CHAPTER FIFTEEN – THE PERSON WHO HELD THE CAMERA
Three days later, Malik Turner invited the artists to review a short television segment before it aired.
Mabel described her bird and her intention to give it to her granddaughter.
Doris explained why she had trusted Bernice.
Leon spoke about the missing name beneath his chessboard.
Bernice appeared in a brief excerpt acknowledging that she had signed confirmations without completing the promised explanations.
Malik included Celia’s public statement that the organization disputed allegations of wrongdoing and would cooperate with the review.
June stayed quiet until the final clip had finished.
Then she raised her hand.
“Can I ask something?”
Malik nodded.
“Why didn’t you use the part where Mrs. Vale watched the old video?”
“Because that moment wasn’t the whole story,” Malik answered.
“The video helped people ask questions, but the residents’ own words are what viewers most need to hear.”
June considered that answer.
“So the video made her tell the truth, but it didn’t tell the truth for her.”
“That’s exactly right,” Malik said.
On the way home, June asked whether I was glad we had installed our camera.
I told her I was glad it had recorded when things entered our yard and that we had kept the footage private.
She asked whether we should remove it now.
“We can decide after Bernice stops throwing things,” I said.
June laughed, but there was uncertainty beneath it.
At home, a small envelope waited beneath our front mat.
I hesitated before opening it.
Inside was a handwritten note from Bernice and a check covering the damaged folding chair.
She wrote that the check was a first attempt at restitution and did not require us to forgive her.
She also said she had arranged to enter a formal agreement regarding the remaining property damage through the appropriate process.
June read the note and handed it back.
“I don’t want to be friends with her,” she said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t want her punished forever either.”
“Those decisions aren’t yours alone to make.”
June nodded.
Then she asked whether we could repair the fence latch before winter.
I told her we could do it together on Saturday.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – WHAT STAYED IN THE YARD
The following weeks brought complicated consequences rather than a single triumphant announcement.
The independent review identified additional disputed artworks, and several were returned to their makers while other claims required more documentation.
Nina cooperated with investigators and began looking for work outside nonprofit administration.
Celia continued to dispute intentional wrongdoing through counsel.
The board replaced its intake procedures and suspended private sales pending review.
Some donors withdrew their support.
Others insisted that future funding be overseen by people elected from among the artists themselves.
Doris joined a temporary artists’ advisory group despite her dislike of meetings.
Leon agreed to inspect the way names were attached to objects before any work was exhibited again.
Mabel requested that her bird remain broken until her granddaughter could help repair it.
She said the repaired wing should not pretend the damage had never happened.
Bernice attended meetings with investigators and began the restitution process for the objects she threw and the false complaint she filed.
I heard from Officer Singh when there were developments relevant to my report, but she did not share details that were not mine to know.
That boundary suited me.
Bernice no longer approached my fence.
Sometimes I saw her walking to the bus stop with a canvas shopping bag and her eyes fixed ahead.
She seemed older than she had in spring.
I could feel sympathy for that without wanting her company.
On the first cold Saturday of November, June and I replaced the bent latch on the side gate.
We worked slowly because neither of us was especially talented with tools.
The first screw went in crooked.
The second fell into the grass.
June found it beside the tomatoes, which were now blackened by frost.
“Remember when we thought all that stuff was just rubbish?” she asked.
“I remember when I wanted to throw it all away,” I said.
“You didn’t.”
“I wasn’t sure what it was.”
June tightened the last screw.
“Maybe we can keep one piece,” she said.
I looked surprised.
“Which one?”
She held up the blue ribbon with its brass hook and numbered tag.
We had returned the original to its artist after the review, but June had made a simple paper drawing of it.
She wanted to pin the drawing inside the garden shed.
“Not because of Bernice,” she explained.
“Because we paid attention when something was wrong.”
I agreed.
We fixed the paper inside the shed above the hooks for our gardening tools.
Then we carried the old chair into the kitchen and replaced its broken arm.
The chair was not beautiful afterward.
Its new wood was lighter than the old frame, and the paint did not match.
But it stood firmly when June sat down.
She brought her sketchbook outside and opened it on her knees.
Across the fence, Bernice’s windows remained closed.
For the first time in months, nothing came flying into our yard.
June picked up her pencil and began drawing the bare maple branches against the pale November sky.
I went inside to make coffee, leaving the back door open so I could hear her humming.
The End.
