She accepted the answer without arguing.
Before leaving, she told me Celia had received a letter from Tomas saying he planned to visit Westbridge for the first time in twenty-seven years.
I said I was glad.
Vivian walked back across the street.
I watched her carry the plant into the moving van.
That afternoon I took the blue file to the library, where the archivist had offered to preserve copies of the public materials.
I kept the original photographs and Daniel’s personal things at home.
The archivist placed the documents in a labeled box and asked what title I wanted on the collection.
I thought about the chain, the motor, the threats, and the years of silence.
Then I said the title should include every child injured at the arena, not only my brother.
She wrote down the names we knew and left space for the families still deciding whether to participate.
When I returned home, my mother was waiting on the porch with Daniel’s guitar.
She had found a song he used to play and wanted to try remembering it.
I sat beside her while she adjusted the strings.
Across the street, Vivian’s driveway was empty.
My mother struck a chord that sounded terrible, and we both laughed.
For a moment the street belonged to the living again.
The End.
