Chapter 10 - Dawn Over the Rockies
Lily’s seventh birthday was held in our backyard on Logan Street.
There were no crystal chandeliers. There were no white roses imported from Italy. There was no velvet rope, no guest list vetted by a country club committee, and no marble pillars to hide behind.
Instead, string lights were strung between the silver maple and the garage, casting a warm, golden glow over fifteen screaming second-graders who were currently chasing a professional balloon artist through the grass.
A long folding table was covered in bright red paper, piled high with homemade pizza, bowls of strawberries, and a chocolate cake shaped like a mountain that Lily and I had spent four hours frosting the night before.
Brenda sat on the back porch, wearing jeans and an oversized cardigan, sipping a cold local cider while laughing with two of my closest friends from my new publishing job.
I had launched a boutique editorial agency six months earlier, using a small fraction of the restitution funds to secure office space and hire two brilliant young women who had also been pushed out of corporate firms. We were thriving. Our roster was full, our clients were loyal, and for the first time in my adult life, my name was the only name on the deed, the bank account, and the masthead.
Lily ran up the porch steps, her face smeared with chocolate frosting, clutching a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper.
"Mommy! Look what Brenda gave me!"
She tore the paper off, revealing an exquisite set of professional artist colored pencils and a thick, bound sketchbook with a heavy watercolor paper cover.
"Thank you, Brenda!" Lily squealed, throwing her arms around the attorney’s neck.
Brenda hugged her back, winking at me over Lily’s shoulder. "You draw me a picture of that mountain with the snow, kiddo. I’m going to hang it in my office next to my law degree."
"Okay!" Lily bolted back down the stairs, running toward the picnic table to start drawing immediately.
I sat down on the wooden bench beside Brenda, looking out over the yard.
The evening air was cooling down, carrying that crisp, electric scent that only comes to Denver when the sun slips behind the Continental Divide. The sky above the mountains had turned a brilliant, bruised violet, streaks of gold and rose cutting across the clouds like brushstrokes.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
An email notification. From Harold Parker.
I hadn't spoken to him since the day he brought the music box to the porch eight months ago.
I opened the message.
*Maya,*
*I know you don't want to hear from me. I don't blame you. Claire’s first parole hearing is in eighteen months. She doesn't call us. She blames Eleanor and me for not having enough money to hire a better lawyer. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we failed both of our daughters in different ways.*
*I saw an article in the Denver Business Journal about your new editing company. You looked strong. Lily looked happy in the photograph on your website.*
*I’m not writing to ask for anything. I just wanted to tell you... your grandmother was right about the ceilings on Logan Street. You always had big thoughts, Maya. We were just too small to see them.*
*Happy birthday to Lily.*
*Dad.*
I read the email once.
Then I read it a second time.
There was a time when those words would have shattered me. A time when I would have wept for the father who had chosen the wrong daughter, who had stood in front of a marble pillar and told me not to ruin someone else's "real family."
Now, reading them under the string lights of my own backyard, while my daughter laughed in the grass, I felt nothing but a calm, tranquil finality.
I didn't reply.
I didn't delete the email, either.
I simply archived it into a folder labeled *Past*, locked the screen, and slid the phone back into my pocket.
Lily ran back up the stairs, holding her new sketchbook.
She had drawn a house. It had high windows, a red roof, and a massive green tree spreading its branches over the top. In front of the house stood two figures holding hands—one tall, one small, both of them smiling wide beneath a giant yellow sun.
"Look, Mommy," Lily said, pointing to the page. "That’s you. And that’s me."
"It’s beautiful, baby," I said, pulling her onto my lap. Her hair smelled of vanilla and clean mountain air.
"Where are the other people?" she asked, looking at the empty grass around the two figures in the drawing.
May you like
I pressed my face into her soft curls, looking out over the yard, where our friends were laughing, where the lights were bright, where no one had to hide.
"They aren't in this picture, sweetheart," I whispered, kissing her forehead as the mountain dusk settled over our home. "This picture is just for us."
