Chapter 9 - THE LAST CHERRY ON TOP
The autumn air had given way to the crisp, biting chill of early winter by the time the federal trial finally reached its conclusion.
I didn't attend the sentencing in downtown Manhattan. I didn't need to sit in a crowded courtroom to watch Julian Vance led away in chains. The verdict was a foregone conclusion, delivered by a justice system that had finally caught up to the rot at the heart of Moretti Enterprises.
Instead, I spent that Saturday right where I belonged.
At the local diner down the road from our house, sitting in a red vinyl booth by the window, watching the snow gently dust the pine trees outside.
Lily sat across from me, her nose nearly pressed against the glass as she watched the snowflakes drift down from the gray sky.
The waitress walked over, carrying a heavy white ceramic plate and a warm smile.
“Here you go, hon,” the waitress said, setting a massive slice of chocolate fudge cake directly in front of Lily.
Lily’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. But instead of diving straight into the rich, decadent frosting, she carefully took her spoon and pushed the whipped cream aside, searching the top of the cake with intense, critical concentration.
She found what she was looking for.
Perched right on the very peak of the whipped cream were exactly two bright red maraschino cherries.
Lily carefully scooped one cherry off the cake with her spoon, held it out across the table, and dropped it into my coffee cup.
I looked down at the floating cherry, then up at the little girl.
“Why are you giving me that?” I asked softly.
Lily gave me that familiar, matter-of-fact look that reminded me so much of Sophie it made my chest ache—not with the sharp, burning grief of the past, but with a warm, enduring fondness.
“Because,” Lily said sagely, “good things go last.”
I smiled, picked up my spoon, scooped the cherry out of the coffee, and popped it into my mouth.
It tasted sweet. Perfect.
Outside the diner window, a car drove past, its tires hissing softly against the freshly fallen snow. Life in the city was rushing on—mergers happening, stocks rising and falling, men in expensive suits scheming in high-rise towers, believing they held the levers of the world in their hands.
Let them scheme. Let them build their empires of glass and poison.
I had my river house. I had my strength back in my legs. And I had a little girl across the table who taught me how to believe in good things again.
I reached across the red vinyl booth, took Lily’s small hand in mine, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“You ready to go home, kiddo?” I asked.
May you like
Lily nodded happily, sliding off the booth and wrapping her small arms around my waist as I stood up smoothly, without hesitation, without pain, and without looking back.
“Yeah, Daddy,” she whispered into my coat. “Let’s go home.”
