Chapter 25 - Landon Asked Me for One Last Thing
“You need to leave.”
Landon stopped immediately.
That was new.
“I will.”
“Now.”
“I came to give you something.”
“You have lawyers.”
“This isn't legal.”
I reached for my phone.
He raised his hands.
“Call whoever you want.”
I called Noah.
Not because I needed permission.
Because somebody should know I was not alone.
He stayed on the line silently.
Landon waited.
He looked older than he had at Elena's office.
There was no suit.
No watch.
No polished version of success.
Just jeans, a plain shirt, and a man who finally seemed unable to decorate himself with confidence.
He placed a cardboard tube on the nearest table.
“What is that?”
“Your drawings.”
I stared at him.
“What drawings?”
“The originals.”
My chest tightened.
Years earlier, before Open Table existed, I had sketched my imagined studio.
Courtyard tables.
Beginner stations.
Shelving.
A small shop.
I thought those pages were lost during our move.
Apparently not.
“I took them from your office.”
The room went cold.
“When?”
“Before Bellwether.”
“Why?”
“To show Graham.”
I laughed once.
Of course.
Another theft so ordinary he had probably forgotten to include it in earlier confessions.
“I should have returned them sooner.”
“You should not have taken them.”
“I know.”
I did not move toward the tube.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Nobody drives across town the night before my opening for nothing.”
His face tightened.
“My sentencing is next month.”
I had known.
“I wanted to see this.”
He looked around Bellwether.
Anger rose in me.
“You lost the right to make this meaningful for yourself.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He flinched.
I stepped closer.
“You keep saying 'I know' as if understanding happened at the same time as consequences. It didn't.”
His eyes reddened.
“I spent years telling you what your ideas were worth. Then I tried to use them because I knew they were valuable.”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
He continued.
“I don't know why I needed you smaller.”
I did.
But I would not do his therapy for him.
“That is something you should keep figuring out.”
“I am.”
He looked toward the courtyard.
“I was jealous.”
That surprised me.
“Of what?”
“You.”
I almost laughed.
Then I saw he meant it.
“You could create things people cared about. You could walk into a room and notice what was wrong without making everyone feel stupid. Your mother left you money because she trusted you to know what to do with it.”
His voice cracked.
“I wanted to be the person everybody trusted.”
“So you lied until they did.”
“Yes.”
For once, the explanation did not sound like a request for forgiveness.
Just a diagnosis.
He moved toward the door.
“I am sorry, Harper.”
I looked at him.
The apology was not enough.
It also was not nothing.
“I hope you become somebody who understands why you're sorry even when nobody is watching.”
He nodded.
Before leaving, he stopped.
“Mom said you're letting her volunteer tomorrow.”
“One hour.”
He almost smiled.
“She is terrified.”
“Good.”
That earned a real laugh.
For one strange second, I remembered the man who drove forty miles through rain to bring me bread from my childhood bakery.
Then the memory passed without asking me to return to it.
That was healing, I realized.
Not forgetting the good.
Not letting it erase the harm.
Landon left.
I locked the door behind him.
Noah's voice came through my phone.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“Better answer.”
I walked to the cardboard tube.
Inside were six large sheets of paper.
My drawings.
My handwriting.
My imagined courtyard.
At the bottom of one page, younger me had written:
Maybe someday.
I sat down.
Then I cried.
Not because Landon had returned the drawings.
Because tomorrow, people would walk through a building that looked impossibly similar to something I once sketched at my kitchen table while my husband explained why I should wait.
I photographed that sentence.
Maybe someday.
Then I texted it to Brit, Keeley, Marisol, and Noah.
Brit replied first.
Someday is tomorrow, babe.
The next morning, Bellwether House opened at nine.
At eight fifty-five, more than sixty people were waiting outside.
Dennis wore a tie.
Marisol cried before the doors even opened.
Jonah complained that the ceramics room had been organized incorrectly and then reorganized it himself.
Evelyn arrived early wearing a volunteer badge.
Sloane did not attend.
She sent flowers instead.
Not roses.
Wildflowers.
The card contained four words.
May this belong here.
May you like
At nine exactly, I opened the doors.
And for once, nothing terrible happened.
