Chapter 13
My seventieth birthday was a big celebration.
The whole family was there.
Dozens of people.
Laughing.
Eating.
Celebrating.
I was happy.
Loved.
Content.
And then there was a knock on the door.
I opened it.
Standing on the porch was a young woman.
About twenty-five years old.
Beautiful.
Familiar eyes.
"Mrs. Caldwell?" she said.
"Yes?"
"My name is Angela," she said. "Angela Webb. Marcus Webb was my father."
I stared at her.
Marcus's daughter.
Sloan's accomplice's daughter.
"I know who you are," she said. "And I know what my father did. To you. To your family. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I didn't even know he was in prison until he died. He and my mother divorced when I was little. I barely knew him."
She paused.
"He wrote to me. Before he died. He told me everything. What he'd done. How sorry he was. And he asked me to do something. To try to make amends. In whatever small way I could."
She held out an envelope.
"He left this for you. Along with something else."
I took the envelope.
Inside was a check.
For $127,000.
And a letter from Marcus.
*To the Caldwell family,*
*This is all the money I have left. From my life of crime. It's not much. And it can never make up for what I did. But I want you to have it. Use it for your foundation. To help people. To do some good with the money I earned doing bad. It's the only amends I can make.*
*I also asked my daughter Angela to volunteer for your foundation. She's a social worker. She's good. She wants to help. She wants to make up for what her father did. Give her a chance. Please.*
*I'm sorry. For everything.*
*Marcus Webb*
I looked at Angela.
She was nervous.
Scared.
Hopeful.
"You're a social worker?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I work with families in crisis. With victims of abuse and exploitation. I… I didn't know what my father was. But I want to help. I want to make sure what happened to your family never happens to anyone else."
I looked at her.
She had her father's eyes.
But not his cruelty.
Not his greed.
She had something else.
Kindness.
Compassion.
A desire to do good.
The sins of the father did not have to be visited on the daughter.
"I'd like that," I said. "Very much."
Angela became one of the foundation's best employees.
She was smart.
Compassionate.
Dedicated.
She helped thousands of people.
She turned her father's legacy of evil into a legacy of good.
And she became part of our family.
She came to holidays.
To birthdays.
To family gatherings.
The children loved her.
We all did.
Good had come from bad again.
Redemption had found another way.
Life was full of such miracles.
That fall, I published my second book.
*Second Chances: Stories of Hope and Healing.*
It was a collection of stories from people who'd been helped by the foundation.
People who'd found the courage to stand up for themselves.
To change their lives.
To find happiness again.
It was another bestseller.
And all the proceeds went to the foundation.
More good.
More hope.
More love.
I was seventy years old.
And I was still learning.
Still growing.
Still loving.
Still being loved.
And I knew.
The best was yet to come.
The next few years were some of the happiest of my life.
Baby Richard grew.
He was smart.
Funny.
Kind.
Just like his grandfather.
Chloe became a teenager.
Beautiful.
Brilliant.
Full of life.
She started writing her own book.
About her family.
About love and loss and hope.
Angela met someone.
A nice man.
A teacher.
They got married.
At the cottage.
On the beach.
At sunset.
I was her matron of honor.
She asked me.
Said I was the mother she'd always wanted.
I cried.
Happy tears.
Frank and I were still going strong.
We traveled.
We spent time with the family.
We worked on the foundation.
We watched the sunset every evening.
From whichever porch we happened to be on.
We were happy.
Truly happy.
But I was getting older.
And I knew my time was limited.
Not that I was sick.
I was healthy.
Strong.
Sharp as a tack.
But I was seventy-three.
And I wanted to make sure everything was in order.
That my family would be taken care of.
That the foundation would continue.
That the house and the cottage would stay in the family.
Forever.
I worked with David to update my will.
To set up trusts.
To make sure everything was protected.
The house would go to Harrison.
And eventually to his children.
And their children.
Forever.
The cottage would be shared by all the grandchildren.
A place for the family to gather.
Forever.
The foundation would continue.
With a board of directors.
Made up of family members and trusted friends.
It would help people.
Forever.
And my money would be divided among the family.
And the foundation.
And various charities.
Everything was in order.
Everything was protected.
Everything was perfect.
One evening, I sat down with the whole family.
I told them about my plans.
About the will.
About the trusts.
About the future.
I gave each of them a letter.
A personal letter.
Telling them how much I loved them.
How proud I was of them.
What I hoped for their future.
They cried.
They hugged me.
They told me they loved me.
And I knew.
Everything would be okay.
Even when I was gone.
The family would go on.
The love would go on.
The legacy would go on.
Forever.
That night, I sat on the porch with Frank.
Watching the sunset.
"I'm ready," I said.
"Ready for what?" he asked.
"Ready for whatever comes next. I've had a good life. A wonderful life. Full of love. Full of family. Full of adventure. I'm ready."
Frank squeezed my hand.
"You have many more years ahead of you, my love."
"Maybe," I said. "But whenever my time comes, I'll be ready. I'll go happily. Knowing I left the world a better place than I found it. Knowing my family is loved and protected. Knowing I made a difference."
Frank kissed my forehead.
"You have made a difference, Lorraine. A huge difference. To thousands of people. To all of us. The world is better because you were in it."
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
And I smiled.
Life was good.
Perfect.
Complete.
And I was at peace.
But there was one more thing I wanted to do.
One more place I wanted to go.
One more person I wanted to talk to.
May you like
Richard.
One last time.
