Chapter 8 - THE EIGHTEEN MONTHS SHE DID NOT WAIT
Mave did not wait for Gabriel.
She lived.
That distinction mattered.
The first month after his surrender, she worked too much.
Isabel called her on it.
“You’re here at seven.”
“I like mornings.”
“You sent emails at one.”
“I like nights.”
“You are becoming Gabriel.”
Mave looked horrified.
“Take that back.”
Isabel laughed.
Mave went home.
She also returned to physical therapy consistently, not because anyone wanted her more mobile, but because pain had worsened under stress.
Her therapist, Devon, asked goals.
“Less shoulder pain.”
“Not walking more?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He wrote it down.
Mave appreciated that.
For years, therapy had been framed as progress toward appearing less disabled.
Now the goal was living better in body she had.
She began using wheelchair more often at work on long meeting days.
At first, employees looked surprised.
Mave realized she had accidentally performed crutch-use as proof of competence.
That annoyed her.
So she stopped caring.
Chair when useful.
Crutches when useful.
Braces when useful.
No morality.
One afternoon, a junior accountant asked:
“Are you getting worse?”
Mave replied:
“No. I’m getting smarter.”
The woman blushed.
Mave softened.
“Mobility aids are tools. Using different one does not mean tragedy.”
“Sorry.”
“Now you know.”
Good.
Croft Enterprises completed governance restructuring.
Professional CEO hired: Dana Whitmore.
No family relation.
Mave took board seat representing Eleanor trust.
One seat.
Not chair.
She kept accounting? She transitioned from controller role to audit committee because conflict.
Nina became controller.
Deserved.
At first board meeting, Dana asked:
“What does family want from company?”
Mave said:
“Nothing.”
Robert, attending as nonvoting founder emeritus under settlement, looked at her.
Dana raised eyebrow.
Mave clarified:
“Shareholders want return. Employees want stable work. Customers want performance. ‘Family’ is not governance objective.”
Dana smiled.
“Good.”
Robert said nothing.
Progress.
Richard Hayes pleaded guilty to conspiracy, obstruction, and financial crimes connected to intimidation campaign.
Peter cooperated and received lesser sentence.
Preston testified.
Public hated him, then pitied him, then got bored.
He sent Mave one letter.
She returned unopened.
Choice.
Celeste Moran pleaded guilty to fraud-related offenses for forged authorization and unlawful system access, with cooperation credited.
Before sentencing, she asked through counsel whether Mave wanted to submit statement.
Mave did.
Not requesting harshness.
Not leniency.
Just fact.
Celeste’s actions exposed crimes but also denied Mave informed choice and used stolen identity. Both mattered.
Judge said same.
Good.
Robert resolved civil claims by returning distributions, surrendering voting control, and funding a settlement to Carl Jennings’ family.
Not absolution.
Repair.
He began meeting Celeste’s mother privately to apologize? Maybe not. Better through restorative mediation only if family chose. Celeste refused initial.
Fair.
Mave called Gabriel once a week when allowed.
Conversations were short.
Mostly boring.
“What did you eat?”
“Something gray.”
“Helpful.”
“How’s foundation?”
“Isabel tried to kill three consultants.”
“Metaphorically?”
“Probably.”
“Good.”
“Stop.”
He laughed.
One call:
“I saw photo of you in chair at board meeting.”
Mave froze.
“Why?”
“Newspaper.”
“Oh.”
“Headline said HEALTH CONCERNS.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I hate them.”
“Do you want me to—”
He stopped himself.
“Sorry.”
Mave smiled.
“What were you going to say?”
“Call someone.”
“From federal prison?”
“I know people.”
“That is why you’re there.”
He laughed so hard call monitor maybe noticed.
Then serious:
“You looked good.”
“Meaning?”
“Like you.”
Good.
Six months in, Mave went on a date with someone else.
She had not planned.
A foundation architect named Owen Patel asked coffee.
Mave said yes.
Because she and Gabriel had not promised exclusivity? They were dating before prison, perhaps they should clarify. They had not said. Hmm. This could create unnecessary drama. Better she considers but declines because she wants current relationship, not out of waiting. But if "did not wait", she lives other aspects. Could keep no dating. Yet title says she did not wait meaning continued life, not romantic replacement. Fine.
She was asked.
She thought.
Then told Gabriel on next call?
Maybe not needed. Let's instead Mave asked herself whether she wanted others and realized no for now. Choice.
At ten months, Gabriel called.
“I may be released early.”
Mave’s pulse jumped.
“When?”
“Four months.”
“That’s not early enough to make math exciting.”
He laughed.
“Do you want me to come back to New York?”
She stopped.
“Where else?”
“I have offer to work with federal monitors in Ohio.”
“What?”
“Advisory on converting seized industrial businesses.”
Mave was surprised.
“Legal?”
“Yes.”
“Useful?”
“Possibly.”
“Do you want it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would you choose if I wasn’t here?”
Silence.
“That is rude.”
“Answer.”
“New York.”
“Why?”
“Isabel. Remaining legal holdings. My therapist.”
“You have therapist?”
“Prison changes a man.”
Mave laughed.
“And me?”
“Yes.”
Honest.
“But not only.”
“Good.”
He returned to New York after fourteen months with credits.
Mave did not go to gate.
She was chairing foundation budget meeting.
Important.
Gabriel took a cab? Isabel picked him. Good.
He texted:
OUT.
Mave replied:
BOARD MEETING. DINNER 7?
He answered:
YES.
No dramatic reunion.
At seven he knocked on her apartment door.
Mave opened in wheelchair.
He looked older.
Leaner.
A new line near mouth.
She looked different too.
Shorter hair.
No braces because chair.
They stared.
Gabriel said:
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
He entered.
He did not hug until she lifted arms.
Then he did.
Mave had not realized how much she missed his smell.
Coffee.
Soap.
Now laundry detergent that was not expensive.
She laughed into his shoulder.
“What?”
“You smell federal.”
“Cruel.”
They ate.
Talked.
He told prison stories without making them heroic.
She told board battles.
At end:
“Are we still dating?”
Gabriel asked.
Mave smiled.
“You’re very romantic.”
“I need clarity.”
“Good.”
She thought.
“Yes.”
His shoulders loosened.
“But.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t move in.”
“I have house.”
“You sold compound.”
He blinked.
“How do you know?”
“Isabel.”
“Yes. Sold.”
“Why?”
“Too much.”
“Where are you living?”
“Apartment.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“Three.”
“Still too much.”
“I’m damaged by square footage.”
She laughed.
Then:
“We date. New.”
“New?”
“Yes. You are not man who walked into cathedral anymore.”
He looked.
“And you’re not woman standing at altar.”
“Exactly.”
No debt.
No rescue.
No continuity obligation.
Start.
They kissed.
Slow.
Later Gabriel noticed the altered wedding dress hanging visible in closet.
“You kept it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I changed it.”
He smiled.
That sentence applied to more than silk.
The next month Gabriel began supervised work with legitimate Mercer logistics under court monitor.
No CEO title.
No control of cash.
He hated.
Mave enjoyed.
“Someone else approves expenses?”
“Yes.”
“Tragic.”
“I bought printer paper and needed two signatures.”
“Justice.”
He glared.
Then smiled.
He also testified in remaining cases.
Public reputation shifted.
Some called reformed.
Mave hated.
“Reformed implies finished.”
Gabriel agreed.
“I’m not.”
Good.
At foundation board, Isabel proposed permanent director appointment for Mave.
Mave recused.
Independent committee voted.
Offer arrived.
She accepted.
Not because Croft name.
Not because disability sympathy.
Because performance.
Salary negotiated.
Hard.
Gabriel laughed when he heard.
“You asked twenty percent more.”
“Market correction.”
“Extortion.”
“Do not misuse legal terminology.”
They smiled.
On the anniversary of failed wedding, Mave did something no one expected.
Nothing.
No post.
No gala.
No symbolic burning.
She went to work.
Had lunch with Nina.
Physical therapy at five.
Dinner with Gabriel at seven.
At restaurant, he looked nervous.
She immediately said:
“If you have ring, put it away.”
His face betrayed him.
Mave stared.
“You do.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
“Gabriel.”
“I wasn’t asking tonight.”
“Why carry?”
“Contingency.”
“Marriage is not fire extinguisher.”
“I know.”
She laughed.
Then held out hand.
“Show me.”
He placed box on table.
Simple ring.
No giant diamond.
A dark sapphire.
Mave looked.
“Why blue?”
“Your mother’s shareholder-signature ink was blue.”
She stared.
“That is the least romantic reason.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
She did.
Annoying.
“Put it away.”
He did.
“Ask later.”
“When?”
“You’ll know.”
“I clearly won’t.”
Mave laughed.
“Goodnight, Gabriel.”
He drove her home? She drove herself.
At curb he did not kiss until she leaned.
Open door.
Open future.
No deadline.
At month eleven, Mave received a package from Gabriel.
Prison mail had inspected it.
Inside was a paperback detective novel with three pages marked.
No contraband.
No jewelry.
Just terrible fiction.
A note read:
THE DETECTIVE IS AN IDIOT. YOU WILL HATE HIM.
Mave laughed.
She called at next scheduled time.
“You mailed me bad book.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed someone else to suffer.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m growing.”
“Backward.”
They argued about the ending for ten minutes.
Neither mentioned release.
That was what made conversation important.
Their relationship had finally developed topics that did not require crisis.
Weather.
Books.
Isabel’s terrible taste in conference-room carpet.
Nina’s promotion.
A dog Gabriel wanted to adopt after release.
Mave said:
“You have never owned dog.”
“I can learn.”
“You can barely manage houseplants.”
“I was incarcerated.”
“They died before.”
Silence.
“Unfair.”
She laughed.
For the rest of day, the laugh stayed with her.
May you like
Living did not mean forgetting him.
It meant he occupied part of life instead of becoming its waiting room.
