You did not deserve that.
Your father had been right to report what he believed happened.
I was wrong to blame him for it.
I cannot undo the afternoon at Harbor Creamery.
I cannot make you trust police again.
I cannot ask you to forgive me.
I only want you to know that you told the truth.
Your grandmother told the truth.
I did not.
I am sorry.
Dana Whitmore.
Nia finished.
She read one paragraph again.
Then another.
Danielle waited.
“What do you think?”
Nia shrugged.
“You don’t have to know.”
“She remembers Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Did Dad get her fired?”
“No.”
“Then why was she mad?”
“Your father reported something he thought was wrong.”
“Was he right?”
“Probably.”
Nia looked at the letter.
“She said he was.”
“Yes.”
“Would Dad have been mad at her?”
Danielle smiled sadly.
“Your dad could get mad at furniture.”
Nia laughed.
“He yelled at the dishwasher.”
“It started first.”
“That makes no sense.”
“That was his argument.”
Nia became quiet.
Then asked, “Can I write back?”
Danielle’s instinct screamed no.
Instead she asked, “What do you want to say?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s okay.”
Nia wrote three days later.
Dear Officer Whitmore,
I read your letter.
I was scared when you grabbed me.
I did pay for the ice cream.
My grandma believed me.
My dad always said tell the truth even if you think you will get in trouble.
I am glad you told the truth now.
I am still mad.
I don’t know if I forgive you.
Nia.
She added a drawing.
Not of Dana.
Of two ice cream cones.
Danielle asked whether she was sure.
Nia said yes.
They mailed it.
Dana never answered.
That was good.
An apology did not create a claim on the person harmed.
Eight months after the incident, the city approached Danielle about settlement.
The number was large.
Larger than she expected.
Camille outlined options.
Litigation could take years.
A settlement could include money and nonfinancial terms.
“What nonfinancial terms?”
“Policy review. Training requirements. Body-camera compliance changes. Youth-contact procedures.”
Danielle looked toward Evelyn.
Her mother said nothing.
“What would you ask for?” Danielle asked.
Camille pointed at her.
“Not me.”
“Fine. Mom?”
“Also not me.”
Danielle groaned.
“I hate lawyers.”
“You hired one and were raised by one.”
“Exactly.”