Chapter 10 - The Garden of Remembrance
One year after the incident at Terminal 4.
The afternoon sun was warm and golden over the grounds of the Sterling Estate in Lake Forest. The sweeping green lawns stretched out toward the blue horizon of Lake Michigan, cooled by a gentle summer breeze that carried the scent of blooming jasmine and lavender.
In the center of the estate’s grand courtyard, a long white linen table was set for fifty guests.
It was my mother and father’s forty-fifth wedding anniversary, combined with the formal announcement of the Sterling Trust’s new international preservation partnership with Julian Vance’s architectural firm.
Laughter and light music drifted through the air. My mother sat at the head of the table, surrounded by her lifelong friends, while my father stood near the brick fountain, chatting animatedly with Richard Sterling and Marcus Vance.
I walked through the stone archway into the estate’s private conservatory.
The room was a sanctuary of glass, light, and greenery. High above, the glass roof reflected the bright blue summer sky. On the central marble display table sat hundreds of thriving, pristine white gardenias and lilies, their sweet petals reaching toward the golden light.
I wore a simple, elegant ivory summer dress. On my left hand sparkled a stunning vintage ring—a central sapphire flanked by two brilliant diamonds—given to me by Julian three weeks ago on the stage of the completed Wabash Theater.
Soft footsteps sounded behind me on the flagstone floor.
I turned around. Julian walked into the conservatory, wearing a relaxed navy linen blazer and white trousers. He walked up to me, wrapping his arms gently around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder as we both looked out at the sunlit garden.
“Are you ready to join the party, my love?” Julian asked softly.
“In a minute,” I murmured, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against my back. “I just wanted to take a moment to look at the garden.”
Julian looked down at the white lilies resting on the table before us. He reached out, gently touching a delicate petal.
“My mother always told me,” I said softly, remembering the words that had saved my sanity at Terminal 4, “'Panic is expensive, Clara. Spend it only when it buys you something.'”
Julian smiled against my cheek. “And what did it buy you, Clara?”
I turned around in his arms, wrapping my hands around his neck, looking into the eyes of the man who held my heart, my trust, and my future.
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“It bought me my freedom,” I said, my voice full of absolute, unshakeable peace. “It bought me my family’s pride. And it brought me to you.”
Julian pulled me close, his lips meeting mine in a deep, tender kiss that tasted of sweet wine and summer sunshine. Outside the glass walls, the music played, my family laughed under the clear blue sky, and the white flowers bloomed softly in the light, forever reaching for the sun.
