We saw the fjords. Dorothy cried, then laughed at herself for crying, and I let her do both. Back home, the porch was restored by June. Roland’s design exactly as it had been. The Roland Ellis Scholarship awarded its first grant to a quiet girl named Destiny, who wanted to study marine biology. I shook her hand and told her the man it was named for had also been told what he couldn’t do.
By December, Derek and Cynthia had separated. The anticipation of money that never arrived had exposed fractures that had been there all along. Derek went back to freight driving. Cynthia moved to Cincinnati. I heard this and felt nothing in particular, which was, I think, the most complete form of peace available.
One November evening, I sat on the porch with tea and the last of the season’s light. Someone down the street had already covered their maple tree in holiday lights, which Roland had always considered too early. The lights came on. I drank my tea. I decided to stop objecting. Would you have done what I did? Would you have stood in that conference room and let the facts speak? I hope you never have to find out.