Chapter 10 - Six O’Clock Again
Two years after Raymond entered the house on Hawthorne Avenue, Ava hosted dinner in her own home.
It was not a mansion.
It was a restored brick townhouse with blue kitchen cabinets, shelves filled with books, and a narrow garden behind the dining room.
Leah arrived first, carrying bread and complaining about the rain.
Raymond arrived next with flowers.
“You didn’t need to bring anything,” Ava said.
“I know.”
She inspected the flowers.
“They’re not arranged professionally.”
“I bought them from a man outside the train station.”
“They’re crooked.”
“I thought you were rebuilding your tolerance for imperfection.”
Ava laughed.
It was a small sound, but Raymond still noticed every time she laughed without checking whether someone else approved.
Dinner was almost ready when the clock approached six.
Ava stood near the stove.
For an instant, her body remembered the old rule.
Her shoulders tightened.
Her eyes moved toward the clock.
Five fifty-eight.
The table was not set.
The sauce needed another ten minutes.
The bread was still in its paper bag.
Leah noticed Ava’s expression.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Raymond followed her gaze to the clock.
He understood.
“No one is waiting for dinner,” he said.
Ava took a slow breath.
“I know.”
The clock changed.
Six o’clock.
No door slammed.
No voice demanded an explanation.
Rain touched the windows. The sauce continued simmering. Leah opened the bread and stole a piece before Ava could stop her.
Raymond began setting the table incorrectly, placing the forks on the wrong side.
Ava watched him do it.
She could have corrected him.
Instead, she turned off the stove.
“Dinner will be ready when it’s ready.”
They ate at six twenty-three.
Later, Raymond stepped into the garden while Ava brought out coffee. The rain had stopped, leaving drops of water along the leaves.
“I have something for you,” he said.
He handed her a small box.
Ava opened it and found the wooden bird.
This time, the repaired wing had been carefully repainted.
On the bottom, beneath her childhood message, Raymond had added a new line.
I came back. I’m sorry it took so long.
Ava ran one finger across the words.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing forever.”
“I know.”
“You can still apologize occasionally.”
“That seems fair.”
She placed the bird on the windowsill where the evening light could reach it.
Raymond looked toward the dining room. Leah was inside, collecting plates and loudly criticizing his table-setting skills.
“You built a good life,” he said.
Ava shook her head.
“I’m building one.”
Raymond nodded.
The difference mattered.
Ava had once imagined that a satisfying ending would mean Damian regretted everything. She thought freedom might require watching him lose his job, his reputation, and the power he valued.
He had lost those things.
But his downfall was not the ending.
Her life was.
The ending was the job application she had submitted and the program she had created.
It was coffee purchased without permission.
It was a friendship repaired.
It was a brother who had finally learned that protecting someone did not mean controlling their choices.
It was an unopened letter.
It was an imperfect dinner served twenty-three minutes late.
Ava looked at the clock again.
Six forty-seven.
For years, six o’clock had belonged to Damian.
Now it was simply a time.
Nothing more.
Ava opened the garden door and called for Raymond to come inside before the coffee became cold.
He followed her into the warm kitchen.
May you like
She closed the door behind them, not because she was afraid of who might enter, but because the night air was cool.
Then Ava returned to the table, sat among the people she had chosen, and continued building the life that finally belonged to her.
