Chapter 32 #2
Nadine told me to let him go if I wasn’t sure about how I felt.
How can I be sure about love or relationships?
They’re coming and going like seasons. One year, it’ll feel like forever, and the next it’ll feel like an endless winter storm.
Dean feels constant. A windmill in the middle of nowhere.
After the trial, no matter the result, we would’ve talked.
In this scenario, I imagine us going outside.
The sun is bright, the ocean waves are perfect, and there’s the ice cream shop selling for a dollar across.
We wait for the courtroom to empty out, sitting on the stairs leading into it.
We listen to the sound of people, cars, animals .
I turn to him, my hair blowing in the wind.
He looks at me like he always looks at me, black swallowing his greens, a freeing glance over my hair, and he tucks a crazy strand behind an ear.
We’ll talk about our shoes, maybe. Or how pretty the sky looks.
I tell him how I feel after and he listens, forgives me for making him wait, then swoops me off my feet with an Oscar-worthy kiss .
I never imagined this.
“Have a safe flight home,” my voice breaks. I turn to look out, no longer enjoying the sunrise.
Feet shuffle against the hardwood floors. He stands right behind me, keeping his eyes on me through the mirror. Dean leans down, his eyes shut as he presses a kiss on my crown.
I’m too scared to look back, that when I do, he’ll be gone for good.
It takes the sound of locks clicking in place for me to say, “ Don’t go .”
“You didn’t put makeup on?” Rosa eyes me over the waist-height wall dividing me from my family. Nadine’s in lawyer mode.
Hands go to my face, “I did.”
Makeup couldn’t have concealed the tears I’ve cried since Dean left.
Local townspeople start filing in. Everyone I know piles in. Tom, the ice cream shop owner. Lyla, the woman who piqued my interest in plants. It’s different from Toronto, where I knew no one. Everyone I love sits on my side, supporting me.
Everyone but Dean.
“Order in court. All rise for honourable Justice McCartney.”
We all stand as the judge walks out. She’s an old woman. I’m pretty sure she’s been in the Supreme Court of Charlottetown since it was made.
As she sits, the clerk says, “Please be seated.”
Nadine rests a hand on my thigh, “Trust me?”
“Always,” I mouth back.
“We are here today to proceed with the second trial of Rivera versus Cartwright. Counsel,” she may be old, but her eyes are sharp. “ Please state your appearances for the record.”
“May it please the court, my name is Bob Dune, and I appear on behalf of the plaintiff, Martha Cartwright.”
Nadine clicks the mic button. “May it please the court, my name is Nadine Rivera, and I appear on behalf of the Defendant, Nova Rivera.”
My lips are dry when McCartney catches my stare. Her expression doesn’t give her thoughts away.
“Counsel, you may proceed with your opening statements. Mr. Dune, please start us off.”
Bob Dune is a sad, old man. Reasonably so.
Bald head, big beer belly, and an oddly tight-fitted coat.
“My client has brought this action upon the defendant to recover several years of debt owed to Cornwall Public Library. Miss Rivera failed to return library-owned property. Books are not simple items. They are resources used by all and are taken care of with dedication. I intend to show that the defendant was aware of these overdue books and failed to return them, which resulted in a depleted financial standing for the library. The first trial in Toronto offered Miss Rivera leniency to pay $15,000 by December, but she has refused by bringing the matter back in court. We ask that the court hold the defendant accountable for her irreputable actions.”
“Defence, you may proceed with an opening statement.”
Nadine stands, not an inch of nerves visible.
“Thank you, Your Honour. This lawsuit should never have reached the courtroom. The Statute of Limitations Act bars this claim after two years. The plaintiff waited twelve. Marking this as a calculated retaliation through a holographic will where the plaintiff’s father names my client as the sole owner of Cornwall Public Library.
Today, we’ll prove that Ms. Rivera does not owe Ms. Cartwright any money as she is not the rightful owner of the library she pretends to own. ”
Gasps echo across the room.
I look over and see Ms. Cartwright’s hair buzzing with electricity, ready to strike, and her face red. She used to be nice.
Bob Dune continues to state all the same points they made during the first trial. They pull me up for questioning, turn my words around, and end up proving absolutely nothing. Someone boo’s them in the back when I return to my seat.
When it’s Nadine’s turn, the judge asks her if she has evidence of the holographic will. Bob Dune stands, “Objection. Holographic wills need two witnesses in Prince Edward Island.”
Smartasses . They knew what they were doing when they booked a trial here. They’re attempting to downplay Mr. Cartwright’s will.
“Defence?” The judge looks at Nadine. She’s still not shaken by this.
“While that may be true, Your Honour. The plaintiff took this case to trial in Toronto. Ontario accepts holographic wills as legal documentation without witnesses, as long as it’s signed by the individual who wrote it.”
The room goes silent.
We watch her think. “Agreed. You may submit the document.”
I’m on edge when Nadine hands a paper to the clerk. The judge takes it and reads it carefully.
Ms. Cartwright’s voice rises a notch as she whisper-yells at her lawyer. She’s desperate and it fills me with pity how different a child can be from their parents.
“Defence, it seems that the signature has been erased. How will you prove your evidence?”
That’s when Nadine falters. She swallows hard. The pad of her thumb presses against her finger’s knuckle.
The door bursts open. “We can prove it,” the deep rumble echoes through the hall.
I whip around, eyes popping out of my socket.
Nadine mutters a thank goodness before asking the Judge for permission to bring a witness to the stand. That woman does not care because she allows it.
Drama , I tell you. They all love it.
Dean walks down, stare glued to Nadine when they let another man walk through.
I don’t hear the rest of the trial because my eyes are glued back on Dean.
He returned with someone who can help me. That’s why he left. Not because he didn’t want me anymore. This was it. This was his way of asking to forgive him for dumping money in my account—that he should’ve clarified if it was my fault or not.
Dean doesn’t look at me. My ogre keeps his head down, sitting next to Tatay who squeezes his shoulder. Rosa’s eyes are watery, listening to Nadine defend me.
This won’t go in history books, but this will be my history. The beginning of Nova, the downfall of her—the epitome of who she becomes.
I wait for him to look at me, to see the love bursting in everlasting flames, but he doesn’t.
The man he brings is someone who can analyse handwriting, he can figure out when the signature was erased, and they find out it was Ms. Cartwright.
A lot happens in the next while, Nadine fires against her. She goes meek.
We win the case.
I’m free of all charges.
McCartney smiled at the end .
It’s a movie-ending. People cheer. They hug, smile, and congratulate me.
But none of it matters when the person I want the most doesn’t come near me.
I’m still in the courtroom when the lights turn off, leaving us both in darkness. A ray of sunshine shining down right in the middle between both of us.
We’re divided by ourselves, an insignificant border that doesn’t need to exist.
Dean picks up a box I didn’t notice before and walks towards me.
I let him, not saying a single word as he passes the threshold and makes his way to my table. It’s a wordless argument. Language is love, but silence is a weapon. He uses it with me in every way.
He unboxes the item, taking out a wooden stage-set. Theatres that England has. With red curtains, intricate details along the borders, and sandpapered to a precise smoothness.
“Did you make this?” He’s barely a foot away from me, taking more pieces out of the box. Each made of wood. Delicate. Excellent. Skilled.
I catch the Nerium flower on his wrist and am reminded of my name scattered across his arm. I feel him looking at me when I’m looking at his creations. There’s an object shaped like a cow, a pink bow on her head— Lottie . There’s Hina, Rhys, Kat, and Shaan—all determined by their repeated outfits.
Then there’s Dean, wearing a black shirt with a green hairpin drawn over his breast.
And me, wearing the emerald dress that brought us here.
He clicks a small light inside of the theatre and begins talking while moving the figurines with each word:
“There once lived a young boy who lived on a ranch not too far from here. Carefree, funny, full of sarcasm. He thought their family’s ranch was paradise until he grew up and his father lost half their land gambling and turned to alcohol.
The little boy had to step up and become a man.
He worked twice as hard, made as much money as he could—working at the farm, then the local pub when he could—and gave it to his mom and brothers.
He never knew what was going on at home until he heard his mother scream and found his dad dead on the ground—his brother holding a knife that caused it.
The man saw himself in his brother and took the blame, marking blood on his body, tainting the knife with his touch, and letting his family know he’d be back.
He sat in a room just like this one, broken, defenceless, and no one on his side. Until he heard her voice.