not to eat them.”
Below the message was a photograph of the soaps.
He hadn’t mentioned Erika.
He hadn’t accused anyone of deliberately hurting children.
Still, by morning, several parents had recognized the handmade treats.
One woman commented that her daughter had received two.
Another said her son had been about to eat one when she noticed its strange texture.
Then someone asked whether Erika had made them.
“Everyone knows they’re mine,” Erika snapped.
“Then perhaps you should explain why you handed them out as candy,” I said.
“They weren’t candy! They were Halloween favors!”
“For children carrying candy buckets?”
“I told them what they were.”
“No, you didn’t,” Noah called from the stairs.
I turned.
He was standing beside Ben, listening.
Erika stiffened.
“Excuse me?”
“You said, ‘Enjoy,'” Noah replied. “You put them in our buckets.”
Daniel gently asked the boys to return to their room.
When they’d gone, he looked at Erika.
“That’s what Noah remembers. And there was nothing on the wrappers identifying them as soap.”
Erika crossed her arms.
“I spent hours making those. They’re decorative. Anyone looking closely could tell.”
“I couldn’t,” Daniel said. “I bit into one.”
“Well, perhaps you should look before putting things in your mouth.”
I felt my temper rising.
Daniel raised a hand slightly, asking me to wait.
“Erika, I’m not asking you to stop making soap. I’m asking you to tell people what they received and make sure nobody mistakes it for food.”
She stared at him.
Then she turned to me.
“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Another chance to make me look ridiculous.”
I almost laughed.
“Erika, you handed soap to my children.”
“And you’ve been laughing at my soap for years!”
The porch fell silent.
I looked at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Her expression changed.
“You know perfectly well.”
“No, I don’t.”
She looked past me into the house, then back at my face.
“Seven years ago. At the neighborhood potluck.”
I remembered that potluck.
It was one of the first gatherings we’d attended after moving in.
But I had no idea what it had to do with Halloween.
Erika’s voice tightened.
“You were standing in the kitchen with another woman. I heard you laughing about homemade cupcakes that looked better than they were.”
I frowned.
“You thought I was talking about your soap?”
“You said people shouldn’t give those things away.”
Suddenly, a memory surfaced.
A tray of collapsed cupcakes.
My first attempt at baking for a school fundraiser.
I’d brought a photograph to the potluck because a neighbor had asked why I hadn’t volunteered to bake again.
I had laughed about how the frosting looked lovely while the cakes were practically inedible.
“I was talking about my own cupcakes,” I said.
Erika stared at me.
“Don’t insult me.”
“I’m not. I’d tried to make cupcakes for a fundraiser, and they were awful. I said I shouldn’t give them away because nobody deserved to eat them.”
Her mouth opened slightly.
I continued.
“I remember that conversation because I was embarrassed. The woman I was talking to told me to try a boxed mix next time.”
Erika looked away.
For the first time since I’d known her, she seemed uncertain.
Daniel spoke gently.
“Erika, did Lauren actually mention your soap?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did she?” he repeated.
“No,” Erika said at last. “But she’d been looking at the basket I’d brought.”
I remembered that basket now.
It had contained little handmade soaps shaped like flowers and pastries.
I’d admired them when Erika first showed them to us.
“Erika, I thought those were beautiful.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
“Then why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because I wasn’t going to stand there and beg you to be kind.”
The words came out with such unexpected hurt that I stopped arguing.
Erika looked down at the phone in her hand.
