Chapter 8 - THREE YEARS LATER
Meredith was thirty-eight when Victor came home.
By then, Hail Maritime looked different.
Charles had retired.
Mostly.
He still appeared every Tuesday and annoyed everyone.
Scott ran security and operations.
Meredith chaired the family voting trust but refused the CEO position.
Instead, she divided her time between governance work and the bakery, which now had three locations.
Naomi remained her attorney.
And friend.
“Terrible boundary,” Naomi often said.
Victor moved into a modest condo north of Chicago.
Not the Ror estate.
That had been sold.
He worked with the legitimate remnants of Ror Holdings as a consultant under compliance supervision.
Meredith learned this from business news.
Not him.
Then one November afternoon, he walked into her original bakery.
Alone.
The bell rang.
Meredith looked up from a wedding cake she was decorating.
Of course.
A wedding cake.
Victor stopped inside the door.
He looked older.
Gray near his temples.
Thinner.
No expensive coat.
No security.
“Hi.”
Meredith’s hand tightened around the piping bag.
“Hi.”
“I can leave.”
Progress.
She studied him.
“Coffee?”
His eyes changed.
“Yes.”
She poured black.
Still remembered.
Hated that.
Victor sat at the smallest table.
Meredith remained standing.
“How long have you been out?”
“Six weeks.”
“Scott know you're here?”
“No.”
“He will in approximately nine minutes.”
“I assumed.”
“What do you want?”
Victor looked at the coffee.
“To apologize without asking for anything.”
“You did that before prison.”
“I apologized for the wedding.”
“And now?”
“For treating peace like something I was entitled to engineer.”
Meredith said nothing.
“For Owen.”
Silence.
“For Lauren.”
Meredith’s eyebrows rose.
Victor almost smiled.
“I hurt her too.”
“Yes.”
“For using Scott’s grief.”
“Yes.”
“For assuming loving you gave me a right to design your choices.”
Meredith looked toward the wedding cake.
White frosting.
Gold flowers.
Beautiful.
“I forgive some of it.”
Victor looked surprised.
“Some?”
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“I haven't made a spreadsheet.”
That made him laugh.
She hated how familiar the sound was.
Then:
“I don't trust you.”
Victor nodded.
“I know.”
“And forgiveness is not trust.”
“I know.”
“And this is not an invitation.”
“I know.”
“Stop being so agreeable.”
He smiled.
“Prison teaches efficiency.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
For one second, the old bakery returned.
Victor carrying catering trays.
Black coffee.
Quiet love.
Then the past reassembled around it.
Meredith sobered.
Victor stood.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
He placed five dollars on the table.
She stared.
“It’s three-fifty.”
“Tip.”
“Excessive.”
“Old habits.”
He walked to the door.
Meredith said:
“Victor.”
He turned.
“Owen believed you wanted peace.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“I think he was right.”
Victor’s eyes filled.
“He was wrong about how you would pursue it.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe spend the rest of your life proving the first part.”
Victor nodded.
“I intend to.”
Then he left.
Meredith watched him through the window.
She did not follow.
But she did not feel relieved that he was gone either.
That frightened her.
May you like
It also felt honest.
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