Chapter 65
Sixty-Five
F ollowing the advice of counsel—the attorney Gus paid for on my behalf—I meet with police and file a formal report. A visit to the emergency room documents the damning thumb-shaped mark Don left on my neck.
In preparation for the attorneys filing a written complaint, I meticulously log a record outlining the harassment and provide a list of employees who might corroborate some of my claims.
The formal complaint asks for damages, financial compensation, a letter of recommendation, and the immediate dismissal of Don fucking Jennings. I’m hopeful. I may have lost my job, but he will not ruin me.
Butch convinces me to move out of Richmond and in with him. He’s worried about Don confronting me, or worse.
Do I mind living with the lumberjack, being under his protection (and under him, period)? No, I do not. Was I bolstered by Emmy’s enthusiastic response? “ We’d be together every single day? ” “Daddy will never be grumpy pants again! ” Yes, I was .
As if all that weren’t amazing enough, Gus insists I start consulting on his magazine right away. He puts me on his payroll, saying it’s “easier this way,” but it seems like too much—he’s already footing the attorney bill. So, I work hard, digging in to comprehensively research his venture.
I’m energized by the excitement of creating something from scratch. Butch offers his spare bedroom for a makeshift office, and we add a desk, worktable, and large cork board, where my notes and plans begin taking shape.
Everything’s put in motion shockingly fast. I’m relieved to be out of the city. I’m more comfortable with the charming, engaging Hamilton family by the minute, and their enclave is a sanctuary with its towering oaks, babbling brook, and soothing landscape.
I’m wanted. Embraced. Safe. And my future holds real promise.
A month later, Don’s been fired, I have glowing letters of recommendation from senior management, my wrongful termination is termed a layoff, and I’m awarded some financial compensation in the form of back pay.
What sticks in my craw? There’s zero admission of wrongdoing or apology, and I wasn’t “laid off.”
It’s the best deal the attorneys could negotiate, so I take it. They said these types of cases often drag on for months or years, but the police and hospital report scared them enough to ante up hush money.
Truthfully, my sanity demands putting it behind me. I don’t want to think about it anymore even if it’s not exactly what I wanted. I’m David and they’re Goliath, only I don’t topple them at all. I’m no more than a ripple in their ocean.
Butch finds me on the porch, leaning against the railing as Emmy chases after lightning bugs.
Their brief flares of light pop in the twilight hour and I find them simply magical, never having seen them before moving here.
He slides his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to my temple.
I sink into his touch, my arms crossing over his.
“You doing alright?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm. Just glad it’s over.”
“I’d still like to kick his ass. That would give me the peace of mind I crave.”
I blow out a laugh. “Tempting, but no.” I don’t need Butch going to jail.
Emmy lets out a celebratory shriek as she catches two bugs in a canning jar. Butch poked air holes in the top so they can survive, but he’ll make her let them go in a while.
“I will never get over these wonders of nature,” I say. It does put life in perspective. No amount of Dons in the world can diminish the awe and magnitude of Mother Nature’s gifts.
“You’ve got to admit, it’s a clever mating system.”
“The good old, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’?”
Butch chuckles, squeezing me tighter. “You can show me yours anytime. You know I’m happy to show you mine.”
I try to elbow him but he’s holding me too close.
“I’ve got a really cool thing we can go do right now if you’re up for it.”
Turning in his arms, I find his handsome face. “I’m up for it.”
“Em!” he calls. “C’mere. We’re all going on a little excursion.” He takes my hand and steers me toward the car.
“Is ice cream involved?” she asks.
“Something even better,” Butch answers.
“Nothing is better than ice cream,” she mutters. “Can I bring my bugs? ”
“Sure. Get your little butt in the car,” he commands.
We pile into the Barracuda and drive about fifteen minutes to a park. Butch grabs a flashlight from the glove compartment and leads the way down a nearby path.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“So can I,” he answers.
“You are a maddening man.”
His white teeth shine in the dark. “I’m not ruining a good surprise, Sundance. If you don’t agree, I’ll make it up to you later.”
I smile to myself as we continue walking the dirt path, an occasional lightning bug blinking in search of a mate.
Night is closing in quickly as we arrive at a long wooden bridge, suspended above a pond surrounded by an expansive lawn and trees.
Butch stops when we reach the center, shuts off the light, and we fall silent.
Like magic, they appear. Fireflies. Hundreds and hundreds of them, as far as the eye can see, emitting their luminescent green glow across this woodland paradise. My breath catches as I absorb this phenomenon of the beetle world. Even Emmy’s speechless.
Butch’s hand finds mine and squeezes.
“It’s amazing,” I whisper, almost unable to grasp what I’m witnessing, it’s so extraordinary.
“They’re like little fairies,” Emmy adds in a hushed tone.
We watch in silence for a long while, gradually crossing the bridge to view from different vantage points.
Emmy opens her jar and releases her fireflies, whispering to them, “Go be with your kind.”
When we’ve had our fill, Butch stoops to let Emmy ride him piggyback and I shine the light as we make our way back to the parking lot .
Emmy chatters animatedly but my thoughts veer to how lucky I am. To observe the miracle of life in so many forms, to experience true love even when I thought it was lost, to realize I’m but a speck in the cosmos, here to make the most of my own blink of time.