Chapter 9: Forty-Eight Hours
Raymond was gone in thirty-one.
He didn't say anything when he left.
He came back to the house the following morning with two men and a rented truck, and they moved his things out of the bedroom in under two hours.
He didn't go into the kitchen.
He didn't speak to Harrison or Eleanor.
He passed Victoria in the hallway once, and she stepped aside to let him through, and he looked at her for exactly one second before he looked away.
He left his Audi key on the kitchen counter.
Not mine — his spare.
The one Eleanor had been using to move the car when the driveway needed clearing.
It was a small gesture.
I didn't know what it meant.
I didn't spend time trying to figure it out.
I stood in the doorway of my bedroom after the truck left.
The room smelled like Raymond's aftershave.
I opened the window, even though it was cold, and let the air move through.
The baby shifted.
I put my hand on my side and stood there for a while.
Delia called that afternoon.
"The bar association has opened a preliminary review of Wills's filing pattern," she said.
"It'll take time, but it's moving.
And the fraud investigation — the Carmichaels gave their statement this morning.
Victoria's cooperation request is being processed.
Her attorney has advised her to be forthcoming."
"She will be," I said.
"She's angry enough now to be honest."
"Raymond's attorney filed a motion to delay the fraud investigation on procedural grounds.
Standard tactic.
It'll be denied."
"When does he get formally charged?"
"Assuming the investigation proceeds at normal pace — three to four months.
Possibly sooner if Victoria's cooperation produces direct evidence of the records discrepancy."
Three to four months.
The baby would be here by then.
"Delia," I said, "is there anything else I need to do right now?"
"Rest," she said.
"You've been on assignment for eleven days and you landed this morning and you've done about six months of legal work in one afternoon.
Rest."
"That's not really an answer."
"It's the only answer I have.
The legal machinery is moving.
Let it move."
I ended the call and sat on the edge of the bed — my bed, Marcus's bed, the one he had carried up the stairs himself because the delivery company had sent the wrong size frame and he hadn't wanted to wait another week.
I thought about him.
Not the classified parts.
Not the mission or the orders or the way the Army notification had read when it came through.
I thought about the kitchen.
The cupboards he had replaced.
The plaster he had patched.
The way he had described the house like it was something living — *it needs attention, same as anything worth keeping.*
He had been right about that too.
Eleanor knocked on the open door.
"Can I come in?"
"Yes."
She sat in the chair by the window.
The one Marcus had used for reading.
She folded her hands in her lap and looked out at the street for a moment.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"Not just for this morning.
For a long time."
I waited.
"I let Harrison make decisions I should have questioned.
I let Victoria's life become something I didn't look at too closely because it was easier not to.
And I let you grieve alone because I didn't know how to sit with grief that wasn't mine."
"Eleanor—"
"Let me finish." She looked at me.
"Marcus loved this house because of you.
He talked about it like it was already full of people, even when it was just the two of you.
He told me once — before the last deployment — he said, *she's going to be a remarkable mother.* He said it like it was already true.
Like he could already see it."
My throat tightened.
"He was right," Eleanor said.
"I should have seen it too.
I should have said it a long time ago."
The cold air moved through the open window.
Outside, a car passed slowly down the frost-covered street.
I didn't say anything for a while.
Neither did she.
Then I said, "I'm going to need help.
When the baby comes.
I'm still on active duty.
There will be more assignments."
"I know," Eleanor said.
"I'm not asking for anything you can't give."
"I know that too." She unfolded her hands and set them on her knees.
"I'll be here.
Whatever you need.
I'll be here."
The baby moved again — a long, slow shift, like someone turning over in sleep.
I pressed my hand against my side and felt it settle.
"Marcus picked out a name," I said.
"Before he deployed.
He wrote it in a letter.
I've been carrying the letter since the notification came."
Eleanor looked at me.
"He picked a girl's name and a boy's name," I said.
"He said either way, the name should mean something that lasts."
"What did he choose?"
I told her.
She pressed one hand over her mouth.
Her eyes filled.
"That was his grandmother's name," she said.
"For the girl."
"I know.
He told me the story."
She reached across and took my hand.
Her grip was firm and warm and nothing like the woman who had stood at the counter stirring coffee while I was told to sleep in the garage.
People can change.
Not always.
Not completely.
May you like
But sometimes, when the thing they were protecting turns out to be the wrong thing, they turn around.
Eleanor had turned around.
