Chapter 10 - The Unbroken Light
Six months later, in the warm, golden light of late June, the gates of the Lake Forest estate stood wide open.
Not halfway. Not guarded by men with concealed weapons. Wide open to the paved road, where the summer breeze blew sweet-smelling clover and fresh grass across the manicured lawns.
In the backyard garden, behind the stone terrace where Genevieve’s old rose bushes had been pruned back into brilliant red blooms, twenty children from the neighborhood were running through a oscillating sprinkler on the green grass.
Among them were Jonah and Blythe.
Jonah’s dark curls had grown back thick and wild, his cheeks full, rosy, and flushed with the heat of summer. He was wearing blue shorts and a white t-shirt, shouting with laughter as he chased a golden retriever through the cold water spray.
Blythe stood near an easel under the shade of a massive oak tree, her dark hair tied back with a yellow ribbon, her dress splattered with bright spots of blue and green paint as she painted the garden flowers for a summer art competition.
On the stone terrace, a long wooden table was set with fresh lemonade, peach tartlets, and plates of grilled chicken.
Odette Marsh was sitting in a wicker chair, chatting softly with Aunt Vera—Waverly’s older sister, who had moved down from Milwaukee two months ago to work as the coordinator for the new Mercer Children’s Health Foundation.
Waverly stood near the stone balustrade, holding a glass of iced tea, watching the children run through the green grass.
She looked healthy, radiant, and whole. The dark circles beneath her eyes were long gone, replaced by a deep, quiet tranquility that shone from her brown eyes like sunlight through clear water.
A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
Lawson Mercer pulled her back against his broad chest, resting his chin softly on her shoulder. He wore a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his dark hair catching the summer light.
“They’re fast,” Lawson murmured into her ear, pointing toward Jonah, who had just managed to tackle the golden retriever onto the grass.
“He’s five,” Waverly laughed softly, leaning her head back against Lawson’s shoulder. “He’s supposed to be fast.”
Lawson looked down at her face, his long fingers resting over her hands where they lay against his waist.
“Prescott came by the office this morning,” Lawson said quietly. “Moretti sold his house in Cicero. He’s moving his family to Miami by the end of the month. The North Side has gone completely quiet.”
Waverly turned around in his arms, resting her hands against the front of his linen shirt, looking up into his dark, clear eyes.
“Do you care?” she asked softly.
“No,” Lawson answered without a second of hesitation. “I don't care about Cicero. I don't care about the dockyards. I handed the commercial real estate firm over to Prescott’s management group yesterday.”
Waverly raised an eyebrow, a small, playful smile touching her lips. “What are you going to do with your time, Mr. Mercer?”
Lawson looked past her toward the garden—toward his daughter painting under the oak tree, toward his son splashing through the cold sprinkler water, toward the open iron gates where the summer wind blew freely into his home.
Then he looked back down at Waverly—the broken woman who had walked past two men with guns, opened the dark velvet curtains, and taught a dying house how to breathe again.
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“I’m going to stay right here,” Lawson whispered, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m going to stay right here, and I’m going to watch the sun stay up.”
He leaned down and kissed her—a long, soft, deep kiss under the clear summer sky—while in the garden below, two healthy children laughed in the bright light, their voices carrying far beyond the open gates into the wide, beautiful world outside.
