Chapter 10
Victor’s trial ended the following spring.
The jury heard Vale describe the order to disconnect the alarms. They saw the warning about the faulty equipment, the false inspection record, and the shipment documents. The prosecutor played the recording Ewan had made the day before the fire.
I sat beside Delia when my brother’s voice filled the courtroom.
She reached for my hand. We held on through the rest of it.
Victor was convicted on the charges the state had brought for his part in the deadly shipment and the concealed safety failures. At sentencing, families of the workers spoke about the people who had come home injured and the one who had not come home at all.
Delia spoke about Ewan.
She told the court that he loved bad jokes, that he made things with his hands, and that he had gone back inside the shed because people were still there. She said Owen deserved to know his father had tried to protect them.
Victor received a prison sentence. His lawyers filed an appeal. The sentence remained in place while it moved through the courts.
Afterward, Ellis found us in the hall.
“The investigation is closed,” she told Delia. “If new questions come up, you have my number.”
Delia thanked her.
On the courthouse steps, reporters called my name. I gave them a short statement about the verdict and the families affected by the fire. Then I went to the car where Tomas waited with my mother.
She squeezed Delia’s hand as we got in.
We drove to the cemetery.
Owen knew we were coming. He had chosen a blue ribbon for the flowers and spent the morning asking Sarah whether his father would have liked it. She told him Ewan loved blue.
At the grave, Owen set the flowers down himself.
He looked at the name on the stone, then at Delia.
“Was Dad brave?”
“Yes,” she said. “He was.”
“Was he scared?”
“Probably,” I answered. “Brave people can be scared. He helped anyway.”
Owen took that in. Then he placed his wooden boat beside the flowers for a minute, so his father could see it, before picking it up again.
My mother touched the stone. I stood close enough to steady her chair, but she did not need me to move her hand. She reached where she wanted.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” I told Ewan.
The wind moved through the trees. Owen came back and slipped his hand into mine.
“Mom says you’re listening now.”
“I’m trying,” I said.
He held on.
The city renewed the pier lease later that year under new management and safety oversight. I no longer ran the shipping business. I answered the remaining questions about the old routes and made the payments I had promised to the families.
It took time to learn how to live without someone calling me for every decision. Some mornings I still reached for my phone before I remembered that other people could do their jobs without my permission.
Delia noticed.
“You have time to finish that boat,” she told me one afternoon.
We were in my mother’s kitchen. Owen was at the table with his own piece of wood, sanding an edge while I worked beside him. My mother sat near the window, following every movement.
“Mine’s better,” Owen said.
“Yours floats,” I admitted. “That helps.”
He grinned.
Delia had recovered, though two of her fingers still ached in cold weather. She worked the hours she chose and went home every evening with Owen. On Sundays, they came for lunch. Sarah often joined us.
The first few meals were awkward. My mother and I had years of silence to work through, and Delia did not pretend Ewan’s death had stopped hurting because Victor was in prison. We kept showing up. We listened when Owen wanted to talk about his father and when he wanted to talk about school instead.
That Sunday, he carried both boats to the garden pond. I followed with Delia while Tomas helped my mother down the path.
Owen put his boat on the water. It drifted straight toward the far bank.
I lowered mine beside it. Mine tipped, took on water, and sank.
Owen laughed so hard he had to sit on the grass.
“Dad would’ve laughed too,” he said.
“I know he would.”
I rolled up my sleeve to retrieve the boat. Delia knelt beside Owen, laughing with him. My mother watched us, her face lifted to the sun.
When I came back with the dripping boat, Owen moved over to make room for me on the grass. Delia handed me a towel.
My mother reached for the letter board Tomas carried. We waited while she found each letter.
HOME, she spelled.
Owen leaned against her chair. Delia rested her hand on his shoulder.
I looked at the people beside the pond. Each of them had been hurt by something I had failed to see. I could not give them the years back. I could be there for the years ahead.
Owen lifted my wet boat from the towel.
“We can fix it,” he said.
May you like
“Yes,” I answered. “We can.”
He took my hand, warm and certain, and led me inside to try.
