Chapter 10 - The Answer to the Question
Spring came early to the limestone house the following year.
The black-dirt fields around the quarry were green with young corn, and the red oaks were heavy with thick, bright leaves that rustled soft in the evening breeze off the river.
It was a Tuesday night. The lounge in the West Loop was being managed by a young man named Jimmy’s cousin—an honest kid who paid his taxes on time and didn't take calls from Cicero. The shipping docks in South Chicago were quiet, operating under the strict, clean supervision of three retired Coast Guard officers who didn't let a single crate move without three signatures.
Voss sat on the front porch in a wooden rocking chair he’d made himself out of white oak.
Beside him sat Elena, her legs dangling over the edge of the porch, a small plate with two toasted pieces of cinnamon bread sitting on her lap.
The sun was going down behind the red oaks, casting long, golden shadows across the lawn where the big gray dog was chasing a yellow butterfly through the high grass.
Elena took a bite of her toast, chewed thoughtfully, and looked out at the lane.
"Hector?" she asked softly.
Voss stopped rocking. He looked down at her small, bright face. "Yeah, kiddo?"
She set her toast down on the plate, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at him with those deep, dark brown eyes that were no longer full of shadows.
"Do you remember the first night?" she asked.
"I remember," Voss said.
"In the alley," she whispered, a small, gentle smile touching the corner of her lips. "When I asked you if you thought someone would come looking for me?"
Voss looked down at his own hands—hands that were calloused, scarred, hands that had carried shotguns through mud and signed deeds to thirty-million-dollar docks.
He leaned down, reached out, and took her small, warm hand in his.
"I remember," Voss said softly.
"Why did you say no?" she asked.
Voss looked out at the blue playhouse, the paved lane, the green cornfields stretching out to the horizon, and the long, quiet road that led all the way back to the West Loop.
"Because," Hector Voss said, his voice as steady and unyielding as the limestone house behind them, "I knew I was already there."
May you like
She smiled, a bright, beautiful thing that lit up the entire porch, and leaned her head against his arm as the sun went down over the clean, quiet land.
(THE END)
