Chapter 8 - Learning to Love With an Open Hand
Then there was me.
The criminal empire did not vanish because I fell in love.
Life isn’t that simple.
But Claire’s death had started changing me.
Grace made it impossible to pretend I didn’t know I needed to finish.
I had inherited businesses from my father that existed on both sides of the law.
Shipping.
Nightclubs.
Construction.
Gambling.
Protection arrangements.
People who owed favors.
People to whom favors were owed.
I had spent years telling myself I was better than the generation before because I was more disciplined.
That wasn’t enough.
Control with better manners was still control.
I began separating everything.
Legitimate businesses received independent boards.
Accounts were audited.
Cash operations closed.
Several partnerships ended.
Attorneys negotiated exits.
Where cooperation with authorities was legally appropriate, we cooperated.
I lost money.
A lot.
I lost people.
Some thought I had become weak.
Maybe I had.
Or maybe fear had simply stopped being the only measure of strength I understood.
Landon, my oldest lieutenant, eventually became chief operating officer of the legitimate shipping company.
The first time I called him that instead of underboss, he laughed for nearly a minute.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m getting business cards.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m absolutely getting business cards.”
He did.
Margaret framed one.
Grace laughed for ten minutes.
When Noah turned six, he asked his first difficult question about Claire.
“Why did she die?”
We were sitting on the floor building a wooden train track.
I froze.
Grace didn’t answer for me.
That mattered.
I said:
“Her body got very sick after you were born.”
“Because of me?”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
I put down the train.
“No, buddy.”
“But she died when I came.”
I moved closer.
“You didn’t make Mommy Claire die.”
He looked uncertain.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Grace sat beside us.
“Sometimes two things happen close together,” she said, “and our brains try to make one the reason for the other.”
Noah thought.
“Like rain when I wear boots?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t make rain.”
“No.”
He looked at Claire’s photograph.
“Did she know me?”
I swallowed.
“She knew you before you were born.”
“How?”
“You kicked her constantly.”
He smiled.
“Really?”
“Especially when she ate ice cream.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate.”
“Good.”
We spent the next hour talking about Claire.
Not death.
Life.
That night, after Noah slept, I found Grace in the kitchen.
I kissed her.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not answering for me.”
She smiled.
“You’re his father.”
“You knew the answer.”
“So did you.”
That was love with an open hand.
Two years later, I proposed.
I did it badly.
Not because I hadn’t planned.
Because I had overplanned.
There were flowers.
A private terrace.
Music.
A ring that cost too much.
Grace walked outside, looked around, and immediately said:
“Oh, no.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You’ve made this weird.”
“I have not.”
“There are approximately six hundred roses.”
“Four hundred.”
“That isn’t better.”
I started laughing.
The musicians tried not to.
Grace looked at me.
“You’re nervous.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“Terrified.”
She softened.
I reached for the ring.
Then stopped.
Claire’s voice existed in my head even after all those years.
Ask. Don’t arrange.
So I left the ring in my pocket.
Grace noticed.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing it.”
I took her hands.
“No speech?”
“I had one.”
“Was it terrible?”
“Excellent.”
“Of course.”
“Grace.”
She smiled.
I took a breath.
“I love you.”
Her expression changed.
“I love the way you love Noah. But I also love you when Noah isn’t in the room.”
Her eyes filled.
“I love that you tell me when I’m wrong.”
“Frequent service.”
“I love your terrible cello stories.”
“I was nine.”
“You were bad.”
“You never heard me.”
“I trust your sister.”
She laughed through tears.
“I love that you built a life outside this house even when I wanted you closer.”
I swallowed.
“And I love that you never needed me to become less powerful. You just needed me to stop using power where trust was supposed to go.”
Grace squeezed my hands.
“So.”
I breathed.
“Will you marry me?”
She stared.
Then:
“Where’s the ring?”
I laughed.
“In my pocket.”
“Can I see it?”
“Does that mean yes?”
“I’m evaluating.”
“Grace.”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
I pulled out the ring.
She stared.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You haven’t even put it on.”
“It’s enormous.”
“I can return it.”
She looked suspicious.
“You would?”
“Yes.”
That was apparently the correct answer.
She kissed me.
May you like
We kept the ring.
She liked it more than she admitted.
