Chapter 16 - THE CENTER AFTER BEATRICE
After Beatrice’s death, the foundation renamed its family ASL scholarship in her honor.
Roman resisted having his mother’s name everywhere.
Harper disagreed.
“She built this.”
“I know.”
“Then let people know.”
He nodded.
The Owen Hayes Center continued expanding.
Harper eventually became executive director of accessibility programs.
Not because she married Roman.
The independent board interviewed her.
Twice.
One member rejected her during the first round.
Harper went home furious.
Roman smiled.
“You wanted independence.”
“I wanted correct independence.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
She reapplied the following year.
Got the position.
Roman sent flowers.
Harper checked the card carefully for smug remarks.
None.
She was disappointed.
Their second child, a son named Daniel Owen, arrived later.
The middle name for Owen.
Daniel for Daniel Cross.
The accountant who tried to tell the truth.
Roman initially worried the name carried too much history.
Harper said:
“Then we give it new history.”
Daniel grew into a loud child who loved drums.
Beatrice would have found the irony hilarious.
Their home became noisy.
Signing.
Talking.
Children.
Dog.
Friends.
Foundation people.
Occasionally old Moretti associates now working legitimate jobs.
Roman no longer missed the empire.
Sometimes he missed certainty.
He had told Harper that years earlier.
Knowing who he was supposed to be.
But certainty had been replaced by choice.
Husband.
Father.
Son even after Beatrice was gone.
Businessman.
Foundation advocate.
Terrible cook.
Still intimidating.
Occasionally useful.
Roman learned that identity chosen repeatedly meant more than identity inherited.
And Harper learned something similar.
She was not only Owen’s sister.
Not only the poor waitress.
Not only the woman who stepped between Roman and Grant.
She became an interpreter.
Leader.
Mother.
Wife.
Professional.
Still sarcastic.
Still terrible at accepting expensive gifts.
Still capable of telling Roman Moretti he was wrong in front of an entire boardroom.
Especially then.
Their story no longer required danger to remain meaningful.
May you like
That may have been the greatest victory.
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