Chapter 17 - The Reclamation of the Garden
By October, a full year had passed since my executive appointment at Miller, Vance & Sterling. My life had attained a level of stability and professional influence that I had never thought possible during the dark, anxious days of my marriage.
On a crisp Sunday afternoon, I decided to host a small gathering at the Lakewood house. It wasn't a massive family barbecue with charcoal and paper plates; it was an elegant, intimate autumn luncheon for the people who had actually supported my journey toward freedom.
Renee Caldwell was there, dressed in a stunning emerald green sweater, laughing with my sister near the kitchen island. Marcus and his wife had also come, having remained close friends with me despite their complete estrangement from Daniel. Ava had driven down from Fort Collins for the weekend, her green CSU varsity jacket thrown over the back of a dining chair, her face glowing with health and independence.
I carried a glass pitcher of iced tea out to the back deck, stepping carefully over the threshold where my old life had shattered. The afternoon air was cool, carrying the rich, sweet scent of roasting root vegetables and fresh rosemary from the kitchen.
I placed the pitcher in the center of the wooden table, which was set with linen napkins, real silverware, and small white pumpkins.
Ava walked out behind me, holding a tray of warm bread. She set it down and looked around the backyard, her eyes sweeping over the manicured lawn and the golden aspen trees.
“The garden looks beautiful, Megan,” she said softly, leaning against the railing.
“Thank you, Ava,” I replied, standing beside her. “It took a lot of work to clear out the old roots, but the new soil is finally holding.”
She smiled, reaching out to gently touch a yellow leaf that had fallen onto the table. “Uncle Marcus told me yesterday that Dad tried to call him from Colorado Springs last week. He wanted to know if Marcus would lend him money to buy a suit for a new sales manager interview.”
I kept my face neutral. “Did Marcus lend it to him?”
“No,” Ava said, her voice firm and entirely devoid of malice. “Marcus told him that he’s reached his credit limit with the family. He told him that he needs to learn how to buy his own suits from a thrift store until his account is clear.”
She turned to look at me, her bright blue eyes reflecting the clear Colorado sky. “I didn't feel bad for him, Megan. Is that horrible of me?”
“No, Ava,” I said, placing my hand over hers on the wooden railing. Her skin was warm, her grip steady and confident. “It’s not horrible. It’s just the numbers balancing out. Your father spent his whole life taking advances on an account he never deposited anything into. He’s just paying the interest now.”
May you like
She nodded slowly, a profound sense of peace washing over her face, before she turned back toward the house to join the laughter coming from the kitchen.
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