Chapter 5 - THE SUNROOM GARDEN
By mid-afternoon, the rain had finally cleared, leaving the sky over Lake Geneva a brilliant, washed-clean blue.
I stood in the sunroom at the back of my twenty-two-room house.
The heavy white canvas drop-cloths were gone, stacked in neat piles near the door. The high windows were pushed wide open, allowing the fresh, cool afternoon breeze to sweep away three years of stale air, dust, and isolation.
The French doors leading out to the rear lawn were wide open.
Sitting on the mahogany tea table in the center of the room was a simple glass vase filled with fresh water. Standing inside the vase was the small, wilted dandelion Lily had picked from the edge of the service drive. It wasn't dead; in the sunlight and fresh water, its yellow head had straightened slightly, resting against the crystal rim.
Beside the vase sat a brand-new leather ledger.
On the first page, typed in clear, simple text, was the legal restructuring deed for the Sarah & Rosa Vance Memorial Foundation for Maternal Health.
An initial endowment of two hundred million dollars—funded entirely from my private liquidation of Vance Holdings stock—had been transferred into the foundation’s account two hours ago. The foundation’s primary mission was simple: full medical funding, housing, and lifelong educational trusts for single mothers and their children in the tri-state area.
The front gates of the estate clicked open.
A few moments later, I heard the soft crunch of tires on gravel, followed by the light, scampering sound of small feet running up the stone steps of the back patio.
“Mr. Vance! Mr. Vance!”
Lily burst through the open French doors into the sunroom. She was wearing a yellow raincoat over her outfit, her dinosaur backpack bouncing on her shoulders, her curly dark hair framed by the bright afternoon light.
She stopped abruptly when she saw me standing near the tea table, her big brown eyes wide with uncertainty.
Behind her, Maria walked slowly onto the patio, holding a laundry basket, her face filled with a tentative, hopeful worry.
“Lily,” Maria called out gently. “Don't run into the house like that—”
“It’s fine, Maria,” I called out, a smile breaking across my face—a smile that felt strange, new, and completely natural on my lips. “She’s right where she belongs.”
Lily walked slowly toward the tea table. She looked at the white canvas drop-cloths on the floor, then looked up at the sunroom windows, and finally, her eyes landed on the glass vase sitting on the mahogany table.
She gasped, pointing a tiny, finger at the vase.
“My flower!” she chirped, looking up at me with absolute delight. “You saved my flower!”
I knelt on the hardwood floorboards until I was at eye level with her.
“You saved my house, Lily,” I said softly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, plush dinosaur key-chain I had bought at the shop down the street, along with a brand-new box of forty-eight colored crayons.
Lily’s eyes went wide. She took the crayons with both hands, clutching them against her chest as if they were made of solid gold.
“Are these for me?” she asked in a loud whisper.
“They are for you,” I said. “On one condition.”
“What condition?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspicious, three-year-old style.
“You have to draw me another picture,” I said, pointing to the empty drawing pad lying on the tea table. “And this time, I want you to draw your mama, your grandma, and Sarah.”
Lily looked at the drawing pad, then looked back at me, her small jaw setting in that fierce, determined expression I had seen the night before.
“And you?” she asked.
I froze for a moment.
“Me?”
“Yes,” Lily said matter-of-factly, pulling a bright yellow crayon out of the box. “You need to be in the picture too. So you don't look sad anymore.”
I looked past Lily toward the French doors.
Maria was standing on the threshold, tears streaming down her face, her hands pressed over her heart as she looked at her granddaughter and then at me.
Outside, across the rolling green lawn of the estate, the sun was shining through the oak trees, scattering millions of tiny, golden light reflections across the wet grass.
I looked down at the four-by-six photograph sitting on the table beside Sarah’s new ledger.
I touched the faded ink on the back one last time.
May you like
Nobody should have to survive the beginning alone.
“Okay, Lily,” I said, my voice rich, full, and finally clear. “Draw me too.”
