The Things She Chose

Four months later, Elena informed Brielle that pancakes were round because square ones would frighten the syrup.

"That seems unfair to waffles," Brielle said.

Elena considered the problem seriously.

Across the kitchen, Matteo covered his mouth with his coffee cup.

Saturday breakfast had become a real plan, then a habit. Sometimes it happened at his house, sometimes at Brielle's apartment, and once at the diner, where Martin had insisted on making pancakes shaped like rabbits.

Elena still didn't like gray vans. She was seeing someone who helped children with frightening memories, and she no longer apologized when she wanted the hallway light left on.

Brielle had learned to leave hers on too.

Mara arrived halfway through breakfast, exhausted from an extra shift at the hospital where she had started working after moving back to Chicago.

"Nobody ask me a medical question," she said, dropping into a chair. "Today I only know about syrup."

"Can waffles be scared?" Elena asked.

Mara reached for the coffee.

"Especially waffles."

Brielle laughed so hard Matteo slid a napkin toward her before she spilled anything.

There were still difficult days. Mara sometimes withdrew when a conversation touched too closely on their father. Brielle occasionally called twice because one unanswered ring could still make her imagine a disappearance.

They argued about it. Then they called again.

Their new apartment had two bedrooms, separate shelves in the refrigerator, and a narrow balcony where Mara grew herbs she frequently forgot to water. Living together was not a return to being sixteen and nineteen.

They were learning who they had become.

Brielle still worked at Martin's diner. She liked the regulars and the fact that he complained about her coffee while drinking six cups of it. She had stopped taking every extra shift he offered. Some evenings belonged to her sister now. Some belonged to Matteo. She was learning to keep a few for herself.

Vale remained in custody as his case progressed. Daniel had entered a plea and agreed to testify. His cooperation mattered, Celia explained, without erasing his conduct. Brielle accepted the explanation without finding forgiveness she didn't feel.

Samuel Dawson's role became part of the record too. He could not be brought into a room and made to answer, but his daughters no longer had to protect the version of him he had left behind.

The foundation review continued. Lucia stopped calling every difficult meeting a chance to put the past behind them. Sometimes the past needed to stay on the table until someone had done the work.

Matteo lost the riverfront partnership. The old distribution division was being wound down under outside scrutiny, and there were consequences his lawyers could not make disappear with a phone call.

He did not pretend that handing over records had made him innocent of everything else.

One evening, Brielle had asked what would happen to the parts of his life he still couldn't explain over dinner.

"I'm closing some doors," he had said. "Some of them should have been closed years ago. It won't be quick."

"I need to know when something affects me. Or Elena. You can't bring me into your life and give me only the safe version."

He had sat with that for a long time.

Since then, the conversations had been harder and more useful.

After breakfast, Lucia took Elena into the garden. Mara followed with a tray of seedlings, and Brielle stayed behind to stack the dishes.

Matteo leaned against the counter.

"You're doing it again."

"My hand is healed. I can wash dishes."

"I meant using housework to avoid whatever you've been trying to say all morning."

She put a plate down.

"You're getting annoyingly good at that."

"Only with you."

He came closer, but she held up a finger.

"Stay there. You're distracting at this distance already."

His smile was slow enough to warm her face.

"All right."

She drew a breath.

"I've been thinking about what you said at the hospital. That you were still there because I was there when you weren't."

His expression grew serious.

"Brielle—"

"Let me finish. I needed that then. I needed somebody to stay. But I don't want either of us wondering whether this is something we're still paying back."

He set his cup down.

"I stopped wondering a long time ago."

"I know. I think I did too. I just haven't said it."

She crossed the small space between them.

"I love you. When you're grumpy about the weather. When Elena gets jam on a shirt that probably costs more than my rent and you don't notice. When you call to tell me something stupid because you think I'll laugh. I love the man who's here when there's nobody left to rescue."

For once, Matteo had no immediate answer.

Then he put both hands at her waist and drew her close.

"I've been trying to find a way to say it without making you feel you had to answer."

"You can say it now."

He rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Brielle. I want the breakfasts and the arguments about where to put the towels. I want to know what time you're coming home because it's our home, whenever you're ready for that."

Her eyes stung.

"I'm not leaving Mara's place tomorrow."

"I know."

"But I want those things too."

He kissed her, and she slid her arms around his neck without thinking about her hand.

Through the open kitchen window came Elena's voice.

"Papa! You said you would dig!"

Matteo stopped with his mouth against Brielle's cheek.

"I'm coming."

"You said that before!"

Brielle laughed and stepped out of his arms.

"Apparently your word is being questioned."

"Come defend my reputation."

"I think you should start by digging."

Outside, Elena had arranged the seedlings in a line. Most had yellow flowers. One was already bending beneath the enthusiastic attention of her small hands.

Lucia offered Brielle a gardening glove.

"For the scar," she said.

Brielle looked at the pale line across her palm, then took the glove.

She didn't need to prove it couldn't hurt anymore.

Matteo knelt beside his daughter. Mara crouched on Brielle's other side, showing Elena how much space the roots needed.

The flower from the street was pressed inside a book in Brielle's bedroom. She had kept it because a little girl had handed it to her when her hands were shaking.

These flowers would have water and soil and the chance to keep growing.

Mara bumped her shoulder lightly.

"You happy?"

Brielle looked at her sister, then at Matteo making a hole exactly where Elena instructed him.

"Yes," she said. "I am."

He looked up at the sound of her voice and held out his hand.

Brielle took it, steady on her own feet, and knelt beside them.

THE END