Chapter 9 - The Spring Audit
By May of 2026, the Brookline house had been sold to a young couple from Manhattan who worked in biotechnology and thought the tray ceilings were "architecturally significant." The sale cleared every penny of the secondary debts, leaving Ethan with a clean credit rating and a substantial cash surplus in a trust fund that Madison couldn't touch without Arthur Vance’s explicit signature.
Ethan and Noah had moved into a small, sunny townhouse in Jamaica Plain, three blocks from the pond and five minutes from the office.
On a Saturday morning, I sat on their small rear deck, watching Ethan fire up the charcoal grill while Noah tried to teach a golden retriever puppy how to sit on a blue towel. The puppy—a gift for Noah’s seventh birthday—was named Titanium, a joke only three people in Boston truly understood.
My white titanium iPhone 17 buzzed in my lap. It was a text from Arthur: “Madison’s final counseling evaluation just cleared the court registry. Full compliance. The judge has converted the visitation to standard alternating weekends without the social worker. The lien remains active.”
I looked up from the screen. Ethan was flipping burgers, his face tanned from the spring sun, his dark hair lifting in the light breeze. He looked younger now than he had at thirty-five. The lines around his eyes were from squinting into the sun rather than staring at credit card statements in the dark.
"Mom," Ethan said, looking over his shoulder. "Madison asked if she could drop Noah off directly at the park tomorrow instead of the townhouse. She says she wants to avoid… well, she doesn't want to make things awkward."
"Tell her the park is fine, Ethan," I said, setting the phone on the wooden table beside my iced tea. "The park has excellent visibility. And the town has just installed those new high-definition municipal security cameras near the playground."
Ethan stopped, the spatula hovering over a burger, a sudden, bright laugh breaking out of his chest. "You never stop, do you, Eleanor?"
"An old woman who stops watching the doors is an old woman who gets her phone smashed, Ethan," I said, reaching down to pat Titanium as he ran past my chair. "I prefer to keep my hardware intact."
Noah ran up to the deck steps, the puppy tumbling behind him. "Grandma! Can Titanium sleep in my room tonight? Dad says it’s up to the board!"
May you like
I looked at my son, then down at my grandson, his eyes bright and dark, the exact color of my father’s eyes before the world got complicated.
"The board approves the variance, Noah," I said, smiling as I reached into my cardigan pocket for a small dog biscuit. "But if the puppy chews the baseboards, I’m docking your father’s allowance."
