Daniel finally spoke with some force.
“Stop.”
Laurel stared at him.
“She didn’t do this,” he said.
“We did.”
“You agreed with me.”
“I agreed to offer help that wasn’t mine to offer.”
“You said she would never refuse us.”
“I was wrong.”
“No,” I said.
“You believed I could be cornered.”
Daniel looked at me, and I saw the twelve-year-old boy for one brief second—not because he was innocent, but because he finally understood that love did not erase consequence.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I believe you are sorry now.”
The words hurt him.
They were meant to be accurate, not cruel.
Laurel grabbed her purse.
“Come on, Daniel.”
He remained seated.
“We need to go.”
“In a minute.”
“I said we’re leaving.”
He looked up at her.
“You also said Mom was grateful.
You said you had checked with her.”
“I said I understood her.”
“You told your sister it was certain.”
“And you backed me up.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I did.
That’s why I’m staying long enough to apologize without hiding behind you.”
Laurel left alone.
The screen door struck its frame so hard that the candle went out.
Daniel and I sat in the dim dining room with the untouched pie between us.
After a while, he asked, “Why are you selling?”
I looked through the open windows toward the darkening lake.
“The house is too much for me now.
The roof will need replacing within five years.
The dock needs work every spring.
I spend more time maintaining the place than enjoying it.”
“You could have asked me to help.”
“I did.
Last fall.
You came once, then Laurel booked three weekends away.”
His face tightened.
“I forgot.”
“I know.”
“Where will you go?”
“I bought a two-bedroom cottage near town.
It has a small yard, a shared dock, and someone else handles the snow.”
“You already bought another place?”
“The purchase depends on this closing.
My attorney arranged both contracts.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing the fact that my life had been moving forward even while he imagined it waiting for his decisions.
“Were you going to give me a key?” he asked.
“Yes.”
