Chapter 19 - The Price of Peace
The visitor’s room at the county jail was a place of fluorescent lights and bulletproof glass.
I sat on one side,
waiting.
The door on the other side opened,
and Michael was led in.
He was wearing an orange jumpsuit that made his skin look sallow.
He had lost weight.
His hair was unkempt.
He looked like a stranger.
He sat down and picked up the phone.
I did the same.
“You look happy,”
he said,
his voice crackling through the speaker.
“I’m not happy,
Michael,”
I replied.
“I’m just at peace.”
“Peace,”
he spat.
“You destroyed my life.”
“You took my company.”
“You sent me to this hole.”
“You did those things to yourself,”
I reminded him.
“I just held up the mirror.”
“I wanted to ask you one thing,”
I continued.
“The night I came home…
the night of the anniversary.”
“Did you ever love her?”
Michael looked at me,
a hollow laugh escaping his lips.
“Rachel?”
“No.”
“I loved the way she looked at me.”
“She looked at me like I was a king.”
“You…
you looked at me like I was a partner.”
“You saw my flaws,
Evelyn.”
“You saw the mistakes I made in the blueprints.”
“You were always correcting me.”
“I hated it.”
“I hated being the second-best architect in my own marriage.”
I felt a wave of pity for him then.
It was a shallow,
bitter realization.
“So you traded a real partner for a mirror,”
I said.
“And look what happened.”
“The mirror broke.”
“And the shards are everywhere.”
He slammed the phone against the glass.
“Go to hell,
Evelyn!”
The guards stepped forward and grabbed him,
dragging him toward the door.
I watched him go,
feeling nothing but a profound sense of closure.
Then,
I went to the women’s facility.
Rachel wouldn't look at me at first.
She sat with her back to the glass,
her head bowed.
“I’m not here to gloat,
Rachel,”
I said.
She turned slowly.
Her face was bruised.
Prison had not been kind to her.
“What do you want?”
she whispered.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m paying for your lawyer,”
I said.
Rachel’s eyes widened in shock.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to have the best defense money can buy,”
I said.
“So that when the jury finds you guilty anyway,
you’ll know it wasn't a mistake.”
“You’ll know it was justice.”
“And I’m doing it because I remember the girl I loved like a sister.”
“That girl deserved a better friend than you.”
“But she also deserved a better ending than this.”
Rachel started to cry,
real,
ugly sobs that shook her entire body.
“I’m sorry,
Evelyn,”
she choked out.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are,”
I said.
“But sorry doesn't fix the buildings you compromised.”
“And it doesn't give me back my three years.”
I hung up the phone and walked away.
I didn't look back.
The debt was paid.
The accounts were balanced.
I walked out into the sunlight,
and for the first time since December 17,
May you like
2021,
I didn't feel the weight of the bat in my hand.
