Chapter 8 - The Clean Sweep
The following Saturday, Kendra and I stood in the driveway of the Elm Street house.
The moving van from the county storage facility was parked near the curb. Behind us, Dad’s workshop stood beneath the live oaks, draped in Spanish moss that swayed softly in the November breeze.
Inside the house, the atmosphere was strange—hollow, smelling of cedar chips, old books, and the absence of Evelyn Bennett’s overpowering perfume.
Mom had cleared out her clothes, her jewelry, and her vanity mirrors the day before while Kendra and I were at work, accompanied by a court-appointed deputy to ensure she didn't remove any fixtures or family heirlooms.
In the living room, Ellie and Paige were sitting together on the braided wool rug.
They weren't fighting over toys. They weren't whispering.
They were sorting through an old wooden box of Dad’s fishing lures that we had brought down from the attic, laughing softly as they compared the bright red and yellow feathers.
“Mom?” Ellie called out, holding up a small brass compass that had belonged to my father. “Look what Grandad kept in his tackle kit. It still points North.”
I walked over, knelt down beside her, and smoothed her dark hair behind her ear. “That’s because it’s a real surveyor’s compass, sweetie. Grandad used it when he was mapping the foundation for this house.”
Paige leaned her head against Ellie’s shoulder, completely natural, completely at ease. “Can we keep it in our room upstairs?”
*Our room.*
Not Paige’s room. Not Ellie’s sleeping bag on the floor.
Kendra walked in from the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to me, her eyes reflecting the warm amber light of the late afternoon sun streaming through the front windows.
“The locks are changed,” Kendra said quietly, nodding toward the front door. “The security system is reprogrammed under our names. And the real estate agent from Wilmington Heritage says the rental income from the carriage house out back will cover the property taxes and the girls' escrow maintenance with five hundred dollars to spare every month.”
I took a sip of the coffee, feeling the heat settle into my chest. “We did it.”
“We survived her,” Kendra corrected softly, looking down at our daughters. “That’s not the same thing as winning, Mara. Look at them. They spent four years thinking love was something you had to earn by keeping quiet.”
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“We have time,” I said, watching Ellie show Paige how the compass needle spun on its brass pin. “They’re eight and seven. We have all the time in the world to teach them that they don't have to shrink to make room for anyone else.”
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