“Thank you,” I stammer, taken aback by her certainty. Never did I expect a decision here and now, without more meetings and paperwork. She’s power in a tweed coat.
Her eyes move across the land again. “This is exactly the type of project I want Opengate to be involved in… it matters.”
As she moves to the driver’s side, she’s opening her door when I remember what I wanted to tell her. “There’s one more thing,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Anna Collins was approved.”
She pauses, then smiles. It lightens her instantly. Her eyes shine. “Good.”
“The meds should arrive within twenty-four hours.” She nods once. “You bought her time.”
Her fingers run along the top of her car door as she clears her throat.
“We bought her time,” she says, then gets into her car and drives off.
***
Later that night, I’m sitting in my bedroom, the contents of the Jimmy Choo box scattered over the sheets. There’s more now—old photos, more coherent notes. Less of a pile of scraps, more order.
I open the architect’s drawing of the retreat again. Exact and professional. Then look at my doodle on the back of one of Ollie’s soccer match fixture lists from a few months after Bex’s death. They’re not the same, but there are similarities. And for the first time, it feels like my goals may actually be brought to life. For the first time, in what feels like forever, this is a step into the future.