Chapter 15 - The First Spring Rain
By late April, the ice on the lake had broken up into grey, jagged rafts that drifted toward the southern shore under a warm, low-slung sun. The red-winged blackbirds had returned to the reeds, their sharp, rusty calls carrying across the water every morning while the mist was still rising off the shallows.
The summons from the state district court arrived on a Tuesday, delivered by a young deputy in a clean cruiser who looked like he’d barely finished high school. He didn't come up to the porch with his hand on his holster; he just handed the thick manila packet to Helen at the mailbox and turned his car around in the gravel turnaround without a word.
Inside were the final rulings from Judge Thomas: the formal dissolution of the guardianship David had claimed over my estate, the certification of the criminal indictment for unlawful confinement, and the permanent protection order that barred David Hayes from coming within fifty miles of the lake house or contacting Maya by any means, electronic or personal.
There was no settlement conference, no private arbitration in a back room with mahogany paneling. Julian Vance had sent a brief note scrawled in the margin of the final decree: He tried to file an injunction against the state police impound order this morning, but the judge threw it out before lunch. His partners at the firm are already changing the name on the door.
I sat on the front steps with the papers in my lap, the warm spring air smelling of damp earth and rotting pine needles. Down by the water’s edge, Maya was skipping flat stones across the grey surface of the lake, her blue dress replaced by a pair of faded denim overalls and mud-spattered sneakers that belonged to Helen’s granddaughter. Every time a stone hit the water, she counted out loud—one, two, three—her voice clear and light against the sound of the small waves lapping at the gravel.
Helen came out of the screen door carrying a basket of wet laundry, her apron tucked into her belt. She stopped on the step, looking down at the papers in my hand, then out toward the lake where Maya was winding up for another throw.
"Well?" Helen asked.
"It's over," I said, folding the heavy parchment and sliding it back into the envelope. "Julian says the prosecutors are moving the trial to the county seat next month. They want me there for the arraignment."
"Are you going?"
I looked down at my hands—at the skin that had finally lost that grey, indoor pallor from the pool house, the nails trimmed short, the knuckles steady. I thought about the dark wooden door, the cold brass handle, and the sound of the string lights buzzing overhead while the party guests danced forty feet away in the dark.
"Yes," I said, standing up and shaking the dust from my knees. "I’m going."
Maya turned from the water, shading her eyes with one hand against the bright afternoon glare off the lake. She didn't run back up the bank the way she used to when she was afraid of what might be waiting for her inside; she just walked slowly up the slope, her hands deep in the pockets of her overalls, a flat grey skipping stone balanced in her palm.
May you like
"Mom," she called out, her voice carrying clear across the yard. "Can we plant the tomato seeds today? Aunt Helen says the ground's finally thawed enough behind the pump house."
"We can," I said, stepping off the porch to meet her halfway down the gravel path, the warm wind catching our hair and pulling it back from our faces. "We've got all the time in the world."
