Chapter 14
The contractor's truck was already in the drive when I got there, just after nine. Cold February air cut across the little parking circle in front of the estate, and two men in canvas work jackets were unloading a ladder and a cutoff saw. I hadn't been inside the gate during daylight before without a caseworker beside me. Now the front door was open a few inches and he was standing there waiting.
He was out of the suit. Gray sweater, jeans, hands shoved in his pockets. He didn't look rested.
"You came," he said.
"You texted the time," I said. I stayed by the bottom step. "You sure the order says today?"
He nodded toward the side of the house where the nursery wing ran. "Judge signed it. Bars come off. Has to be witnessed. I asked them to put you on the list."
That was new. For weeks he'd kept everything behind lawyers and emails. I followed him around the side, past the boxwoods, to the nursery window. Up close in daylight the twisted iron looked worse than it had at night — thick, hand-forged, bolted deep into limestone on both sides. Rust at the base where sprinklers had hit it for years. Inside, I could see the sill I'd only ever touched through gaps.
Rosaline's pink rabbit was there, right in the center, right where she'd left it. Camille wasn't in the room yet. I could hear a babysitter talking softly upstairs.
The older contractor came over with a clipboard. "You the owner?" he asked him.
"Yes."
"We cut flush, grind smooth, fill holes, paint to match. Window stays locked till we install the stop. Code says no more than four inches on a second story with little kids. That work?"
He looked at me before he answered. "That's the order."
The younger guy set the ladder. The saw screamed once when he tested it, and inside the house one of the girls cried out. I flinched.
"They're upstairs with Maria," he said quickly. "Not in here. We moved them."
"I know," I said, but my hands had already gone tight around the strap of my bag.
The first bar took twenty minutes. Sparks rained down onto the mulch, bright orange against the pale stone. Each cut shrieked and then pinged when the iron gave. The men worked slow, prying, catching the weight so it didn't gouge the sill. He stood right beside the window the whole time, not talking, watching every bolt come out. Once he reached out like he was going to steady the ladder and then pulled his hand back.
When three bars were down, the whole face of the house changed. Light fell straight onto the sill where it had been striped before.
The older contractor brushed stone dust off with a gloved hand. "Look at that," he said to no one in particular.
Inside, the sill was still dented where the bowl had rested. But it wasn't a cage anymore. It was just a window. Wide, low, with sun on it.
He asked them to leave the rabbit. "Don't move anything inside," he told them. They nodded and packed the iron onto the truck bed. Four lengths of twisted bar, suddenly looking small and mean.
After they left, we stood there. The window was open two inches at the bottom, on a new latch. Cool air came through.
"Will you come inside?" he asked. He said it quietly, like he wasn't sure I would.
I had never fed them inside. Only through bars. My throat went tight. "If that's what the plan says."
"It says supervised meal inside. No glass between. You're approved if I'm here and Maria's here," he said. "I don't want you on the cold side anymore."
Maria brought them down a few minutes later. Rosaline came first, holding the rabbit now, bow crooked. Camille behind her in the same light blue pajamas I'd seen that first night, hair in a ponytail. They both stopped when they saw me on the other side of the open window.
Rosaline pressed her face to the screen for a second out of habit, then realized there was no bar to reach through. She looked confused.
I knelt so we were level. "Hey, sweethearts."
He unlocked the side door — not the window — and held it open. "Front way now," he said to them. "Hulda comes through the door."
Maria gave me a small nod. He stepped back to let me in. The nursery smelled the same — warm, powder and laundry detergent — but brighter. Without bars the room felt twice as big.
We ate at the little white table that had always been too far from the window for me to reach. I set down paper bowls, the same light-colored dented one I used to pass through, washed clean, plus two small ones for them. Chicken and rice, cut small. I'd made it that morning.
"Eat slowly, sweethearts," I said before I thought, and then caught myself. Same words as that first night.
Rosaline climbed into her chair and tucked the rabbit beside her plate. Camille sat across from me, legs swinging.
He sat at the other side of the table, not eating, hands folded. He didn't take over. He just watched them eat, then watched me, then back.
"Is this okay?" I asked him, low.
"Yes," he said. "This is what they wanted."
Camille pushed her bowl toward me for more, and I scooped from the big bowl. No iron in the way. No passing through gaps. Just my hand to hers.
When Rosaline finished, she slid off her chair and walked to the window. She put both hands on the sill and looked out at the yard, at the place where I'd stood for weeks. Then she turned around and looked at me inside the room with her.
"All gone," she said, pointing at where the bars had been.
May you like
"All gone," I said.
He stood and came to the window beside her. He didn't touch her, just stood there. For the first time the estate didn't look like it was holding its breath.
