Chương 12
Mara stood.
Vivian said, “He loves you.”
Mara looked down at her.
“I know.”
For once the phrase did not feel defensive.
Vivian gave a sad smile.
“I imagine you do.”
Mara left.
Two nights later, Ethan took Mara to dinner at a Mexican place near the harbor where the tables were too close together and nobody cared who his family was.
They ate in silence for a while.
Ethan finally said, “My mother told me she met you.”
“She did.”
“She said it went badly.”
“I thought it went fine.”
“That means it went badly.”
Mara smiled.
He tore a tortilla in half.
“I’m looking at apartments.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“For me.”
The restaurant noise seemed to shift.
Mara set down her fork.
“Why?”
“Because I think we should live separately for a while.”
She stared at him.
His hand shook slightly as he reached for his water.
“You’re ending the engagement?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to prove I’m not my family.”
Mara waited.
“And?”
“And that’s still making this about my family.”
He looked at her.
“I love you. I want to marry you. But I also think I’ve been treating being here as evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That I chose you.”
Mara looked down.
“That’s not evidence,” he said. “That’s just where I should be.”
She swallowed.
He continued.
“And every time you look at me like you’re waiting to see whether I’ll choose them, I get angry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that yet.”
She closed her mouth.
“I get angry because I did fail you that afternoon,” he said. “I froze. I hate that I froze. And instead of admitting how scared that makes me, I keep wanting you to declare it fixed.”
Mara looked at him.
He smiled faintly.
“Apparently your friend Lena thinks I’m capable of growth.”
“You talked to Lena?”
“She threatened me with tacos.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She also said I was emotionally crowding you.”
Mara almost laughed.
“That sounds exactly like her.”
Ethan reached across the table.
He did not touch her hand.
He left his there.
“I don’t want space because I love you less.”
“What if space shows us something we don’t want to know?”
“Then we should know it before we get married.”
Mara hated the answer.
Which was one reason she trusted it.
“When?”
“I found a furnished place for a month.”
“You already found one?”
“I was afraid if I talked to you first, I’d let you convince me not to.”
“I would have.”
“I know.”
There it was.
She looked at his hand.
Then put hers over it.
“A month.”
“A month.”
“You still owe Lena tacos.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
Mara groaned.
“Now you’re doing it.”
For the first time in days, the future frightened her in an ordinary way.
She almost welcomed it.
Sloane entered a diversion agreement six weeks later.
The prosecutor had reviewed the video, witness accounts, Mara’s statement, Sloane’s lack of prior record, and the extent of the injury. The agreement required counseling, community service, an anger-management program, compliance with a protective condition, and no direct contact with Mara unless Mara initiated it. If Sloane completed the requirements, the charge could ultimately be dismissed under the terms explained to both sides.
Mara did not celebrate.
She also did not object.
When a reporter emailed asking whether she believed “justice had been served,” Mara deleted the message.
Justice was too large a word for a slap and too small a word for what followed.
The Mercer Foundation survived.
It lost two donors.
Gained four others.
Vivian resigned as chair three months later, not because Mara demanded it but because the board’s internal review found that the organization had become too dependent on family control.
A professional director took over.
The veterans housing initiative went forward.
The photographs from the pool party were never used.
Mara found this out because Nina showed her an article.
“Look,” Nina said.
“No.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“I won’t.”
“The donor gave the money.”
Mara took the phone.
The anonymous donor who had wanted to name the rehabilitation program after her had funded two therapist positions without naming rights.
Mara handed the phone back.
“Okay. I like that part.”
“Thought so.”
At the bottom of the article was a photograph of Rear Admiral Weller speaking at a small foundation event.
He was not in uniform.
He looked older without it.
Mara had spoken to him twice since the party.
The second call lasted forty-five minutes.
Most of it was about Pike.
Some of it was about Weller’s retirement.
He complained that his wife had made a list of household projects he had postponed for twenty years.
“What’s first?” Mara had asked.
“A drawer.”
“A drawer?”
“Kitchen drawer. It sticks.”
“You commanded thousands of people.”
“Yes.”
“And the drawer is winning.”
“Decisively.”
A week later he sent her a photograph of the repaired drawer.
No caption.
Mara replied:
Promote yourself.
He sent back:
Finally, recognition.
Mike Reeve called in October.
Mara almost did not recognize the number.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
A pause.
“I’m in San Diego.”
“Why?”
“My daughter’s looking at colleges.”
“Which one?”
“She says I’m not allowed to tell people because then they give opinions.”
“Smart.”
“She gets that from her mother.”
“Obviously.”
Mike laughed.
Then neither spoke.
Finally he said, “You want coffee?”
Mara looked at the clock.
“When?”
“Now?”
She hesitated.
“Okay.”
They met at a diner near Mission Valley.
Mike was heavier than she remembered.
His hair had gone mostly gray at the temples.
He still chewed ice.
Mara pointed at the glass.
“That’s terrible for your teeth.”
“Still bossy.”
“Still annoying.”
“Good.”
They smiled.
Then the smile left.
Mike stirred his coffee.
“I was wrong.”
Mara waited.
“About Pike being your fault.”
She looked at him.
He raised one hand.
“Don’t make a whole thing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were about to.”
“I was breathing.”
“Judgmentally.”
May you like
Mara laughed.
Mike looked toward the window.
