Chapter 6: What Renee Brought to the Table
Thursday came faster than I wanted it to.
Patricia Holt's office was on the fourth floor of a building downtown — clean, quiet, the kind of place where serious things happened without raised voices.
She had set up a conference room with a long table, a water pitcher, and four chairs.
She was already seated when we arrived.
Renee came in five minutes after us.
She looked like Angela — same cheekbones, same way of entering a room like she owned the square footage.
She was carrying a leather portfolio and she set it on the table without greeting anyone except her sister.
"Angela." She touched Angela's arm briefly.
Then she looked at Dad.
"Mr.
Calloway."
"Thank you for coming," Dad said.
Patricia introduced herself.
They shook hands with the particular politeness of people who are about to disagree about everything.
We sat down.
Renee opened her portfolio.
"I'll be straightforward.
Angela has asked me here because she feels the situation at home has become adversarial in a way that concerns her.
She wants to find a resolution that works for everyone."
"We want the same thing," Patricia said.
"Good." Renee glanced at me briefly, then back to Dad.
"Angela is prepared to acknowledge that the campsite weekend was handled poorly.
She regrets some of what was said.
In exchange, she's asking that the text messages not be used as leverage in any future proceedings and that Lily—" she paused, "—receive some form of structured support.
A counselor.
Someone neutral."
"Lily doesn't need a counselor," Dad said.
"Lily needed her stepmother not to tell her she was useless."
Renee didn't flinch.
"That message was sent in frustration during a difficult period.
Angela regrets it."
"She regrets it," Dad said.
"Okay.
Which part does she regret — the word useless, or the part where she told Lily to hide it from me?"
Renee looked at Angela.
Angela was looking at the table.
"Both," Renee said carefully.
"I'd like to hear that from Angela," Dad said.
The room held its breath.
Angela looked up.
Her eyes went to Dad, then briefly — just briefly — to me.
"I regret it," she said.
"All of it."
It was the first time she had said it without conditions attached.
Without a *but* waiting at the end.
Patricia slid a folder across the table.
"In the interest of resolution, we've prepared something as well."
Renee opened it.
She read the first page.
Her expression didn't change, but her hand went still on the paper.
"This is a separation agreement," she said.
"It's a starting point," Patricia said.
"Not a demand.
A starting point."
Angela's head came up sharply.
"You want a separation."
"I want my daughter to be safe in her own home," Dad said.
"If you can tell me — genuinely, not through Renee — how that happens with things the way they are, I'm listening."
Angela stared at him.
Something moved across her face — not anger this time.
Something that looked almost like grief.
"I didn't know it had gotten this bad," she said quietly.
"I know," Dad said.
"That's part of the problem."
Renee put her hand over Angela's on the table.
A small gesture.
A sister's gesture.
"Can we take a short break?" Renee said.
Patricia nodded.
"Of course."
Renee and Angela stepped out into the hallway.
Through the glass panel beside the door I could see them talking in low voices.
At one point Angela pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Renee kept her hand on her arm.
Dad looked at me.
"You okay?" he said quietly.
"Yes," I said.
And then, because it was true: "I didn't think she'd say she regretted it.
Without the but."
"Neither did I," he said.
We waited.
When Renee came back in, she sat down and folded her hands on the table.
"Angela would like to speak to Lily," she said.
"Privately.
If Lily is willing."
I looked at Dad.
He looked at me.
"It's your choice," he said.
I thought about the notebook.
The forty-seven messages.
May you like
The campsite, the dishes, the dark, the flashlight.
"Okay," I said.
