Page 1 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Everybody in the neighborhood came out to see who was being arrested.

Huddling in knots of two and three, they watched Veronica take an actual walk of shame down the sidewalk, escorted by two police officers who looked like they were barely out of high school.

The woman apologized for handcuffing her, but it was protocol in these situations.

Veronica didn’t look at them or at Spence. Her face was a mess of snot and tears. She felt her hair sticking to her cheeks, and she was cold because her jacket was on the floor where she’d thrown it.

She didn’t look at her gawking neighbors.

She didn’t want to see the pity or the horror masking their bald curiosity.

She shuffled down the old concrete between the perennial beds she’d planted, every single inch, flowers that once bloomed in such extravagance that people slowed down to stare, even stop to take a photo.

The newspaper had once done an article on it.

Gone. Lost beneath the most ordinary bark mulch a person could imagine, the entire side garden lost to a swimming pool. A pool that could be used maybe three months out of every twelve.

That brought a fresh wave of tears. All her flowers!

How many hours had she spent on her knees, nestling gaillardia next to tiny dianthus, the pink and orange echoed in the beds by the house with gladioli and roses?

It underlined the end of her marriage more forcefully than anything else could have.

The female cop put her hand on Veronica’s head as she helped her into the back seat. She looked back to Spence. “Are you sure, Mr. Barrington?”

“Doctor,” he corrected. His jaw was WASPy stone. “Quite sure.”

The car pulled out, driving past the thin row of neighbors watching her banishment. She didn’t look at any of them.