Chapter 9 - THE GARDEN TABLE
Six months later, the May air in North Carolina was warm and thick with the scent of blooming jasmine.
I stood on the back porch of my mother's house—my house now—holding a pitcher of iced tea.
The legal proceedings had been swift and brutal. Facing decades in federal prison for harboring a fugitive and wire fraud, Greg took a plea deal that required him to surrender all his assets, including his half of the house we had shared. I sold it the next month and used the money to renovate my mother's property.
Paula and Arthur weren't so lucky. They were both serving hard time in a federal penitentiary in Georgia.
I walked down the wooden steps into the backyard.
Underneath the shade of the old oak tree, a large wooden table was set with bright floral plates and linen napkins.
Rachel was sitting at the end of the table, laughing as her husband, Mark, tried to wrangle their new golden retriever puppy away from the potato salad. Sarah was arranging a vase of fresh-cut hydrangeas in the center.
"Mom!" Rachel called out, her face glowing with happiness. "Mark finally got the grill working!"
"It only took me three YouTube tutorials," Mark joked, flipping a row of burgers.
I set the pitcher of tea on the table and sat down in the wicker chair at the head.
I looked around the yard. The house was paid off. My mother's trust was secure. And for the first time in thirty-two years, I didn't feel the need to shrink myself to fit into someone else's life.
I reached up and adjusted the volume dial behind my right ear, turning it up just a notch.
I wanted to hear everything.
I wanted to hear the sizzle of the grill, the wind rustling the oak leaves, and the sound of my daughter's unrestrained laughter.
Sarah sat down next to me and poured a glass of tea. She looked at me, a soft, knowing smile on her face.
"You look beautiful, Linda," Sarah said.
I touched the silver locket resting against my collarbone. Inside, I had placed a new photo—a picture of Rachel, Sarah, and me on the beach in Miami, taken the morning after Greg was arrested.
"I feel beautiful," I replied honestly.
Mark brought over a platter of food, and Rachel began passing the dishes. There were no secrets at this table. There were no hushed conversations, no hidden motives, no people pretending to be something they weren't.
"To Mom," Rachel said, raising her glass of iced tea.
Sarah and Mark raised theirs.
"To Mom," they echoed.
I smiled, raising my own glass to meet theirs. The crystal clinked together, a sharp, bright sound that rang perfectly clear in the afternoon air.
May you like
"To a quiet life," I said.
And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the grass, I took a sip of my tea, surrounded by the only people who had ever truly bothered to listen.
