Chapter 10 - SummerSummer gave everyone space they did not know they needed.
Katherine did not teach summer school.
She almost volunteered.
Paul threatened divorce as a joke.
Mostly.
She spent mornings in physical therapy.
Afternoons reading on the porch.
By July she could walk several blocks with a cane.
She still used the wheelchair at airports and large events.
The first time she requested one voluntarily after she could technically walk, she felt embarrassed.
Then angry at herself for feeling embarrassed.
Equipment.
Help.
Access.
Not failure.
Hailey completed community service at a municipal records office.
She expected something more dramatic.
Instead she scanned decades-old documents.
Eight hours a week.
Boring.
Mara Ellis approved.
“Consequences don’t have to feel cinematic.”
Hailey groaned.
“Everyone says real life is boring.”
“Because it mostly is.”
Hailey also attended a restorative accountability program.
Not with Katherine.
With trained facilitators and unrelated participants.
She listened to victims of traffic crashes.
That was harder.
One man described waiting forty minutes for help after a driver fled.
Hailey left the room crying.
Andrew found her in the parking lot.
“Want to go home?”
“No.”
He waited.
“I kept thinking about Ms. Reed.”
Andrew nodded.
“She had help.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
Hailey looked at him.
“Why did you believe me about the car?”
Andrew answered honestly.
“Because believing you was easier than imagining you could do something terrible.”
Hailey looked away.
“I knew that.”
“What?”
“I knew you’d choose the easier version.”
Andrew absorbed it.
“That’s on me.”
“Yes.”
He did not argue.
Their relationship changed.
Not destroyed.
Less comfortable.
Maybe healthier.
Rachel required Hailey to spend part of the summer with her too.
At Rachel’s apartment, there were no assistants.
No housekeeper.
No driver.
Hailey learned buses.
Laundry.
Grocery budgets.
Rachel refused to call this character building.
“It’s living.”
Hailey rolled her eyes.
But she liked the anonymity.
Nobody at the grocery store knew about the accident.
At Westbridge, the district completed its accessibility upgrades.
Automatic doors.
Better curb markings.
Parking-lot cameras.
Elevator maintenance schedule.
Katherine attended the final walkthrough.
Facilities director Mark Jensen said:
“We probably should have done some of this years ago.”
“Yes.”
He smiled painfully.
“You don’t soften things.”
“I teach juniors.”
That August, Katherine received a package.
She froze when she saw the return address.
Andrew Brooks.
Paul noticed.
“Want me to open it?”
“No.”
Inside was no gift box.
Just a slim envelope.
A check.
Katherine frowned.
Then read the letter.
Andrew had received an insurance reimbursement related to the SUV repair after reopening the claim truthfully.
He was directing the equivalent amount toward Katherine’s unreimbursed therapy costs as part of restitution coordination.
Not charity.
Not a favor.
Documentation included.
Katherine called the victim-services coordinator before touching the check.
Everything was legitimate.
Good.
She deposited it.
No thank-you note.
Restitution was not generosity.
That distinction mattered.
Then another envelope arrived.
From Hailey.
Katherine did not open it.
Not yet.
She put it inside the old Teacher Appreciation box beneath her desk at home.
Paul noticed.
“You’re keeping the box?”
“For now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
May you like
No lecture.
Progress for him too.
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