Chapter 24 - Higgins’s Last Visit
Higgins came to Westbridge once after retirement.
A memorial service for former teacher.
He stood near cafeteria doorway.
I saw him.
He looked older.
“Grace.”
“Higgins.”
“Robert.”
I had rarely used first name.
He smiled sadly.
We talked.
He asked:
“Do you still think I was protecting Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“I was.”
No denial.
“Do you think I was corrupt?”
I thought.
“You let relationships change your judgment.”
“That can be corruption even without envelope.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I kept telling myself I prevented one mistake from ruining kid.”
“What changed?”
“I realized every time I closed report, I taught them report didn’t matter.”
Exactly.
Then he said:
“I was afraid Grant could end my career.”
“Could he?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“You ended it yourself.”
He closed eyes.
“Yes.”
Hard.
True.
Then:
“I’m sorry I walked away that day.”
I nodded.
“That’s the part I remember.”
Not personnel notes.
Not contract.
He was there.
Could have stepped in before apron.
Before tray.
He walked away.
He looked at camera.
“I knew it was recording.”
“You did?”
“I suspected.”
“Then why leave?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Habit.”
That frightened.
Protection had become automatic.
No calculation.
Habit.
Systems fail when bad judgment becomes routine.
Then he left.
I felt no need anything else.
May you like
Closure is sometimes conversation ending.
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