“Tell me what you need,” I said.
She looked surprised. “You mean you’re not going to reorganize my whole plan?”
“Trying something new.”
“Then call the customers scheduled before ten and tell them we’re delaying opening. Theo needs access to the dry storage room. And I need you to stop stepping into that water before the electrician clears it.”
I did exactly what she asked.
We lost half a workday and a small amount of stock. Nobody was hurt. The cleanup was inconvenient, expensive, and entirely manageable. By late afternoon the affected area had been dried and the electrical safety checks were complete.
At closing, Nia pulled me aside. “You know what I noticed?”
“That you worked hard?”
“That nobody panicked because you didn’t panic. But you also let everybody do their jobs.”
I looked around the shop. The work bays were orderly. Marisol was finishing the incident report. Theo was joking with a customer about the cold. For years I’d confused protecting something with personally controlling every inch of it.
I still loved the Lamborghini. I still hated what had been done to it. But the important things in my life had always included people who didn’t need me to be invincible.
That night I called Andrea and told her about the burst pipe.
“Did you let anybody help?” she asked immediately.
“Yes.”
She gasped theatrically. “I need to write down the date.”
I laughed. “Tell Dad.”
The words came out before I remembered he wasn’t there.
We were both quiet for a moment. Then Andrea said softly, “He’d be proud. He knew you could work hard. He always wanted you to know when to stop.”
I sat on the couch listening to the house settle. Outside, the street was dark and still. For the first time in months, the quiet didn’t feel like people waiting for the next fight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT — A Letter I Didn’t Open
A letter arrived in March from a correctional facility. Dylan’s name appeared in the return address. I held it in my kitchen for several minutes without opening the envelope.
I had imagined that if he ever wrote, I would know exactly how I felt. Instead I felt nothing clear. Curiosity, anger, fatigue, and a small stubborn wish that he might have learned something all arrived together.
I called Dana. She advised me to preserve the letter and let her review it because a no-contact condition was in place. I gave it to her unopened.
Two days later she called.
“He says he’s sorry,” she said. “He describes how he’s trying to change. He also spends a great deal of the letter explaining why he felt insecure and misunderstood.”
“Does he take responsibility?”
“Some. He doesn’t ask you for money or a favor. But it’s not a straightforward apology.”
I looked out my office window. Nia was working on a customer’s vehicle, measuring paint thickness under Theo’s supervision.
“Do I need to answer?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
I didn’t feel cruel. I felt relieved that I was allowed to hold a boundary without defending it. Dylan could work toward becoming a better man without requiring me to participate in that process. I hoped he did. I didn’t need to be the audience for it.
Vivienne’s separate case moved toward resolution around the same time. Evidence of her encouragement and her attempts to influence my account formed part of the proceedings. After consultations between counsel and prosecutors, she entered a plea on specified counts, with conditions and penalties imposed by the court. I attended only the hearing at which my testimony was required.
