“He looks good up there.”
I startle at Betsey’s voice. Even with all the commotion and noise in the room, her presence rattles me.
I turn toward her, my arm automatically tugging Reid close.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say.
“Probably the same words that rang through your head almost a year ago—at a very different bell ringing.”
No, not quite the same words.
“Dave invited me.” Betsey tips her porcelain chin to her right. Her hair is shorter. I’m not sure it suits her round face.
Dave is tucked behind a group of employees invited to watch and cheer. He raises his hand.
I return the wave. Interesting he’s not pushing himself into the limelight, but I resist the urge to read too much into it. The din of the room recedes as the opening celebration winds down. Reid runs to hug his dad as Clint tries to make it back to us but is pulled into introductions. It’s a shame Rob couldn’t make it. The networking here would be priceless, but that is not their way. He called last night from Kilimanjaro, grateful Clint was taking the monkey-suit bullet.
“I’ve been wanting to connect.” Betsey shifts into my line of vision. “I applaud your move to Dyverse Funds. I have to say, I was surprised. Dave said Phil fought to keep you.”
Although her query is masked in observation, her question is clear. After working so hard to preserve my job, how could I have left?
But I don’t owe her or anyone an explanation of my career choices.
“So, Dave?” I cock my head but keep a small smile in place.
She nibbles on her lip as she glances over at him. “Dave’s a good guy. All that time we spent with the forensic accountants and with the SEC...”
I suppose my face indicates my doubts as she rolls her eyes.
“I know,” she says. “I wouldn’t have guessed it either.”
“Clint agrees with you. We wish you both well.” Limited to the contacts saved in Clint’s sat phone, after Rob, Dave had been the one I texted as Lucas showed up at the cabin. I trusted my husband’s instincts. Apparently surprising only me, Dave proved himself a potent ally through the SEC investigation.
I continue to keep my distance.
“We’re just dating. His wife divorced him a few years ago. He’s still hurting. Figuring it out.” She looks at the floor and then back at me. “I’m happy for you. That you landed on your feet. You know none of what happened—”
“Betsey, we’re all good,” I say.
The SEC doesn’t take kindly to ignorance. I had to prove that even though we were all deceived by Terrence, for me it was not a sign of incompetence. My capacity for trust took quite a hit as everything went down. I’m still working on opening myself up again.
I finally smile. “Look, I love it at Dyverse. A pure ETF company. Assets are growing. We just launched another thematic.” The team is younger, eager for success with innovative ideas without the concerns of a legacy business. I’m not sure if it’s a long-term career move for me, but I have a lot of flexibility. Some days, I miss the dynamic creativity born through the roots of history entwining with a confidence in the future, like I found at Garman Straub. For now, I am content and leaving any forecasting to my portfolio choices and not my career.
“Yeah, I saw your new fund launch. It’s just I hope you—”
“I’m fine.” Maybe not fully healed, but I’m working on it. My marriage is on solid ground. I appreciate my family and recognize the contentedness we’ve found.
“I’ve wondered, since you haven’t wanted to get together.”
I step closer to her, giving her my undivided attention. “It’s not you. I appreciate what you did. Not how you went about it.” I hold up my hand when she opens her mouth to probably try to explain again. She’s used the same words in a handful of voicemails over the past year. I appreciate her need to say them, but I need her to appreciate my need to not get caught up again. “I’m happy for you. You deserve every dollar of the whistleblower settlement. And you’re right; I could have stuck it out at Garman Straub, but I was ready to move on. I’ve also found better balance.” I glance over at Erika and MJ pointing at the podium. Erika fought hard to get her boyfriend here—one of the many things I love about our daughter, her loyalty and perseverance.
“Good to hear it. You let me know if you find the time.” Betsey holds out her hand.
Instead of shaking her hand, my fingers itch to grasp my necklace. Oma would urge simple forgiveness. She would whisper about the path of healing for us both. I hesitate. I don’t feel ready. But Clint and I found our something different, and our new pastor would say it’s not about feeling. It’s about seeking freedom by unshackling ourselves from the anger and the hurt. Clint and I have started going to church with the kids. It’s new. The people are very kind. Erika thinks they’re too friendly, and although I admonish her comments, I kind of agree. It’s hard to trust, but that’s the point: we need to learn. And we are. We’re finding that trusting in a God who knows us and created us is a whole lot easier than in the people who’ve hurt us.
I look down at Betsey’s hand and grasp it. “All is forgiven.” Although I still don’t feel it, something shifts inside me, and I gently draw her into an embrace.
Betsey’s stiff shoulders slacken against me. A tiny sob escapes her. She covers it with a cough and pulls back, her smile soft. “I learned so much from you. I’m so grateful.”
