Chapter 10 - Thirty Minutes, Together
One year after the call, rain tapped against the duplex windows.
Ashley stood on a kitchen chair wearing an apron that nearly reached her ankles.
“Those are burning,” she told her father.
“They’re browning.”
“They’re turning into evidence.”
Andrew lifted the pancake with a spatula.
Frank, seated at the table, inspected it.
“Kid’s got a point.”
The kitchen filled with laughter.
Above the sink hung a photograph of Rebecca in her yellow sweater. Beside it was a newer picture: Ashley on the front steps with Andrew, Frank, Denise, and Caleb, all squinting into afternoon sunlight.
Buddy appeared in both.
His left ear had been repaired with blue thread.
Ashley insisted it made him distinguished.
The year had not erased everything.
She still disliked waking to an empty hallway.
Andrew still felt his chest tighten whenever heavy rain began while someone he loved was driving.
His leg ached in cold weather.
There were appointments, bills, and mornings when grief arrived before coffee.
But the refrigerator held food.
The calendar held names beside pickup times.
And when someone said they needed help, the sentence no longer ended in apology.
That afternoon, the community center hosted a neighborhood safety workshop.
Natalie had helped organize it with the school counselor, local volunteers, and Eric’s dispatch team.
No photographs of Ashley were used to advertise it.
No one played her emergency call.
Families practiced sharing addresses, creating backup contacts, and teaching children when to call for help.
Andrew demonstrated how to keep important numbers somewhere accessible.
Frank handled the table with smoke alarms.
He claimed this qualified him as technical staff.
Ashley handed out purple pencils.
At one point, Eric crouched beside her.
“How’s the notebook?”
“Full.”
“That sounds useful.”
“I got another one.”
She pulled it from her backpack.
On its cover, she had drawn a house with a yellow front door.
Eric studied it.
“Is that yours?”
“Ours,” she said.
Across the room, Lorraine Bell stood near the entrance.
Ashley did not notice her.
Natalie did.
She approached quietly.
“Is there something you need?”
Lorraine held a sealed envelope.
“For Andrew.”
Natalie did not reach for it immediately.
“Does he know you’re coming?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll ask whether he wants it.”
Andrew listened from beside the registration table.
He looked toward the entrance.
Lorraine seemed smaller than he remembered.
That did not make what happened smaller.
“Give it to Marisol,” he said. “She can send it through the usual way.”
Natalie nodded.
No confrontation.
No performance.
Andrew returned to helping a father spell his street name on an emergency contact card.
He had spent enough of his life standing at Lorraine’s door.
He did not need to open this one today.
Later, the workshop ended with folding chairs scraping across the floor and children searching for missing jackets.
Ashley found Natalie beside the coffee table.
“Do you remember carrying me?”
Natalie set down her cup.
“Yes.”
“I remember your jacket smelled like rain.”
“I was pretty wet.”
“You got Buddy.”
“I promised.”
Ashley reached into her backpack.
She handed Natalie a drawing.
A police officer stood beside a little girl beneath an enormous blue umbrella.
At the top were the words:
THANK YOU FOR OPENING THE DOOR.
Natalie looked at it for a long moment.
Then she crouched.
“Thank you for asking for help.”
On the drive home, Ashley fell asleep against the window.
Andrew watched her in the rearview mirror while Frank drove.
“She’s getting tall,” Frank said.
“I know.”
“Soon she’ll be telling us both what to do.”
Andrew smiled.
“Soon?”
At home, Ashley woke when the engine stopped.
She climbed out, carried Buddy inside, and paused at the kitchen windowsill.
The wooden bowl still held four stones.
She picked them up.
Andrew waited by the doorway.
“Do you want those somewhere else?”
Ashley considered.
Then she nodded toward the backyard.
They went outside together.
The rain had stopped. Water clung to the fence, and the garden soil smelled clean.
Ashley placed the stones around a small patch of yellow flowers they had planted for Rebecca.
One by one.
Four nights becoming something that could stay outside while she went safely home.
Andrew stood beside her.
When she finished, she slipped her hand into his.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“How long until dinner?”
He glanced toward the warm kitchen.
“About thirty minutes.”
Ashley looked up.
For a heartbeat, the old words stood between them.
Then she smiled.
May you like
“Okay. I’ll help.”
And together, they went inside."
