Lily giggled and waved her hand at her friend. “I know that, silly,” she told her. “I mean what kind of birthday cake?”
“A good one,” Miranda said, still pretending that she didn’t understand what Lily was asking her.
“Besides that,” Lily pressed, giggling again.
“It’s a lemon cake with vanilla frosting,” Miranda told the bubbly little girl beside her as they reached the dining area.
Lily’s eyes grew huge with obvious delight. “Lemon cake’s my very favorite in the whole world.”
“Well, how about that.” Miranda pretended to marvel. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, you did,” Lily said, a surprisingly knowing look on her small, thin face.
And then Miranda smiled affectionately at the girl. “I guess I did at that. Guess what else I’ve got,” she said.
“Candles?” Lily asked in a hopeful whisper.
Miranda nodded. “Eight big ones. And one extra one for luck.”
Instead of saying anything in response to the information, Lily threaded her small arm through one of her friend’s and hugged it hard, her excitement all but palpable.
Miranda could feel her heart practically squeezing within her chest. This moment she was sharing with Lily was both humbling and sad. Other children her age would have asked for toys or expensive video games, and not shown half the excitement when they received them that Lily displayed over the fact that she was getting a birthday cake—with candles.
Drawn by the sound of Lily’s squeals, Amelia Sellers, the tall, angular-looking woman who ran the shelter, made her way over to them. Her smile was warm and genuine—and perhaps slightly relieved, as well.
Amelia’d probably thought she wasn’t going to make it. Most likely because she had a habit of being early, not running late like this.
“Lily’s been looking forward to this all day,” Amelia told her the moment she reached them.
“So have I,” Miranda assured both the director and the little girl, who was looking up at her with nothing short of adoration in her eyes.
“I put out the plates,” Amelia announced, gesturing at one of the dining tables. “So let’s get started.”
Miranda smiled down at Lily, who was obviously waiting for her to make the first move. She had to be the most well-mannered eager little girl she’d ever met.
“Let’s,” Miranda agreed.
Carefully taking the half sheet cake out of the box, Miranda moved the rectangular container aside and out of the way. She then put the candles on the cake, making sure she spaced them close enough together that Lily would be able to blow them all out at once when she made her wish.
The moment the birthday cake was placed on the table, children began coming over, clustering around the table, all hoping to get a piece.
Taking out the book of matches she had picked up when she’d purchased the candles, Miranda struck one and then carefully lit the eight plus one wicks.
Blowing out the match, she looked at all the eager faces around the table. “All right,” she told the small gathering. “Everybody sing!”
And she led the pint-size group, along with the smattering of adults also gathered around the table, in a loud, if slightly off-key chorus of “Happy Birthday.” All the while she kept one eye on Lily, who looked positively radiant.
When the children stopped singing, Miranda told the little girl, “Okay, Lily, make a wish and blow out the candles.”
Nodding, Lily pressed her lips together, clearly giving her wish a great deal of thought. Then she looked up at Miranda and smiled.
Taking in a deep breath, Lily leaned over the cake and blew as hard as she could. The candles flickered and went out.
“You got them all,” Miranda declared, applauding the little girl’s accomplishment.
The children and adults around the table joined in, some loudly cheering, as well.
Miranda felt someone tugging on the bottom of her tunic. Glancing down, she found herself looking into the upturned face of an animated little boy named Paul.
“Now can we have some cake?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she replied. “Right after Lily gets the first piece.”
Removing all nine candles, she set them on a napkin. Miranda proceeded to cut a piece of cake for Lily, making sure it was an extra-large one.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lily folding the napkin over the candles she’d just removed. The little girl covertly slipped the napkin into the pocket of her jeans, a souvenir of her special day.
“There you go,” Miranda told her, sliding the plate to her.
“Thank you,” Lily said.
To Miranda’s surprise, rather than devour the cake as she expected, the little girl ate the slice slowly, as if savoring every morsel.
“This is the best cake I ever had,” Lily declared when she finally finished it.
The other children had made short work of the cake that was left, but Miranda had anticipated that. “You can have another piece,” she told Lily. Not waiting for a response, she pushed her own plate in front of the little girl.
Lily looked tempted, but left the slice untouched.
“What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.
“I can’t eat that. That’s your piece,” she protested.
Miranda smiled at the girl. One in a million, she thought.
Out loud she stated, “And I saved it for you. I wanted you to have an extra piece and knew that the rest of the cake would probably be gobbled up fast. So don’t argue with me, young lady. Take this piece. It’s yours,” she coaxed.
Lily still looked uncertain. “Really?”
“Really,” Miranda assured her. “I’m the grown-up here. You have to listen.”
Lily’s face was all smiles as she happily dug into the second piece.
When she finished, Miranda cleared away the plates, stacking them on the side.
“That was the best cake ever!” Lily told her with enthusiasm, and then hugged her again.
“Glad to hear that,” Miranda said, when the little girl loosened her hold. “By the way, I have something for you.”
“For me?” Lily cried, clearly amazed. It was obvious that she felt the cake was her big prize. Anything else was above and beyond all expectation. “What is it?”
Miranda reached into the oversize purse she’d left on the floor and pulled out the gift she had wrapped for Lily early this morning, before she’d left for the hospital.
Handing it over, she said, “Why don’t you open it and see?”
Lily held the gift as if she couldn’t decide whether to unwrap it or just gaze at it adoringly for a while. Her curiosity finally won out and she started peeling away the wrapping paper.
The moment she’d done so, her mouth dropped open. “You got me a puppy!” she cried.
“Well,” Miranda amended, “I can’t get you a real puppy because the shelter won’t allow it, so for now, I want you to have this stuffed one. But someday, when you’re in a home again, I’ll come and bring you a real one,” she promised.
Heaven knew she had access to enough homeless dogs at the animal shelter to pick just the right one for the little