Chapter 10 - Sunshine in Virginia
The third Sunday of November brought crisp, golden autumn weather to the James River valley.
The leaves on the massive oaks in our backyard had turned brilliant shades of amber, scarlet, and gold, drifting lazily down onto the manicured grass.
In the kitchen, the air was rich with the savory aromas of roasted garlic, fresh rosemary, sweet cream butter, and baking sourdough bread.
My mother stood at the stove, humming an old jazz tune, wearing a bright yellow apron over a soft wool sweater. Her movements were fluid, her weight balanced evenly on both feet, her right knee moving without a hint of pain or hesitation.
"Audrey, pass me the fresh parsley, will you?" she called out, turning to smile at me.
"Coming right up, Chef," I laughed, handing her the freshly chopped herbs from the butcher block.
"Is the stock ready for the bisque?"
"Simmering at a perfect one-hundred-and-eighty degrees," I replied, checking the digital thermometer.
Today, we were hosting a celebration.
It wasn't an obligatory dinner for parasites. It was a feast for the people who had stood by us when everything fell apart.
Victoria Vance arrived first, dressed casually in an ivory cashmere sweater, carrying two chilled bottles of boutique Chardonnay from a local Albemarle County vineyard. Behind her came Dr. Aris Thorne and his wife, followed by Sarah, the nurse who had spent the last month treating my mother with the tenderness and dignity of a daughter.
And sitting prominently in the center of the walnut table—gleaming in the sunlight beneath the crystal chandelier—was an enormous, magnificent silver platter.
On it rested six freshly steamed Maine lobsters, their shells bright crimson, surrounded by roasted sweet corn, lemon wedges, and bowls of clarified herb butter.
It was the very dish that had sparked the explosion six weeks ago.
Except this time, nobody was on the floor.
This time, Helen Fenwick sat at the head of the table.
She wore my father's vintage Omega Seamaster watch around her wrist—its polished stainless steel catching the chandelier light—along with her late mother's gold filigree locket resting against her collarbone.
When everyone had taken their seats, glasses filled with crisp wine and cider, Victoria raised her glass into the air.
"To Audrey," Victoria said, her eyes warm and proud. "A woman who knows that true strength isn't just about building structures that withstand the Arctic cold—it’s about knowing when to tear down what was built on sand, so you can protect the foundation that matters."
"To Audrey," Dr. Thorne echoed, raising his glass.
"To Audrey and Helen," Sarah added with a bright smile.
We clinked our glasses together, the sound pure and musical, echoing off the high ceilings of the sunlit room.
I looked over at my mother. She caught my gaze, her eyes sparkling with tears of absolute joy, and she reached across the table to lay her warm, steady hand over mine.
"You gave me my life back, sweetheart," she whispered.
"No, Mom," I said, squeezing her fingers tight. "You gave me mine a long time ago. I just finally made sure nobody could ever take it from us again."
May you like
Helen smiled, picked up her lobster fork, and took a deep, appreciative bite of the sweet, tender meat, laughing aloud as she dipped it into the melted butter.
Outside the tall windows, the Virginia river rolled peacefully toward the sea, clear, steady, and entirely free.
