Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
Two weeks later, the humidity finally broke over Northern Virginia, chased away by a crisp, cool autumn breeze that smelled of turned earth and falling oak leaves.
I was sitting on the back patio of the house on Elmwood Drive.
The sunroom door had been repaired with reinforced deadbolts. The antique writing desk had been polished, the blood stains scrubbed from the Persian rug until not a trace of that terrible night remained.
Corinne was sitting in a wicker armchair beside me, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. Her right arm was still immobilized in a lighter, clinical brace, but the swelling around her eye had vanished, leaving only a faint, fading yellow shadow along her cheekbone. She was holding a cup of chamomile tea in her left hand, watching the blue jays flutter around the bird feeder my father had built thirty years ago.
"The federal prosecutor called this morning," I said, breaking the quiet.
Corinne didn't look away from the trees. "What did they offer him?"
"No deals," I replied. "Nolan tried to plead out to grand larceny, but the Department of Justice added civil rights violations, obstruction of justice, and elderly abuse under the federal enhancement statutes. He’s looking at twenty-four years at United States Penitentiary, Pollock."
Corinne took a slow, measured sip of her tea. Her hands were steady now.
"His mother called me yesterday, Blair," she said softly.
I turned my head. "What did she say?"
"She apologized. She said Nolan had been doing things like this since he was sixteen years old. Stealing from his cousins, manipulating his teachers, blaming his younger brother for every broken window. She said they cut him off years ago because they were terrified of what he was capable of."
Corinne looked at me, her blue eyes—so much like my own—filling with a quiet, sorrowful wisdom.
"You didn't fail to see him, baby," she said, reaching her good hand out to touch my knee. "A soldier looks for enemies in the treeline. You don't expect the landmine to be planted inside your own bed."
I looked down at my hands.
My wedding ring was gone. I had thrown it into the Potomac River from the bridge outside Mount Vernon three days after his arrest. My fingers felt strangely light, liberated, stripped of fifteen years of silent deception.
"I submitted my retirement papers to the Department of the Army yesterday, Mom," I said.
Corinne blinked, surprised. "Blair... you were on the promotion list for full Colonel. You’ve given your entire adult life to the service."
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"The service gave me everything I needed to protect you," I smiled faintly, leaning over to kiss her silver hair. "Now, I’m coming home. We have ten acres of commercial frontage to turn into a public park for veterans."
***
