Chapter 11 - A Table for Two
Fourteen months later.
The autumn breeze in San Bernardino was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of pine down from the San Gabriel Mountains.
The Montgomery house looked completely different. The overgrown, dead ferns had been replaced with blooming white hydrangeas and fragrant lavender bushes. The front door was painted a cheerful slate blue, and warm yellow light glowed through the leaded-glass windows.
Inside, the kitchen was alive with the sound of sizzling garlic and butter.
I stood by the professional six-burner range, wearing an apron, basting two massive eight-ounce Australian cold-water lobster tails with clarified garlic butter, lemon juice, and freshly chopped parsley. On the counter beside me was a platter of roasted asparagus with shaved parmesan, a cast-iron skillet of creamy truffle mashed potatoes, and a loaf of warm sourdough bread fresh from the oven.
"Mom! The table is ready!" Skylar called out from the dining room.
She was twelve now, taller, her hair falling in shiny, healthy waves past her shoulders. Her face had lost that pinched, anxious pallor she had carried for so long; her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright and alive.
She had set the large mahogany dining table with our finest gold-rimmed china, crystal glasses, and folded linen napkins. In the center of the table was a vase of fresh yellow sunflowers she had picked from our backyard garden.
"Bring the main course, Chef!" she giggled, pulling out her chair.
I carried the platter into the dining room, setting it down with a flourish right in the center of the table. The aroma of sweet, rich seafood and roasted herbs filled the warm air.
There were only two chairs set at the table. Exactly two.
I poured sparkling apple cider into Skylar’s fluted glass and poured myself a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc.
"A toast," I said, raising my glass.
Skylar lifted hers, grinning from ear to ear. "To what?"
"To our house," I said softly. "To peace, to freedom, and to never eating in the dark again."
"To us!" Skylar chimed, clinking her glass against mine with a clear, musical chime that echoed warmly through the open floor plan.
As we sat down, my phone buzzed discreetly on the side buffet. I glanced at the preview notification.
It was an email update from Elena Cruz:
*“Char, just a quick update from the DA's office. Brandon’s plea agreement was officially entered today: thirty-six months of formal criminal probation, three hundred hours of community labor, and a mandatory restitution garnishment attached to his wages at the distribution warehouse where he's working night shifts. Gertrude’s civil fraud claim against his remaining trust shares was dismissed with prejudice. Hailey is currently facing small-claims judgments from three credit card issuers in Phoenix. You are completely clear. Enjoy your evening with Skylar.”*
I smiled, slid the phone into a drawer, and shut it completely out of sight.
Their misery, their consequences, their pathetic, self-inflicted ruin no longer belonged in my universe. They were nothing more than ghosts who had tried to haunt a fortress and ended up swallowed by their own greed.
I sat back down across from my daughter. I picked up the silver tongs, selected the largest, most succulent lobster tail from the platter, and placed it gently onto Skylar’s plate, spooning a generous pool of warm garlic butter right over the top.
"Go ahead, sweetheart," I said, watching her eyes sparkle in the warm glow of the chandelier. "Take as much as you want. There is plenty for both of us."
Skylar picked up her fork, took a large, buttery bite, and closed her eyes with pure, unadulterated joy.
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"It's the best thing I've ever tasted, Mom."
"It is," I smiled, cutting a piece for myself, savoring the richness, the warmth, and the quiet triumph of a mother who had reclaimed her kingdom. "And it belongs entirely to us."
