Chapter 9 - Eleven Stars
The first star Cal painted was so crooked that Nora laughed hard enough to hurt her still-tender abdomen. He climbed down from the short stepladder immediately, alarmed.
“Did I do something?”
“It's terrible.”
“You said the comet was crooked.”
“The comet has character. That star looks like it got stepped on.”
Cal examined it with professional seriousness. “I'm a retired fire captain. We generally don't get graded on ceiling art.”
“Then it's time you learned.”
They had waited until Nora was comfortable standing long enough to direct the work, with Elsie safe in her crib and the windows cracked for fresh air. Cal wore an old paint shirt. Mrs. Powell brought lemon cake and occupied the living room while Nora supervised from the nursery chair. They painted the remaining stars from Aaron's drawing. Nora let Cal leave the crooked one. Her daughter might one day ask about it, and Nora wanted to tell her about the uncle who had shown up with groceries and stayed to learn something he wasn't good at.
The house was not magically healed. Nora still flinched when a vehicle slowed outside. She still sometimes touched the back of her head to check whether her hair had been pulled loose. She had a follow-up appointment for her physical recovery and had accepted a referral for counseling when sleeplessness and fear began crowding out the few hours Elsie allowed her to rest. June's photograph remained on the kitchen mantel; Aaron's boots remained in the closet. Nora no longer believed she had to clear away grief to prove she was coping.
Her glass-restoration assistant, April Chen, called about the workshop. A church had asked whether Nora could repair two small stained-glass windows damaged by a storm. It was a modest job, nothing that would pay for a new roof, but April had taken measurements and prepared a quote. Nora could review it from home while April handled the physical work.
“I don't want clients booking you because they feel sorry for you,” April said. “These people called before the video.”
“Good.”
“And just so you know, I saw Wren's post. I didn't comment. I called you.”
Nora closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
That afternoon Denise brought updates. Eastbank had confirmed in writing that it would not proceed with the proposed acquisition based on Victor's representations and had ceased site access. The lender seeking repayment from Victor's company had been informed that Nora never authorized a property pledge. Denise was still monitoring any claims, but the documents reviewed so far gave no basis for treating Nora's home as collateral for Victor's debts. Nora signed the attorney's accurate statement, not a blanket guarantee that no one would ever trouble her again.
“What happens to his company?” Nora asked.
“He will have to deal with his contracts, lender, and any investigation. I don't know whether he can pay what he owes.”
“He'll tell everyone I ruined him.”
“He made the promise. You didn't.”
Nora pictured herself at thirteen, waiting at the dining room table for Victor to return from a weekend he had promised to spend with her. He hadn't come, but he'd sent flowers to June with a note saying Nora was making it hard to be a father. For years Nora had believed that if she'd been easier, kinder, smaller, he might have stayed.
She took a breath. “I still wish he'd been different.”
Denise nodded. “Wishing doesn't require you to open the door.”
The criminal matters remained unresolved. Investigators had documented Nora's assault report and were reviewing the collision evidence with the prosecutor. Victor had retained counsel and declined a further voluntary interview. Wren's attorney had provided her account of the unedited recordings, but she was also being questioned about her own actions. Nothing about helping investigators erased her behavior toward Nora. The restrictions on Victor's contact remained in place pending the next hearing.
Cal had resumed work. His company had completed its internal review of the porch incident, considered the full sequence, and decided not to terminate him. He kept a copy of its findings but didn't turn the decision into a victory speech. The punch had interrupted a threat; it hadn't repaired a family. He hoped never to need another.
After Denise left, Nora found a voicemail from Wren. She didn't play it immediately. She finished feeding Elsie, laid her in the crib, and washed her hands. Only then did she sit beside Cal at the kitchen table and press play.
“I've made a public correction,” Wren said. Her voice lacked the smiling rhythm she'd used on camera. “I've posted that my first video cut out Victor hurting you and that I was wrong to call it an intervention. I've also told the investigators the truth about the watch. I don't expect you to answer me. I just wanted you to know I'm not still saying you imagined it.”
Cal folded his arms. “Do you believe her?”
“I believe she posted something I can verify. The rest takes longer.”
They checked only the public correction and saved it. Nora did not read the comments. She had discovered that people online could watch her whole life for fifteen seconds and still miss every important thing. She wasn't going to spend Elsie's first weeks trying to persuade each stranger to be fair.
At sundown, Nora opened the kitchen drawer where June had kept paper stars for gift tags. Most were faded and curled. She took one and wrote three words on it: WE LIVE HERE. She placed it beneath the photograph of her mother, beside Aaron's carpenter's pencils.
Cal looked at the little card. “You could've written something longer.”
“It's enough.”
May you like
He glanced toward the nursery, where Elsie had begun making the indignant noises that meant she would soon be awake. “She agrees.”
Nora went to her daughter. Eleven stars glowed softly beneath the ceiling light, including Cal's unfortunate masterpiece. The comet was still crooked. The house was still hers. For tonight, that was an ending she could hold.
