Maddie was up before the rosy fingers of dawn first tickled the cabin curtains. As the sunlight began to illuminate her kitchen, the scents of lemon and molasses permeated the air. It would've threatened to wake little Billiam, if he weren't already outside in the backyard.

Sam wouldn't wake up, though, as he'd lost his sense of smell and taste years ago. She suspected his gracious approval of her home-cooking was a kind fiction, but the love was true. Besides, today wasn't a planting day, so he could sleep in.

Billy's favorite cake was complicated. The mixing and baking was the easy part, even though Maddie made it from scratch. While the cake cooled, she boiled up four cups of lime gelatin, then carefully injected the hot fluid with a turkey baster: holes poked two inches apart to fill the yellow flesh with marbled streaks of bright green, not unlike planting a garden. It would take a while to refrigerate, so Maddie began hand-whipping lemon frosting into a thick, mousse-like pudding. Then she cleaned the kitchen and waited for the cake to chill.

Birdsong broke the quiet as the sun cleared the horizon. It was one of those rare Spring mornings so warm that a child could play outside without his overprotective mother worrying about dressing him properly. Maddie watched Billy carefully from the window, and fell deeply into her thoughts. Despite the day-to-day trials and tribulations, it was at least nice to have Billiam home for his birthday.

No child should have to spend an entire year in a hospital, but God wasn't just. The doctors had no idea what was wrong with her boy, or why his body had so much difficulty healing from simple injuries. He'd finally improved in time to come home just before his sixth birthday, and while Maddie felt relieved, she refused to call it a miracle. Her son deserved to be healthy all the time, like normal boys and girls. He deserved the best in life, and she was his mother.

And so, she made his favorite cake every year on his birthday. His fifth birthday had been the biggest chore. Transporting the cake to the hospital without damaging the frosting was difficult, and the doctors were picky about what they'd let him eat, so he'd hardly had himself half a slice before the cake had been discarded—the cake she always poured her soul into, mixed and intermingled between the batter and the bone.

Maddie took a deep breath and pulled open a drawer, removing six thin wax candles. There was no sense in throwing candles away, since they'd only be lit for a few seconds at a time, so she'd reuse the same ones next year. She took the chilled cake from the fridge and set it out in the dining room, layered two generous inches of frosting across the top, then carefully arranged the six candles into a perfect hexagon.

Sam's door opened at the first knock. Her husband stood before her, already dressed in his overalls, mustache and hair well-combed.

"Madeline," he said, his face worn by weather and time. "You spoil the boy. It ain't natural how much time you put into a thing like this."

The muscles at the corners of Maddie's lips tensed momentarily. "You don't mean that," she said. "It's only once a year, for goodness' sake. And we have him here with us now. It's not like we have to drive forty miles."

Sam lowered his head and followed his wife into the dining room. Maddie struck a match, lit the six candles, and picked up the cold, metal pan. The two of them walked onto the back porch, and down to the small mound of earth Maddie kept perfectly trimmed and free of weeds.

"Happy birthday, Billiam," said Maddie as she knelt and set the pan on her son's grave. The candles had already blown out, so one-by-one, she took each into her chubby fist upon sucking the frosting off its base.

Sam rested his hand on his wife's shoulder, and spoke softly. "It's been eleven years, Maddie."

Maddie sniffled, and turned to look up at her husband. "Don't you think I know that? It wouldn't make sense to use seventeen," she said.

"That... ain't what I meant, darlin'," he said, but his wife paid no attention.

"There are [i]six[/i] candles because Billy's [i]six[/i] now, and that's all he'll ever—" she said, then choked on her words as Sam pulled her into his arms.