Chapter 11
It meant Director Room.
The owner’s office.
“My office,” Eddie said.
Marcy looked confused.
“But why would access to your office show D.R. instead of the person?”
“Because whoever entered used my master code.”
“Who knows it?”
“I do.”
“Anyone else?”
Eddie hesitated.
“That’s the problem.”
I knew the answer before he said it.
“Dustin’s uncle.”
Eddie nodded.
“When he helped me get the lease, we shared office access. I changed the keypad years ago, but apparently the old master code was never removed from the software.”
Dustin paced to the window.
“So my uncle has been coming into the gym at night.”
“Maybe,” Marcy said.
He turned.
“You still don’t think it’s him?”
“I think guessing is what got us into this mess.”
I almost smiled.
That sounded painfully familiar.
The next morning, Marcy came home.
The doctor wanted her resting for several days, which meant Linda instantly transformed the living room into a place halfway between a recovery suite and a small hotel.
Extra blankets.
Water bottle.
Soup.
Medication schedule written on an index card.
Marcy protested until Linda pointed at the couch.
“Sit.”
Marcy sat.
I made coffee and stayed out of the way.
Dustin arrived around noon.
He brought flowers.
Not extravagant flowers.
A small bundle of yellow daisies from the grocery store.
He stood on the porch holding them as though he wasn’t certain he deserved to cross the threshold.
Linda opened the door.
They stared at one another.
“I’m not very happy with you,” she said.
“I know.”
“But Marcy wants to see you.”
“I know.”
Linda stepped aside.
That was how forgiveness started in our family.
Not dramatically.
Not with speeches.
Sometimes it looked like somebody opening a door six inches wider.
Dustin sat across from Marcy.
“I owe you an apology.”
She studied him.
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“I spent months telling myself I was protecting you.”
“You were trying to control the investigation.”
“Yes.”
“And me.”
His answer came slower.
“Yes.”
I watched from the kitchen.
May you like
He didn’t excuse himself.
That mattered.
