I’d gotten closure. A new beginning where my chest was light and the butterflies in my stomach were free to flutter all because of the man who held me in public and kissed me in crowds and hugged me with a purpose no matter who stared. And some people did. But neither of us paid them attention, even if they’d had smiles on their faces from our public affections.
Saying goodbye to the city wasn’t as hard as I wanted it to be knowing my parents were buried there, but I knew deep in my gut I had to go if I wanted to survive the frenzy of a media trial. Ren had gotten me a present and told me not to open it until I’d moved into the new house (Viagra that Theo didn’t find funny), Tiffany told me my present was being delivered there at the end of the week (a new mirror she told me to try to not break), and my aunts had hosted a small dinner with my friends to celebrate both graduation because I chose not to walk across the stage, and moving to my clean slate. Even though I could tell Sophie had wanted to say something, she held her tongue. That night, I’d walked up to my aunt, wrapped my arms around her lightly because I knew she wasn’t a hugger, and said, “I’ll miss you.”
She’d been tense, but eventually hugged me back, rested her chin on my shoulder like I’d done to her, and replied, “I’ll miss you too.” There was a small pause. “Della.”
Unlike my father’s trial, Pratt’s was over fast. With evidence stacked against him, they didn’t want to drag it out longer than it needed to be. He was found guilty for the premediated first-degree murder of Anthony Saint James and sentenced to life without parole, with twenty additional years added for each manufacturing charge. I was cooking dinner for Theo and myself when the sentencing was announced on every news channel known to man, with reporters mentioning the lack of commentary I’d made since Pratt’s arrest.
It wasn’t for the news’ lack of trying. Reporters had called and emailed, but I refused to talk. Sophie and Lydia were both targeted, and agreed it was better not to speak on the matter, even though Sophie had made it known she had thoughts on what she wanted Richard Pratt to know regarding her brother’s death. I wasn’t sure how Lydia talked her down from it, but nobody had gotten one word from any Saint James family member.
Thankfully, nobody had found my new address, which meant my lawn wasn’t littered with men and women holding cameras and microphones. There were no pictures surfacing of me or judgmental comments if I was out wearing leggings and baggy shirts, or old shoes, or any articles on my fluctuating weight from the time I’d moved to the time I’d settled into my new life, to the time Pratt’s trial ended. The anxiety of waiting for something bad to happen had made the first few weeks in the new house tough while news updates on the trial went viral, but nobody had ever pulled me in like I feared. I’d eaten. I’d painted. Sometimes, I’d join Theo in the gym he’d hired people to help set up in the large basement of our four-bedroom home.
It was four days after Richard Pratt was escorted to Rikers Island when I got a call from the prison’s rep telling me about a settlement I’d be getting for the death of my father by negligence of the prison guards. I’d all but dropped my paint palette on myself when they told me how much it was for.
Now, I was squeezing the much larger hand tucked in mine and staring at the blueprints of the old warehouse where my parents had fallen in love, before they began construction. The settlement had been more money than I knew what to do with, and I’d seen what high dollar amounts did to people, so I chose to put it to use. The place my parents loved was being turned into a recreational center for disadvantaged youth, where there would be classes for anything you could imagine. Painting. Dancing. Swimming. Thanks to Ripley, the center would host various groups for addiction, alcoholism, and eating disorders every week for those who needed help—the people like Kat, and the people like me, and the hundreds of others that hadn’t found the support they needed.
Even though Theo had asked multiple times if I was sure I wanted to put all the money into the project, there wasn’t any question. It was the only other thing, besides loving him, that I was sure about in my entire life.
When the Anthony and Elizabeth Saint James Recreation Center opened, it had garnered the kind of attention that put hope back into the Saint James name that had long since dissolved after my father’s arrest.
I was no longer Adele, daughter of the former corrupt New York State governor.
I was Della.
Lover of Theodore West.
Painter of human reality.
And everyday fighter.
There was always going to be somebody who had something negative to say about the way I lived, but I was learning to cope with the acceptance that it was impossible to please everyone. Like the Lauren’s of the world who’d publicly spoken out about how her family, who was evidently also Evan Wallace’s, had never gotten the justice from my father. They received no payout compensation for his wrongdoings then, and received nothing from the Pratt scandal, seeking anything after the settlement I’d received had made national news.
I’d chosen not to follow the story, focusing solely on the future. If I thought about Evan drugging my drink because he was angry, or Lauren seeking restitution by bringing me down, I wouldn’t get to experience life away from the world I’d stepped out of. I hoped them the best,
