We Opened the Dome After the Final Estate Accounting Arrived

The money cleared before Paula released the claims covered by the settlement. She sent me the confirmations, not just Malcolm's assurance that he had paid.

Vernon received his $38,400 back from him. Dana's $6,200 in expenses was paid by Vernon. Miriam's estate received the missing $8,900, and the agreed $12,000 went toward our legal bills.

My share of that payment covered my billed fees and restored the nine hundred dollars I had taken from my emergency account. I put it straight back.

Malcolm's house had secured real debts until those payments cleared. His own lawyer had charged him separately. He had also lost his demolition deposit's $480 scheduling charge.

None of those losses bought him the right to enter the observatory.

The civil settlement became an entered judgment. The probate court approved his withdrawal and disallowed the consulting claim under the agreement. April completed the estate administration without him.

I kept the orders with the deed. There was no waiting for Malcolm to be in a good mood.

His last message said, "I hope you got what you wanted."

I saved it and did not reply.

By March, the final estate account was ready. April had listed the bank balance, the returned money, the sale of Miriam's old pickup and household goods, a utility refund, and every approved bill.

After debts and administration costs, each of us received $33,470 in value under the will. My share included the $2,100 equipment inventory, so my cash distribution was $31,370.

Malcolm received the inheritance Miriam had left him. He received no consulting fee, no land, and no authority over me.

I read every line of the account. Then I signed my approval.

There were no missing pieces left for April to explain.

The mirror came home on a cold, clear Saturday in April. Dana supervised the installation with the handler and a telescope technician. Juniper checked each item against the return sheet.

The three tiny dots and the crescent were visible again on the back.

"I'd forgotten how ugly that mark was," Dana said.

"It's my favorite part," Juniper told her.

Dana had decided to donate the mirror to me for use at the observatory. She had considered it slowly, after the money and repair questions were settled. Paula prepared a separate written gift, with the mirror clearly identified.

"No more loose ends about who owns the glass," Dana said as we signed.

I accepted it with a thank-you I could barely get out.

The gift, the equipment distribution, the deed, and the completed death-related recording gave us a clear file for the whole place. I changed the locks and wrote a key list. Dana and Juniper each signed for a key.

We replaced the roof latch before spending a dollar on signs.

The replacement cost $86. Juniper bought it at the local hardware store and gave me the receipt before she took off her gloves.

"You don't have to defend every screw," I said.

"I know. I'd still like the file to be right."

I paid her back.

I kept driving the rural route. Celia's closed review stayed in my personnel file, with its finding that I had not misused a vehicle or county time. I was asked to help a new driver learn the long clinic run because my records were clear and my stops were steady.

For years, I had thought respect would arrive as some large announcement. That spring, it arrived as Celia handing me a spare training clipboard.

"Show him how you plan the return pickups," she said.

I did.

We held the observatory's first public night after the repairs on the last Friday of April. I put out a donation jar for power and upkeep. Nobody needed to pay to look.

Eight people came, then four more. One boy wanted to know whether stars made noise. A woman brought the folding chair Miriam had lent her the summer before.

"I meant to return this," she said.

"You did," I told her.

Juniper had made a new visitor sheet. She explained the telescope too quickly, stopped, and began again when a child asked her to slow down.

She did not apologize for knowing things.

I clipped the sheet to a board with the red clothespin. Its little silver star still had one point missing. I had thought about repainting it, then left it alone.

After the visitors left, Dana checked the mirror cover and Juniper turned off the room lights. I stepped outside to check the gate.

The water tank, the cattle guard, the dome: three points on the road home. Above them hung the real stars, clear in the cold Nevada sky.

A car slowed at the gate. A girl climbed out beside her father, holding a folded star map against her coat.

"Are we too late?" she asked.

"We have time," I said.

I opened the gate for them. Her father switched off the headlights, and the stars shone above us while the red pin held our visitor sheet still.