Chapter 10 - What Laura WantedThe memorial happened on Friday.
No cameras.
No reporters.
No Northstar executives.
No attorneys.
Just three people who loved Laura and one wooden box.
Margaret walked with Mia ahead of me.
I followed on my crutches.
Sunset Cliffs was bright and windy, exactly the kind of weather Laura loved.
She hated perfect beach days.
Too boring.
She preferred wind strong enough to ruin everyone's hair.
“It makes people look less self-important,” she once told me.
I could use a world with less self-importance.
We found a quiet overlook.
Mia carried a small bouquet of yellow daisies.
Laura's favorite.
Not roses.
She said roses were flowers men bought after forgetting something.
Margaret held the urn.
I carried the letter.
We had checked local rules and arranged the memorial properly. A small charter boat would take us offshore later, where we could scatter Laura's ashes legally over the Pacific.
But first Mia wanted to say goodbye from the cliffs.
She stood near the railing.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Margaret said, “I can go first.”
She told stories about Laura at six.
At sixteen.
At twenty-four.
How she once stole a neighbor's garden gnome because she thought it looked lonely.
How she drove three hours to rescue a dog she found on a shelter website, then discovered the dog had already been adopted and cried all the way home.
How she called Margaret every Sunday, even when they were furious with each other.
Then it was my turn.
I had rehearsed a speech.
It was terrible.
So I didn't use it.
“I met Laura because she insulted my boots.”
Mia smiled.
“She said Air Force officers had no business dressing like cowboys.”
Margaret laughed.
“She was right.”
“She was not.”
I looked at the ocean.
“I asked for her number.”
“She said no,” Margaret added.
“Three times.”
“Four.”
I glared at her.
Mia giggled.
“Mommy didn't like you?”
“Your mother had poor judgment.”
“She married you.”
“Exactly.”
We laughed.
Then the laughter faded naturally.
I unfolded Laura's letter.
“I spent the last six weeks thinking my job was to get her here.”
My voice tightened.
“That if I could just complete the plan exactly the way she wanted, then maybe I'd have done one last thing right.”
I looked at the wooden urn.
“But apparently Laura anticipated that too.”
Margaret smiled through tears.
“She usually did.”
I read part of the letter aloud.
Not all.
Some sentences belonged only to me.
But I read the one that mattered.
Take me home. Then go live.
Mia looked at the water.
When it was her turn, she became nervous.
“What do I say?”
“Anything.”
“What if it's wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
She thought.
Then walked to the railing.
“Hi, Mommy.”
My chest tightened instantly.
“I miss you.”
Wind pushed her hair across her face.
“I got the giant ice cream.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
“It was too big. Daddy said so. But you said he had to buy it.”
Mia smiled.
“And they broke your old vase. But we got you a better one.”
She looked back at the wooden box.
“It has water on it.”
Then her voice became smaller.
“I don't like sleeping because sometimes I dream you're home and then I wake up and you're not.”
I looked down.
Margaret started crying.
Mia continued.
“Daddy cries in the bathroom because he thinks I can't hear him.”
I closed my eyes.
Traitor.
“I hear him.”
Margaret reached for my arm.
“But we're okay.”
Mia said it carefully.
“Not all okay.”
She looked at me.
“But some okay.”
That became our phrase.
Some okay.
Not healed.
Not finished.
Not moved on.
Just some okay.
On the boat that afternoon, we carried Laura toward open water.
The captain cut the engine.
The city looked small behind us.
Mia held the urn with me.
Margaret placed one hand on the lid.
Together we opened it.
This time, my hands didn't freeze.
We scattered Laura into the Pacific.
The wind caught some of her.
The ocean took the rest.
Mia tossed the daisies.
For a while we watched yellow petals drift.
Then one came back and stuck against the side of the boat.
Mia gasped.
“Mommy came back.”
Margaret laughed.
I picked up the flower.
“Your mother never did follow instructions.”
I gave it to Mia.
She held it for the entire ride home.
That evening, after dinner, James called.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I remembered reality wasn't going to disappear because we'd had one good day.
“What happened?”
“Northstar's board placed its premium operations vice president on administrative leave.”
“Because of the recording?”
“Yes.”
“Catherine?”
“Still there.”
“Good.”
James continued.
“Vale Dynamics also announced Preston is temporarily stepping aside from executive duties.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Temporarily.”
“Boards love adverbs.”
“What about the false report?”
“The DA hasn't made a charging decision.”
“And Vale's assistant?”
“Cooperating.”
I sat on the balcony.
Mia and Margaret were inside watching a movie.
“James.”
“Yeah?”
“I don't want a circus.”
“You already have one.”
“I mean legally.”
“I know.”
“I want Northstar to change the policy.”
“They will.”
“No. I want it enforceable.”
“That's what settlements are for.”
“I want bereavement items protected. Mobility equipment treated properly. Families with young children not separated for VIP preferences. No secret passenger reclassification.”
James was silent.
“You've made a list.”
“I've had time.”
“And money?”
“I want my expenses covered.”
“That's it?”
“And therapy for Mia if she needs it.”
“Evan.”
“What?”
“You're entitled to substantial damages.”
“I know.”
“Laura's remains were mishandled in front of your child.”
“I know.”
“Don't confuse not being greedy with refusing compensation.”
I rubbed my forehead.
Laura would've said the same thing.
Probably louder.
“What do you suggest?”
“We negotiate.”
“Not with Vale.”
“With both.”
“No confidentiality about policies.”
“Agreed.”
“No apology written by somebody else's lawyer.”
James laughed.
“That's not usually a contract term.”
“It is now.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“If Denise loses her insurance because Northstar created this system, they continue her coverage while the investigation is resolved.”
James went silent.
“You understand she contributed to what happened.”
“Yes.”
“And you're protecting her?”
“No.”
I looked through the glass at Mia.
“I'm refusing to let accountability become another excuse for the most powerful people to sacrifice the least powerful one.”
James exhaled slowly.
“Laura would be proud of you.”
I hated when people said that.
They couldn't know.
This time, though, I didn't argue.
Then James added:
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Thomas Vale wants to testify publicly.”
“Against his father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He says your daughter asked a question on video.”
I remembered.
Does being rich mean nobody tells you no?
James continued.
“Thomas says somebody should've told his father no thirty years ago.”
I looked at the darkening ocean.
“Tell him this isn't about repairing his family.”
“I think he knows.”
“Then tell him to tell the truth.”
“He plans to.”
May you like
Two weeks later, Preston Vale would sit across from his own son in a public hearing.
And for the first time in his life, money would not be able to change the seat assignment.
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