Chapter 26 - The Check With My Name on It
The restitution check arrived in May.
It was larger than the previous payments combined.
Not life-changing.
Not enough to compensate for what happened.
Enough to make me sit down.
A note from the administrator explained that Wes had sold an investment interest from one of his old business ventures.
The proceeds had been applied according to the restitution order.
I stared at my name.
Years earlier, money from Wes had felt contaminated.
Every dollar carried an argument.
A request.
A future obligation.
This money carried none.
It was not a gift.
It was repayment.
That distinction should have made it easy.
It did not.
I called Elena.
“You know you’re allowed to deposit it.”
“I know.”
“You’re not taking from his children.”
“I know.”
“You’re not preventing him from eating.”
“I know.”
“Maren.”
“I know.”
She sighed.
“What are you actually asking?”
I looked at Dad’s tools on the shelf in my office.
“I want to do something useful with part of it.”
“Do you need legal permission?”
“No.”
“Then why are you calling your lawyer?”
“Because my therapist charges by the hour.”
Elena laughed.
I deposited the check.
Then I used a portion to fund the apprenticeship program at Franklin for another year.
Not in Wes’s name.
Not in Dad’s.
Not as a public symbol of anything.
Just wages.
Six young people would get paid to learn.
Paid mattered.
I had spent too much of my life around work people expected to be donated because love or loyalty supposedly made compensation unnecessary.
The first apprentice orientation happened in June.
One student, nineteen-year-old Kiara Bell, stared at the scaffolding like it had personally offended her.
“You expect us to go up there?”
“Eventually.”
“How high?”
“High enough to learn respect for harnesses.”
She nodded solemnly.
“I already respect harnesses.”
Daniel taught the safety module.
Finn attended because he claimed he was considering engineering.
He lasted twenty-eight minutes before announcing engineers used “too much math.”
Daniel looked devastated.
Our relationship had grown slowly.
Dinner.
Coffee.
A Saturday hike.
Months before he met the twins outside work.
Months more before I called him my boyfriend without feeling ridiculous.
He never complained about the pace.
That alone made me suspicious.
“You’re weirdly patient,” I told him one evening.
“I inspect buildings for a living. Most of my job is waiting for things to reveal themselves.”
“That was almost romantic.”
“I apologize.”
At home, Mom had begun volunteering at a food pantry in addition to her church office job.
She still lived in the same apartment.
Still tracked expenses.
Still occasionally said things that made me want to scream.
Healing had not turned her into a different species.
One Sunday, she mentioned that Wes was “having a hard time.”
I looked at her.
She stopped herself.
“That sounded like I wanted you to fix it.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“I just feel sad.”
“You’re allowed.”
She nodded.
“Both again.”
Apparently the phrase had infected everyone.
Sophie and Mason had begun spending limited unsupervised time with Wes.
Brooke made the decisions with them and their counselor.
I stayed out of it.
Then Addie surprised me.
“Could Uncle Wes come to my debate tournament?”
I almost dropped a plate.
“What?”
“He asked Sophie if it would be weird.”
“He asked Sophie?”
“She told me.”
“Do you want him there?”
Addie shrugged too casually.
“Maybe.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then he doesn’t come until you know.”
She frowned.
“What if I never know?”
“Then he never comes.”
“That seems harsh.”
“No. It seems clear.”
Addie looked at me for a long time.
“I want him there.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“He used to come to stuff when we were little.”
Memory hit me.
Wes cheering too loudly at a kindergarten field day.
Bringing doughnuts after Finn’s first soccer game.
Before the house.
Before the forged deed.
Before Thanksgiving.
People did not begin at their worst moment.
That was part of what made betrayal hurt.
“Okay,” I said.
“But he sits wherever Dad and Celia sit.”
“Owen is your dad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And he leaves if you ask.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t have to talk to him afterward.”
“Yes.”
I contacted Wes through the agreed channel.
His response came quickly.
Thank you. I will follow whatever rules she wants.
The tournament arrived on Saturday.
Addie won her first round.
Lost the second.
Won the third.
Wes sat in the back beside Owen and Celia.
He did not approach her between rounds.
After the final session, Addie walked toward us.
She stopped when she saw him.
Wes stood but stayed where he was.
Addie crossed the distance.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
She nodded.
Then she hugged him.
Briefly.
Awkwardly.
Completely by choice.
May you like
I looked away.
Some moments belonged to them.
