"The bank is different.”
"How?"
"The bank is their territory. The dock is mine." Trent leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the railing with the ease of a man who'd been doing this his entire life. "They know the difference."
“That’s not true.” Stanley looked at the water. Something moved out in the darkness, and he shifted an inch closer to the center of the dock without acknowledging whatever lurked below.
"Dad, Trent's teasing you." Dove pressed her lips together, suppressing a laugh. "The alligators can't climb the bank, and they can't get up on the dock."
"But it's Florida, so where there's water, there are gators." Jack sat on the cooler at the far end, a beer in his hand, watching Stanley with open amusement. In the last month, she'd learned that Jack found most things quietly amusing, and that he expressed this through a particular half-smile he'd clearly passed directly to his son.
Trent chuckled. "Let’s not forget the snakes."
"I can't believe my daughter wants to live in this state," her father said.
"My brother loved it here." Her mom sighed. "He said the wildlife just made it all the more exciting."
That brought Dove thoughts back to everything that had happened.
The last four weeks had been filled with emotions no one knew what to do with. Trent and Jack had gone through a laundry list of feelings. One minute Trent would be angry and lashing out at his father as if Jack had purposely abandoned him, and the next minute, Trent would be acting like a teenager demanding his father's attention.
Jack had his own issues. He struggled every day with the fact his wife was gone and that he'd lost twenty years of his son's life. But together, these two men worked diligently to have a semblance of a father-son relationship. Most of the time it was like twenty years hadn't passed and they were so much alike. But they still had a lot to work through. However, Dove knew they would. The one thing Trent and Jack had that others didn't was mutual respect for the tough decisions they'd made in the name of family.
Dove could see how twenty years apart had affected them. However, every day, they lived and laughed a little more.
The formal charges against Dutton and Courtney had come down three weeks ago. Conspiracy, obstruction, and a list of federal offenses that the DOJ had been quietly building since her uncle had first handed them the lead. Edward Kirk—Courtney's father, the man behind Gulf Coast Energy Partners twenty years ago—had been pulled out of his comfortable retirement to answer for his part in it, too. He wasn’t going to get away with anything, and he, too, would face a litany of charges.
Raymond Weiss, the ME who'd signed Jack's death certificate, would be testifying against all three in exchange for immunity. Karl had taken a deal—reduced sentence, full cooperation—and was somewhere in protective custody doing what Karl had always done best, which was looking out for himself.
Sovereign Resources had been shut down. No permits. No mining. No limestone extraction coming to the Calusa Cove watershed or anywhere near it.
The Henderssons had signed formal affidavits, and their testimony would be the final piece that put everyone away.
The town had exhaled. The Glades had kept doing what the Glades always did, which was exist without caring about any of it.
"The party was beautiful," her mother said. "Aaron would have loved it."
"He would've complained about the playlist," Dove said.
Her mother laughed. "He always complained about playlists. That man had opinions about music, and his opinions were wrong. It's why I chose it—just to annoy him in death.”
"Aaron had opinions about everything,” Stanley said. “And he never kept them to himself. Oddly, I'll miss that about him”
“So true.” Her mother turned her glass in her hands. "That was the best part of him—and the most annoying."
Dove looked out at the water. Her uncle's memorial had been at a hall in Fort Lauderdale with a hundred people she recognized and a hundred more she didn't. Someone had put together a slideshow that started with a photo of her uncle at about twenty-two that looked so much like she’d felt when she was twenty-two—all sharp edges and something to prove—that she'd had to look away for a minute and find Trent's hand in the dark.
He'd given it to her without being asked.
She still thought about that. About how Trent was always just there when she needed him and often when she didn’t. He knew her needs and desires, and while they fought like every other couple, he never held on to those arguments. He always apologized when necessary and sometimes when it wasn’t.
For two people who didn't have relationships, theirs was easy. Comfortable. It was like her favorite sweater. A little worn around the edges. Faded in color. But it fit her like nothing else ever would.
"So." Her mother's voice shifted—not dramatically, but enough. Dove recognized that tone. The one her mom deployed when she'd been building toward something and had decided the time had come whether Dove was ready or not. "You mentioned at the service that you had some news.”
Dove glanced at Trent. Boy, did she have some news to share. It wasn’t the news her mother was referring to, but it was the news Dove would start with.
Trent smiled, taking her hand. They’d discussed this with Jack last week. He wasn’t surprised. It’s not like Dove stayed at her house these days at all anymore.
