Chapter 26 The Injuction
MIA
Walter’s house smelled like woodsmoke and old books and the particular calm of a place that did not ask anything from you the moment you walked through the door.
I had never been here before. I had heard about it from Caleb the way you hear about a place someone considers safe, in the details they choose without realizing they are choosing them. The soup, the kitchen table, the four-hour drives on Sunday nights. Walking in felt like stepping into something I already understood without having seen it.
Walter opened the door himself.
He was tall and unhurried, with Caleb’s jaw and none of his father’s coldness. He looked at me for a moment before speaking.
You must be Mia, he said.
Yes, sir.
Come in. I made soup.
Caleb was already at the kitchen table, phone face down, hands around a bowl he had not touched. He looked up when I entered and something in his shoulders loosened, just slightly. I had learned to read that shift without meaning to.
Walter set a bowl in front of me and sat at the head of the table, folding his hands.
Richard filed the injunction this afternoon, he said. His claim is that I acted without board authorization when I redirected the funds. He is calling it an unauthorized movement of family assets.
Is that true, I asked.
It is a creative reading of the trust structure, Walter said. My attorney says it will not hold. But it will take time to dismiss formally. In the meantime, it freezes the treatment account.
The room went still.
For how long, I said.
Two weeks. Possibly three.
I looked down at the table.
Mom’s next protocol infusion was in nine days.
I did not say it, but Walter saw it anyway.
I have spoken with the oncology billing department, he said. They will not interrupt treatment for a legal dispute they are not part of. They have agreed to continue on my personal guarantee until this is resolved.
I stared at him.
You guaranteed it personally, I said.
He waved it off. Your mother is not paperwork.
Caleb reached across and covered my hand. I let him.
What does Richard actually want, Caleb said. He cannot undo the agreement being void. So what is the point of the injunction.
Walter was quiet for a moment.
Your father does not file things to win them, he said. He files them to cost you something. Time. Energy. Attention. He looked at Caleb. The Halifax camp confirmation is in two weeks.
Caleb’s jaw tightened. He is trying to make me miss it.
He is trying to make you spend the next two weeks buried in lawyers and calls instead of hockey. Walter picked up his spoon. That is his win now. If he cannot take the girl or the story, he takes your focus.
I looked at Caleb.
He was staring at the table, working through it the way he did on ice before a hard shift. Not anger. Calculation.
So we do not let him, I said.
Both of them looked at me.
Let the lawyers handle the injunction, I said. That is what they are for. I looked at Caleb. You go to Halifax. You skate. You confirm the camp. I handle the billing and the treatment schedule and everything here.
You should not have to do that alone, he said.
I am not alone, I said. Walter is here. His attorney is here. You being here does not help my mother. You being in Halifax helps her more.
Caleb did not answer immediately.
You are doing it again, he said.
Doing what.
Carrying it so I do not have to.
This time I am carrying it so you can do what you are supposed to do, I said. That is different.
Walter watched us without interrupting.
She is right, he said to Caleb. Go to Halifax. I will deal with Richard.
Caleb looked down at his soup.
I do not like this, he said.
I know, I said.
I want to be here.
I know that too.
After dinner Walter left us in the kitchen. I washed the bowls. Caleb dried them. We worked in silence for a while, the way we had before, like the quiet itself had a rhythm.
My father is not going to stop, he said eventually.
Probably not.
That bothers you.
Less than it used to, I said. He had his best shot and it failed. Now it is just noise.
Noise with lawyers.
Noise Walter will handle. I handed him the last bowl. You cannot fight everything at once. You pick what matters and you go.
He held the bowl but did not set it down.
You matter most, he said.
Then trust me to still be here when you get back, I said. That is how you show it.
He set the bowl down.
Then he kissed me.
Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just steady. His hands at my face, like he was trying to memorize something without looking away.
When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
Same time when I get back, he said.
Same time, I said.
He left at nine.
I helped Walter clear the table. He walked me to the door and paused there, hand on the frame.
He has never had someone fight beside him, Walter said. Only for him or against him. He looked at me. You are the first person who has done neither.
I stepped out into the cold.
My phone buzzed halfway down the street.
Unknown number.
Miss Lin. This is Henderson, Richard Kessler’s attorney. As a signatory to the original agreement, you may be named in the injunction proceedings. Formal notice will follow Monday. You should obtain counsel.
Named how, I said.
As a party to the disputed transfer, he said. Procedural. But necessary.
The line went dead.
I stood on the pavement, phone still in my hand.
Richard had added me to the lawsuit.
Not to win it. Walter had already been right about that.
He did not file things to win.
He filed them to cost you something.
I looked down the street.
Then I started walking again.
Let him try.