Chapter 18: The Kestrel

I found him at ten that night, in the boat shed behind the yard.

The grocery woman had taken Poppy for the night.

Garner had said he would sleep in the car so I could walk out alone.

The shed doors were open a hand's width, and a lamp burned inside.

My mother's boat sat on its cradle under the lamp.

It was a small white sloop with a cracked mast.

She had called it the Kestrel, and I had not seen it in three years.

The hull had been sanded and painted, plank by plank.

Elliot stood on a stepladder with a rag in his hand and his back to the door.

"You fixed it," I said.

"I had time."

"You said you sold nothing."

"I didn't." He did not turn around. "I kept the roof sound and I kept this ready. In case."

"In case what?"

"In case you ever wanted to go out on it again."

I shut the door behind me.

"I told Bree I wanted the account back," I said. "I lied. I'm going to Portland to take everything off her. In front of everyone."

"Then tell me how."

I told him.

The recording on my phone, her confession in her own voice.

The court order, the audio with Poppy's voice, Garner standing beside me with his own phone.

I told him I would not take the account and I would not sign it back.

When this was over I would end it with my own hands.

He listened with the rag hanging from his fist.

"I believe you," he said when I stopped.

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