Chapter 10
Six months later.
It was a warm September evening.
I sat on the front porch of my house, sipping iced tea.
I didn’t wear the wig anymore.
I’d stopped wearing it three months after the trial.
I’d walked into the grocery store one day, bald head held high, and the same cashier who’d refused to serve me before had apologized and hugged me.
The kids in the neighborhood thought my bald head was the coolest thing ever.
They’d run up to me on the street and say, “Can I touch it, Mrs. Hale? It looks like a peach!”
I’d laugh and let them.
Frank would have loved that.
The front door opened.
Jackson walked out, carrying two plates of chocolate chip cookies.
Frank’s recipe.
The one he’d guarded like it was a state secret.
Jackson had found it tucked in the back of an old cookbook in the kitchen a month earlier.
He’d baked them every Sunday since.
He sat down next to me on the porch swing.
He had a small scar on his forehead from the night Natalie hit him with the brick.
He didn’t mind it.
Said it was a reminder to never let anyone fool him again.
He’d been working nonstop at the Frank Hale Foundation.
We’d started it two months after the trial, using the $120 million.
Half the money went to lung cancer research—the disease that had taken Frank.
The other half went to full, four-year scholarships for first-generation college students.
Kids who had the grades but not the money.
Kids who reminded us of Frank, who’d grown up poor and worked his way through college on the G.I. Bill.
We’d given out 47 scholarships that year.
Last week, a girl named Lila had come to the house to thank us.
First in her family to go to college.
Studying social work.
Smart.
Funny.
Kind.
She’d brought us homemade apple pie.
She’d asked me a hundred questions about Frank.
She’d laughed at all of Jackson’s terrible jokes.
I’d seen the way he looked at her.
The way he’d walked her to her car and stood on the porch watching her drive away, grinning like an idiot.
They’d been dating for three weeks now.
I liked her.
A lot.
She didn’t care about money.
She cared about people.
She respected our family.
She respected Frank’s memory.
That was all that mattered.
A car pulled up the driveway.
Judith got out, carrying a bottle of chardonnay and three glasses.
She’d moved in permanently three months after the trial.
Said the house was too big for just me and Jackson, and she was tired of living alone.
We were happy to have her.
She sat down on the porch step, poured the wine.
“Did you see the paper today?” she said, grinning. “The foundation just hit $5 million in grants. The mayor wants to give us a key to the city next month.”
I laughed.
“Tell him we don’t need a key,” I said. “We just need more kids to give scholarships to.”
Jackson took a sip of his wine.
“Lila’s bringing her parents over for dinner Sunday,” he said, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.
Judith and I exchanged a look.
We both smiled.
“Is that so?” Judith said, raising an eyebrow.
Jackson’s face turned red.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, taking a bite of cookie.
We laughed.
I looked out at the front yard.
The big oak tree Frank had planted the day Jackson was born was tall and strong now.
Its leaves were starting to turn gold and red for fall.
I thought about everything that had happened.
The wedding.
The note.
The toast.
The lies.
The threats.
The trial.
I’d lost my hair.
I’d almost lost my son.
I’d almost lost everything Frank had worked so hard to build.
But I’d gained something too.
I’d learned how strong I really was.
I’d gotten my son back, closer than he’d ever been.
I’d built something that would outlive all of us.
Something that would help people for generations.
Natalie was in prison.
She’d be there for a long time.
I didn’t hate her anymore.
Hating her would have meant she still had power over me.
I just felt sorry for her.
She’d spent her whole life chasing money and things, and she’d ended up with nothing.
No family.
No friends.
No future.
I had everything that mattered.
My son.
My sister.
My home.
Frank’s legacy.
The kids whose lives we were changing every single day.
I touched the bark of the oak tree as I walked past it to get a refill of my tea.
I whispered, quiet, so only he could hear.
“We did good, baby. Real good.”
I walked back to the porch.
Jackson and Judith were arguing about who’d eaten the last cookie.
The sun was setting, painting the sky pink and orange and purple.
Somewhere down the street, a kid laughed.
A dog barked.
The world was quiet.
Peaceful.
Whole.
I sat down on the swing.
Jackson put his arm around my shoulders.
Judith raised her glass.
“To family,” she said.
“To family,” Jackson and I echoed.
We clinked our glasses.
May you like
We drank.
And for the first time since Frank died, I knew, with absolute certainty, that everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.
