His Kind of Justice

By three in the morning, Clara was sitting on the kitchen counter in Damian's pajama shirt, watching him search the refrigerator.

"You said there was food."

"There is food."

"Then why have you taken everything out?"

"Because you don't want leftovers."

"I said I didn't want cold ham. There are other possibilities between cold ham and dismantling a chicken."

He looked over his shoulder.

"Are you hungry or aren't you?"

"Desperately."

"Then stop distracting the cook."

His hair was disordered. The pale pink pajamas she had bought as a joke hung open at the throat, and he'd fastened one button through the wrong hole. He stood beneath the warm kitchen light with bare feet and a knife in his hand, chopping ginger.

She remembered the other knife.

The warmth inside her thinned.

Damian noticed.

"What?"

She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the counter.

"I don't know how to say it."

"Try."

"I'd rather you didn't throw anything when I do."

He put the knife down.

"That's a hell of a beginning."

"You see?"

He looked at her, then picked up a wooden spoon instead.

"All right. I'm listening."

Steam rose from the pot between them.

"I know why you were angry with that man," she said. "I'm angry too. But if I hadn't come in tonight, where would it have ended?"

"He would have remembered not to sell rubbish under a false certificate."

"You can't know how badly someone will get hurt."

"I wasn't going to kill him."

"Does he know that? Does Vince?"

Damian skimmed the broth with more concentration than it required.

"People like him don't listen because you ask nicely."

"You think I don't know that? I grew up with people who didn't listen."

He looked at her then.

She lowered her voice.

"I'm frightened of getting a phone call. Of being told you've gone too far and there's nothing anyone can do. You can't tell me you've thought of everything. Nobody has."

His expression closed a little.

"The world I work in doesn't run the same way your office does."

"My office isn't the whole world I know."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then don't say it like that."

He set two bowls beside the stove.

For a moment she thought he might argue again. Instead he ladled out soup and carried it to the table.

"Eat before it gets cold."

The conversation was over because he had decided it was over.

Clara slid down from the counter.

He put noodles and greens in front of her, then tested the handle of the bowl before letting her touch it.

Such careful hands, when he remembered to be careful.

She picked up her spoon.

"This is good."

"You sound surprised."

"I'm praising you. Take it gracefully."

He leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth lifting.

They ate while the windows slowly lightened.

Nothing had been solved. Yet when her knee found his beneath the table, neither of them moved away.

***

On Christmas morning, Vince arrived with coffee and complained that Owen had made him wait outside so they wouldn't disturb the newly reunited couple.

"You disturbed us anyway," Damian said.

"It's nearly ten."

"And?"

Clara put envelopes beside their cups.

Vince stopped complaining.

"What's this?"

"Christmas."

"You already gave the staff their bonuses."

"You're not the staff."

Owen took off his glasses and polished lenses that were perfectly clean.

Vince opened his envelope, shut it again, and looked at Damian.

"Am I allowed to take this?"

"It's her money. Ask her."

Clara pushed a plate of toast toward him.

"You can say thank you. That's usually enough."

He said it awkwardly, with a mouthful of toast.

Later they drove past the river and stopped at the little stone chapel overlooking the valley. Clara wasn't sure what she believed in, but she lit candles for Audrey, Ethan, and his son.

Damian waited beside her.

He didn't tell her not to cry.

When they went outside, he wound her scarf more firmly around her neck and tucked the end beneath her coat.

"Home?"

She nodded.

The word felt possible again.

***

Before returning to Westbridge, she asked him to take her to Lorraine's apartment.

He didn't ask why.

Vince carried groceries. Owen brought an envelope. Eli came with them and opened the newly installed front door with a code Clara didn't know.

Shelby stood in the hallway wearing an old red sweater, her hands rough from cleaning.

She looked at Damian first.

"Come in."

Lorraine and Raymond occupied separate bedrooms. Both were recovering from injuries nobody had explained clearly. Lorraine's arm was out of its cast; Raymond still moved with difficulty.

Clara looked at Damian's hands.

He was studying a game on his phone.

"You changed the door?" she asked.

"The old one didn't lock properly."

"And you've been paying for this?"

"Groceries. Someone to help a few mornings a week. Nothing extravagant."

She understood what he had done for her, apart from whatever he had done to them.

He had taken responsibility for the people she couldn't bear to love and couldn't quite abandon. He had made it possible for her not to look at the problem every day.

"Thank you."

His thumb stopped over the screen.

"Don't thank me like I'm a stranger."

She touched his shoulder before going into Lorraine's room.

Her aunt began shouting as soon as she saw her.

Then Damian appeared in the doorway, and Lorraine discovered a sudden need to straighten her blanket.

Clara sat on the edge of a chair.

"I'll help with your living expenses. For Ethan's sake. But Raymond can't stay here with you."

Lorraine gaped.

"He's my husband."

"Then decide whether you want his support or mine."

"After everything I did for you? You'd split us up?"

From the other bedroom came a crash and a muffled curse.

Lorraine tried to get up.

"Raymond! What happened? Shelby, go see—"

"Sit down," Clara said.

Her aunt stared at her.

"I won't pay to keep him comfortable. You understand me."

Lorraine began to cry. She said love, then sacrifice, then all the usual things about the little girl she had fed and clothed.

Damian rubbed a hand down his face.

Clara let her finish.

Then she laid a folder on the blanket.

"Owen can help you arrange the separation. Read it. Think about it."

"What am I supposed to do all day by myself?"

"See your friends. Play cards for pennies instead of money you don't have. I'll buy you a table if that's what it takes."

Lorraine's tears slowed.

"A good table?"

"One that doesn't require my bank account."

In the hallway, Damian made a sound suspiciously like a laugh.

Clara left before she could change her mind about any of it.

At the door, Owen handed Shelby the household envelope.

She accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you, Damian."

Clara stood one step down on the stairs.

Her cousin hadn't looked at her once.

Damian reached past Owen and pushed the envelope more firmly into Shelby's hand.

"Thank Clara. It's her money."

Shelby's eyes dropped.

No thank-you came.

Outside, Clara stood beside the car and breathed in the cold air.

"Martin?" she asked. "Have you heard anything?"

"A small mining operation out of state. He's keeping his head down. Want me to bring him back?"

"I want you to stop saying things like that."

Damian opened her door.

"All right."

She caught his wrist before he could walk around the car.

"I mean it."

He looked down at her hand.

Then at her face.

"I know."

He turned her wrist and kissed the place where her pulse moved beneath the skin.

It was such a gentle answer that she almost stopped asking herself whether it was an answer at all.

She wanted to believe that knowing would be enough.