Chapter 15 - THE NIGHT BEFORE COURTThe court hearing was scheduled for Monday morning.
By Sunday night, Mom had three outfits laid across her bed and hated all of them.
The black server uniform looked too much like pain.
The blue dress looked too soft.
The gray blazer from the thrift store had a missing button.
She stood in the doorway wearing sweatpants and one sock, staring like clothes could decide her future.
I sat on the bed holding my purple crayon.
“Wear the blue one,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Why?”
“It looks like sky.”
Mom smiled tiredly.
“Courtrooms don’t care about sky.”
“Maybe they should.”
She sat beside me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she touched the crayon in my hand.
“Do you know why purple stars hurt people so much?”
“Because they mean no dinner.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But also because they made people see it.”
I looked down.
“I didn’t want everyone to see.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted Mr. Kane to make David pay you.”
Mom tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Baby, listen to me. What David did was wrong. What Eleanor did was wrong. But no one person should have that much power over whether we eat.”
I frowned.
“Not even Mr. Kane?”
“Not even him.”
That confused me because Vincent had helped us.
Mom saw my face.
“He did a good thing. Maybe many good things. But the right thing is bigger than one powerful man.”
I thought about that.
“Like rules?”
“Like rules that protect people even when powerful men don’t feel like being kind.”
I nodded slowly, though I only half understood.
There was a knock at the door.
Mom stiffened.
Security checked first, then let Vincent in.
He carried a small box.
Mom crossed her arms.
“If that’s money, leave.”
“It’s not.”
He set it on the table and opened it.
Inside was a button.
Gray.
Matching the blazer.
Mom stared.
Vincent looked almost uncomfortable.
“Mara noticed.”
Mom picked it up.
“You brought me a button?”
“And a sewing kit.”
I giggled.
Vincent Kane, Chicago’s most feared man, looked like he would rather face ten enemies than explain a button.
Mom’s face softened despite herself.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“Rory, may I borrow the purple crayon?”
I clutched it.
“Why?”
“I want to mark something.”
I looked at Mom.
She nodded.
I handed it over carefully.
Vincent took a folded paper from his coat.
It was a copy of the old memo with his father’s note.
Grace Ellis told the truth.
Protect her if this reaches you.
Vincent drew one purple star beside the sentence.
Then he handed the crayon back.
“What does that star mean?” I asked.
His voice was quiet.
“That someone missed dinner with the truth for too long.”
Mom looked away, eyes wet.
Vincent turned to her.
“Grace, tomorrow David’s side will try to make this about me. They’ll say I used you. They’ll say I wanted the restaurant. They’ll say your daughter was coached.”
Mom nodded.
“I know.”
“They’ll be cruel.”
“I know.”
“If at any point you want to stop—”
“No.”
The word filled the room.
Vincent closed his mouth.
Mom held the gray button.
“I spent years stopping. Stopping myself from speaking. Stopping myself from hoping. Stopping myself from asking why every door closed after Sterling & Vale.”
She looked at him.
“I’m done stopping.”
Vincent nodded once.
Then he said something I never forgot.
“Then tomorrow, I follow your lead.”
Mom blinked.
Powerful men did not usually say that to women in thrift-store blazers.
But Vincent did.
After he left, Mom sewed the button back onto the jacket.
Her stitches were crooked.
She wore it anyway.
The next morning, she put on the blue dress beneath it.
Sky under armor.
At 8:30 a.m., we walked into court.
David Sterling was already there.
So was Eleanor.
So were cameras.
May you like
So were nineteen employees.
And on the table in front of Daniel Price sat my mother’s work log, the green ledger, the old memo, and one purple crayon.
Related Stories
