Chapter 10 - The House by the Lake
Six months later, the spring had come back to Lake Forest.
The heavy maple trees along the drive were covered in bright green leaves, and the air smelled of wet grass, lake breeze, and damp earth.
The estate on the hill had been sold in March. The thirty-foot mahogany table, the crystal chandeliers, and the French wine had been liquidated at a public auction, with every dollar of the proceeds transferred into a trust fund for victims of domestic abuse in Cook County.
Sebastian had bought a long, low house made of cedar and fieldstone on the bluff overlooking Lake Michigan in Highland Park. It had large windows that let in the morning light, simple oak floors, and no dining room with a heavy tablecloth.
At two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, the broad wooden deck overlooking the water was warm under the sun.
Claire sat in a long wooden lounger under a blue canvas umbrella. She wore a soft yellow linen dress that fell loosely around her ankles. Her hair had grown back, thick and dark again, falling to her shoulder blades. Her face had regained its color, her cheeks full and pink in the fresh air.
Lying on her chest, wrapped in a thin white cotton blanket, was a six-month-old boy with dark brown eyes and a thick tuft of black hair.
His name was Daniel.
Sebastian came out through the sliding glass doors carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea and a bowl of fresh strawberries.
He set the tray on the small table between their chairs, sat down beside Claire, and reached over to gently stroke the soft skin of Daniel’s arm.
The boy gave a small, wet gurgle, his tiny fingers reaching out to grab Sebastian’s thumb with a grip that was shockingly strong for a baby who had weighed less than three pounds at birth.
“How is he?” Sebastian asked softly.
“Dr. Miller said his weight is up to fourteen pounds today,” Claire said, smiling down at her son. “His lung scans are completely clear.”
Sebastian looked out across the blue expanse of Lake Michigan. Three miles off the coast, a large ore freighter was moving slowly toward the industrial harbors of Indiana, its dark hull cutting a white wake through the calm water.
His phone rang in his coat pocket.
Sebastian pulled it out. The screen showed an international number from Zurich.
He had received three calls a week from that number for the last month. Ryan had died two weeks ago in the municipal hospital in Cantonment; the estate administrators were calling to finalize the disposition of his personal effects and the closure of the account.
Sebastian stared at the glowing screen for three seconds.
Then he pressed the red button, slid the phone back into his pocket, and took Claire’s hand in his.
“Did you answer it?” she asked softly.
“No,” Sebastian said.
He leaned over and kissed the top of Daniel’s head, smelling the sweet, warm scent of baby lotion and sun-warmed cotton.
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Down on the shore below the bluff, the small waves were hitting the stone beach with a steady, rhythmic rush—a clean sound that washed away the silence of the old house, the grease on the marble floor, and the memory of the table where he had almost lost everything that mattered.
“We’re home, Claire,” Sebastian said, holding her hand tight against his knee. “We’re finally home.”
