Chapter 9 - Building New Ground
Three months later, the Kansas winter had settled over the plains with crisp, clear skies and snow that sparkled like diamond dust on the wheat fields.
Tom Becker stood in the driveway of a charming, four-bedroom Craftsman house on three acres of land just outside Derby, ten miles south of Wichita.
The Peterbilt was gone.
Tom had sold the big rig in December, using the proceeds along with the buyout of the Maple Street property to pay off the mortgage on the Derby house entirely. He was no longer a long-haul driver. He had accepted a position as the Regional Fleet Director for a logistics company in Wichita—an eight-to-four desk and yard job that paid sixty-five thousand dollars a year and guaranteed he was home every single afternoon at four-fifteen.
In the backyard, a broad workshop smelled of sawdust, motor oil, and pine shavings. Walter’s old tools hung neatly from pegboards along the wall, rescued from Maple Street before the house had been sold.
The legal storm had finally broken.
Renee Becker had pleaded guilty to second-degree grand larceny and misapplication of fiduciary funds. To avoid a five-year prison sentence, she had signed over every dime of her remaining marital estate to Elsie’s trust, surrendered all claims to Walter’s pension, and received five years of supervised probation with an absolute lifetime no-contact order regarding Elsie.
As for Jonah:
Renee’s sister in Oklahoma had offered to take him, but Jonah had refused to leave Wichita. In family court, when Judge Halloran had asked the nine-year-old boy where he wanted to live, Jonah had pointed across the courtroom at Tom Becker.
*"Tom doesn't lie to me,"* Jonah had told the judge. *"And Elsie needs me to help her with her bike."*
Tom had been granted legal guardianship of his half-brother.
It wasn't easy. Jonah was in weekly grief counseling, working through the tangled web of his mother’s manipulation and his father’s death. But for the first time in his life, Jonah wasn't being bribed with expensive electronics to mask his pain. He was being taught how to change the oil on a riding mower, how to swing a bat without dropping his back shoulder, and how to apologize when he made a mistake.
The back screen door banged open, and the sound of children’s laughter carried across the snowy yard.
Jonah came running down the porch steps, wearing Walter’s old red knit cap pulled low over his ears, chasing a golden retriever puppy they had adopted from the county shelter in November.
"Catch him, Elsie!" Jonah yelled, skidding on a patch of packed snow. "He’s got my glove!"
Elsie came sprinting after them, her cheeks glowing bright pink in the cold air. She wore heavy winter boots, a warm wool coat, and a purple knit scarf that matched her bright hazel eyes.
She wasn't wearing Natalie’s old cardigan anymore.
The cardigan was safely preserved inside a cedar shadowbox hanging on the wall of her brand-new, sunlit bedroom upstairs, right next to a framed photograph of Natalie laughing on a beach in Michigan. Elsie didn't need to carry the sweater around to feel safe; she was surrounded by safety every hour of the day.
"Got him!" Elsie shrieked with delight, tumbling into the snowbank as the puppy licked her nose.
Tom walked over, smiling, and reached down with his large, calloused hands to hoist Elsie up by her armpits, swinging her through the crisp air until she was sitting securely on his broad shoulders.
"Daddy! Put me down!" she giggled, kicking her boots against his chest.
"Not a chance, bug," Tom laughed, pulling Jonah into a headlock with his free arm. "It’s four-thirty. You know what today is?"
Jonah looked up, his eyes widening. "Is it time?"
May you like
"It’s time," Tom said.
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