Chapter 20 - Christmas in my foyer
Rachel arrived with one handbag.
No suitcase.
I noticed.
So did she.
“Too obvious?”
“Yes.”
She smiled nervously.
Then looked at the new security camera.
“Same system?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That surprised me.
I opened the door wider.
She stepped inside.
Stopped beneath the archway.
The brass plaque remained.
The marble console had a tiny repaired chip where my hip struck it.
I had considered replacing the table.
Didn’t.
Furniture did not commit crimes.
Rachel looked toward the floor where Trent had crushed the camera.
Then at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I almost snapped.
We had done apologies.
Then I saw she was not asking for anything.
“Okay.”
That was enough.
Christmas lunch:
Nora.
Rachel.
Me.
No large family theater.
Turkey too dry.
Pie excellent.
Rachel washed dishes.
I let her.
Then she noticed a linen napkin in the console drawer.
White.
Similar to what I pressed to my lip that day.
She froze.
I knew.
I closed the drawer.
“We don’t need to turn every object into evidence.”
She nodded.
After lunch, she asked:
“Can I see the guest room?”
“Why?”
“I want to know where we thought we were going to stay.”
That was strange.
I said yes.
She stood in the doorway.
“I picked this room because Trent said it made sense to be close to you.”
“My bedroom is at the other end.”
“I know.”
“So?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Close to the office.”
There.
My home office held:
Statements.
Trust files.
Computer.
I stared.
“Was that your idea?”
“No.”
“Did you know?”
“I knew he liked that room because of the office.”
“When?”
“Before the suitcases.”
I almost asked her to leave.
Instead:
“Why have you never told me?”
“I thought it would sound like I was adding something now to make him worse.”
That was a good reason to be careful.
Still.
“You should have told investigators.”
“I told Julia. She said it wasn’t clearly criminal and disclosed it in the relevant process.”
I called Claire later.
Confirmed.
No hidden bomb.
The information had been in a supplemental interview I never read fully because counsel shielded me from every repetitive detail.
Good.
Not every late detail is a new conspiracy.
Then Rachel said:
“I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I never planned to search your office.”
“Did you plan to stop him?”
She looked down.
“I don’t know.”
There.
Still honest enough to hurt.
Before leaving, Rachel placed her hand on the front door.
“Will I ever have a key again?”
I looked at her.
“Don’t ask yet.”
She nodded.
Then left.
The house felt different after.
Not healed.
Occupied by my life again.
Then the corrections department scheduled Trent’s release review.
Because his sentence had been reduced.
May you like
The board asked for victim input.
I had to decide what safety looked like when the man who punched me was no longer behind a locked door.
