Vancouver smelled like rain when Maya and I stepped out of the station.
Not heavy rain. The pavement held a thin shine, and the air carried that cool, wet scent of trees and concrete that made me understand immediately why George had circled the city three times in his travel notebook.
Maya stood beside our luggage and looked at me.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“It’s weather.”
“Emotional weather?”
I laughed and wiped beneath one eye.
We had arrived.
For years, Vancouver had belonged to the category of someday.
Someday after treatment.
Someday when George had more strength.
Someday when work slowed down.
Someday when Liam was settled.
Someday when there was no crisis.
Someday had quietly become never.
Except here I was.
Not with George.
That loss remained.
But not nowhere either.
We checked into the hotel, left our bags, and walked until our feet hurt.
Maya refused to let me consult George’s itinerary during the first afternoon.
“You said this is our trip.”
“It is.”
“You’ve checked his notebook four times.”
“I was comparing.”
“To what?”
“Reality.”
“Reality appears to have restaurants without Dad’s supervision.”
I put the notebook back into my bag.
We ate seafood at a place neither of us had researched.
The table was too small.
The service was slow.
The dessert was excellent.
George would have hated the noise and loved the dessert.
I allowed both thoughts to exist without wishing the evening were different.
That was new.
The next morning we walked beside the water.
Maya took photographs of boats, mountains, gulls, me looking irritated because she kept photographing me.
“Stop.”
“You’ll want these.”
“I look windblown.”
“You are windblown.”
“That doesn’t mean it needs documentation.”
“Dad would document it.”
“That is not helping your case.”
She grinned and took another.
We rented bicycles later.
I nearly changed my mind after seeing Maya’s confidence.
“I haven’t ridden in years.”
“You remember.”
“That phrase is responsible for many emergency-room visits.”
“Mom.”
“I’m going.”
The first ten minutes were humiliating.
The next twenty were frightening.
Then my body remembered.
By the time we stopped near the seawall, I was laughing hard enough that Maya told me to watch where I was going.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be bad at something harmless.
For months every mistake had carried consequence.
A missed clue.
An overlooked transaction.
A forgotten conversation.
Here, the worst possible outcome seemed to be wobbling into a hedge.
That felt luxurious.
My phone stayed mostly in the hotel safe.
I checked it each evening.
Liam sent one photograph of his dinner.
Pasta.
Actually edible-looking pasta.
I replied with a thumbs-up.
He sent:
That’s all I get?
I answered:
I’m respecting your independence.
His reply arrived immediately.
I regret everything I taught you.
I laughed.
There was also a message from Priya.
Call when convenient. No emergency.
Those last two words mattered.
No emergency.
I called after dinner.
“Susan’s counsel has proposed a resolution on several counts.”
I sat beside the hotel window.
“What kind?”
“Negotiated plea discussions.”
“Does she admit what she did to George?”
“Some of it.”
“Which part?”
“She would acknowledge administering medication without proper authorization and concealing that fact after his collapse.”
“And the financial charges?”
“Several admissions there too.”
“Forgery?”
“Yes.”
“Crane?”
“She disputes directing some of his actions.”
Of course.
“What about the substituted medication?”
“No admission.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“George’s death?”
“No.”
I watched harbor lights shimmer below.
“What do you need from me?”
“The prosecutor wants to know whether you wish to submit a victim-impact statement if a plea is reached.”
I was quiet.
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
“Would refusing hurt the case?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll think.”
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“Susan has requested permission to send you a letter through counsel.”
My first reaction was immediate.
“No.”
Priya did not challenge it.
Then curiosity arrived.
Not need.
Not the old desperate hunger to hear Susan explain herself.
Just curiosity.
“What happens if I say yes?”
“I receive it first. You can decide whether to read it.”
“And if I say no?”
“It never reaches you.”
I looked toward Maya.
She was sitting on the other bed reading.
“Can I decide later?”
“Yes.”
“Then later.”
I hung up.
Maya lowered her book.
“Susan?”
“How did you know?”
“You have your Susan face.”
“I have a Susan face?”
“Very tight mouth. One eyebrow.”
“That sounds like your grandmother.”
“Exactly.”
I threw a pillow at her.
She caught it.
Then she became serious.
“What does she want?”
“To send a letter.”
“Are you going to read it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
That was the correct question.
Not should.
Not what would George want.
Do you want to?
“I don’t know yet.”
Maya nodded and returned to her book.
She did not advise me.
That helped.
We spent the next two days exploring the city.
I left George’s notebook in the hotel.
Then, on our last evening, I took it with me voluntarily.
We found one restaurant he had marked.
It no longer existed.
In its place was a small bookstore.
Maya laughed.
“Dad’s perfect itinerary has failed.”
“He would demand a refund.”
“From whom?”
“Time.”
We went inside.
I bought a book I did not need.
Maya bought two.
At the register, I noticed a rack of postcards.
One showed a train winding through mountains.
I bought it.
Back at the hotel, I turned it over.
For George, I wrote.
Then stopped.
The impulse felt sentimental in a way he would have mocked.
So I crossed it out.
For me.
That felt better.
I tucked the postcard inside his notebook.
The following morning we boarded the first leg east.
Our cross-country sleeper segment would begin later.
Seat 12A was still ahead.
I was surprised by how little that mattered now.
The number had become symbolic because I made it symbolic.
The actual lesson had never belonged to upholstery.
It belonged to choice.
Near midday, Liam called.
I almost answered with alarm.
Then remembered he was allowed to call his mother.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you calling?”
He laughed.
“Wow.”
“Sorry.”
“I wanted to tell you before you hear from Priya.”
My stomach tightened anyway.
“What?”
“I met Jessica.”
I waited.
“She’s doing okay.”
“That’s good.”
“She told me about the plea discussions.”
“Okay.”
“She may testify if Susan doesn’t take the deal.”
“Yes.”
“She’s scared.”
“I imagine.”
He became quiet.
“I wanted to fix it.”
I looked out the train window.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like progress.”
“It felt terrible.”
“Progress often has poor marketing.”
He laughed softly.
“I told her I’d listen if she wanted to talk, but I couldn’t make the consequences disappear.”
“That was fair.”
“She asked if I hated her.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“And?”
“I told her I still don’t trust her.”
My chest tightened.
“How did she react?”
“She said she understands.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe she’s trying to.”
That was enough.
Then Liam said something unexpected.
“I don’t think we’re getting back together.”
I waited.
“I thought saying it would destroy me.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“It hurt.”
“That is different.”
“Yeah.”
We stayed on the phone for another minute.
Then he said, “Go enjoy the mountains.”
No request followed.
I put the phone away.
Maya glanced at me.
“He okay?”
“He’s hurting.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I thought.
“Yes.”
That answer felt true.
That evening Priya emailed a summary of Susan’s proposed admissions.
I read it once.
Susan acknowledged she had given George medication not prescribed to him.
She admitted she did so after he told her to leave.
She admitted failing to tell emergency responders.
She admitted removing items from the kitchen before calling for help.
She admitted replacing the sleep-aid package afterward.
She admitted taking George’s recorder from the hospital.
She admitted altering the note.
She admitted involvement in forged financial documents and unauthorized access attempts.
She still claimed she never intended serious harm.
She denied deliberately causing George’s later death.
She denied knowingly placing the substituted anti-anxiety medication into his regular pills.
She maintained that Daniel’s careless pharmacy authorization had created confusion over which medication belonged to whom.
Prosecutors rejected parts of her account.
Dr. Cho could not settle every medical question.
The legal truth would remain narrower than the emotional truth.
I closed the email.
Maya asked, “Better?”
“No.”
“Worse?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Smaller.”
She understood.
For months Susan had occupied enormous space in my mind.
Every question pointed toward her.
Every memory bent around her.
Now her admissions reduced her.
She was not an all-powerful architect.
She was a woman who repeatedly crossed boundaries, justified herself, panicked when consequences appeared, lied to preserve control, and harmed people.
Terrible.
But human-sized.
I slept well that night.
Two days later, while the train moved through country George had wanted to see, Priya sent another message.
Susan’s letter had arrived at her office.
No pressure. I will hold it until you decide.
I stared at the words.
Then I put my phone away.
Hours passed.
Mountains rose beyond the glass.
Maya slept across from me.
I thought about what I expected Susan to say.
I was trying to help.
George was dying anyway.
Jessica misunderstood.
Daniel shares blame.
You misunderstood me.
I never meant for this to happen.
Maybe all of those sentences were in the letter.
Maybe none.
I realized something.
I no longer needed to know.
That evening I called Priya.
“Destroy the letter.”
She paused.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t want me to keep a copy?”
“If it has evidentiary value, preserve it for the case. I don’t want it personally.”
“Understood.”
I looked at my reflection in the window.
For years I had listened whenever someone wanted to explain why my boundary should not count.
Susan did not get one final audience simply because she asked.
The next morning, Maya and I stepped off at a scheduled stop to stretch our legs.
A family hurried past us.
A little boy complained that his sister had taken his place by the window.
Their mother said, “Ask her.”
The boy did.
The sister considered.
Then shook her head.
“No. I’m sitting here.”
The mother shrugged.
“There’s your answer.”
I laughed.
Maya looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
But it was not nothing.
It was almost absurdly simple.
Ask.
Receive an answer.
Respect it.
So much damage in my life had grown from people deciding that process was optional.
When we boarded again, I found a message from Detective Alvarez.
Susan’s plea negotiations had stalled over the medication-substitution allegation.
The case might go forward.
I felt the old pull.
More evidence.
More questions.
More waiting.
Then I remembered George.
Do not spend the rest of your life solving this for me.
I replied that Priya could keep me informed of developments requiring my participation.
Nothing more.
I turned off the screen.
Outside, the mountains continued without caring whether any courtroom ever produced the sentence I wanted.
For the first time, I did not resent them for it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 26: Liam Missed a Payment and Told Me Before I Could Notice, While Jessica Finally Chose Truth Even Though It Could Cost Her Freedom
A Stranger Was Sitting in My Reserved Window Seat, but My Son’s Explanation Made the Real Insult Impossible to Ignore
Part 25 of 32
