Chapter 18 - THE PRICE OF TRUTH
Spring arrived along the Pacific Coast not with a sudden burst of warmth, but with a gradual, glorious shift in the light.
The dark grey skies softened into pale turquoise. The wild yellow mustard flowers began to bloom along the sand dunes, swaying in the gentle ocean breeze.
One Saturday morning, Ethan and I walked down to the shore carrying a large, hand-made kite we had spent three days building out of thin cedar struts and bright red paper.
Ethan ran ahead, his small boots kicking up spray from the wet sand near the surf line. "Mommy! Look! The wind is taking it!"
I held the wooden spool, watching the bright red paper kite rise steadily into the clear, vast blue sky. It soared higher and higher, catching the strong thermal currents rising off the warming Pacific ocean, floating effortlessly above the silver horizon where the sky and the sea met as one.
Ethan came running back to me, his cheeks bright red, his hand reaching out to hold onto my coat. He looked up at the kite, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated wonder.
"It's so high, Mama!" he cheered, laughing out loud—a sound so pure, so bright, it seemed to wash away the last echoes of every dark night we had ever endured.
I looked down at my son. I saw no fear in his eyes. I saw no confusion. He didn't know about the courtrooms in Boston. He didn't know about the black ledgers, the champagne, or the old men who had tried to buy his future with blood money.
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All he knew was the ocean, the wind, the red kite, and the mother who loved him more than life itself.
"Yes, baby," I murmured, leaning down to kiss his wind-chapped cheek. "It's flying perfectly."
