Chương 14
Maya's crying was quieter now.
Mrs. Ellis was talking to her.
“You didn't have to leave,” Leo said.
“I know.”
“You said you had her.”
“I lied.”
His face snapped toward me.
“Not about being safe.”
I put the glass down.
“I thought I could calm her down.”
“I couldn't.”
He looked toward the living room.
“I can.”
“Sometimes.”
“Always.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“She hit you.”
He looked embarrassed.
“She didn't mean it.”
“I know.”
“Then why'd you bring me here?”
“Because you got hit.”
“So?”
The question came without self-pity.
That made it worse.
“So you shouldn't have to get hit and then immediately take care of the person who hit you.”
His expression became confused.
“She was scared.”
“I know.”
“She's little.”
“I know.”
“Then somebody has to.”
“Yes.”
I pointed toward myself.
“Me.”
He stared at me as if the idea were structurally unsound.
“You don't know what she likes.”
“Then I'll learn.”
“What if you do it wrong?”
“I probably will.”
His face darkened.
“That isn't funny.”
“I know.”
I bent down until we were closer to eye level.
“Leo, I need you to hear something.”
He looked away.
I waited.
Finally his eyes came back.
“You can tell me what helps.”
“You can tell me what they need.”
“You know things I don't.”
“But you are not responsible for what happens if I get it wrong.”
His forehead wrinkled.
“That's stupid.”
“Probably.”
“If Ellie cries, I know why.”
“Sometimes.”
“If June runs, you don't catch her fast.”
“That happened once.”
“Twice.”
“Fine.”
He crossed his arms.
“And Ben only likes the blue cup.”
“I have written that into federal law.”
He did not smile.
I tried again.
“You're allowed to help.”
His shoulders eased slightly.
“You're just not required to.”
He looked toward the living room.
“I don't get it.”
That felt like progress.
Neither did I.
At five eleven, the house became quiet again.
Nobody really returned to sleep.
At six, Mrs. Ellis made coffee.
I drank it standing by the kitchen sink while the sky turned gray outside.
The shop behind the house remained dark.
Usually by that hour, I would have been out there checking lumber deliveries or pretending not to notice Luis arriving twelve minutes late.
Instead, I was scraping dried formula from my shirt with a wet paper towel.
Mrs. Ellis opened the refrigerator.
“You have mustard, eggs, half a lime, and something in foil I'm afraid to identify.”
“Lasagna.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
She sniffed it.
“Last Monday?”
I took it from her and threw it away.
“We need groceries.”
“We need civilization.”
At six forty-five, Delaney called.
Her voice sounded too alert.
“How was the night?”
“Educational.”
“Meaning?”
I told her about Maya's nightmare.
I told her about Leo.
I told her exactly what he had said before bedtime.
She stopped me once.
“Repeat that part.”
I did.
“Did he use the words wake her?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody did?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say why his mother was difficult to wake?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I disliked being praised for not knowing something.
“What happens now?”
“I have to notify his trauma clinician and the investigative unit.”
My stomach tightened.
“Investigative?”
“Bernard.”
“I know what the word means.”
“Then don't react to it like an accusation.”
“What are they investigating?”
“Potential prior neglect or unsafe caregiving conditions.”
“Does that affect the fire investigation?”
“Possibly.”
“Does it affect whether the children stay here?”
“Not automatically.”
That phrase again.
Not automatically.
A phrase built to hold panic at arm's length.
“When are you coming?”
“Nine.”
“I thought daily contact could be by phone.”
“Today it's in person.”
“Because of Leo?”
“Because it's your first morning.”
I could hear the partial truth.
“Caroline.”
She went quiet.
“Partly because of Leo.”
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet.”
She hung up.
At seven fifteen, breakfast failed.
I made eggs.
Ben refused because they touched toast.
June ate his toast.
Maya asked for cereal I did not own.
Leo said he was not hungry.
I found the pizza wrapped in his napkin beneath his pillow.
It had survived the night inside his pocket and then somehow migrated upstairs.
I stood in the empty bedroom holding it.
He appeared in the doorway.
His face changed.
“That's mine.”
“I know.”
“Give it.”
I did.
He looked surprised.
“You can't eat it.”
His fingers closed around the napkin.
“Yes I can.”
“It sat out all night.”
“So?”
“So it can make you sick.”
His face hardened.
“You said it was mine.”
“It is.”
“Then I can keep it.”
There were dozens of correct ways to handle food hoarding.
I knew none of them yet.
So I chose the only thing that seemed unlikely to turn breakfast into a war.
“Okay.”
He watched me.
“I won't throw it away.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“People throw stuff away.”
“I won't throw that away unless you tell me to.”
“Even if it's bad?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the napkin.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I'm having a complicated morning.”
His mouth twitched.
I went downstairs.
Ten minutes later, he appeared at the kitchen table without the pizza.
He sat down.
I put a plate in front of him.
Eggs separated from toast.
Nothing touching.
He stared at it.
“You don't have to eat.”
He picked up the toast.
That was all.
At eight fifty-seven, Delaney arrived with another woman.
The second woman wore plain clothes, carried no visible case file, and introduced herself as Dana Price from the county child advocacy team.
Leo saw her badge.
He stopped chewing.
I saw the change happen.
His shoulders.
His eyes.
His hand sliding toward Maya's chair.
Dana noticed too.
She sat at the far end of the table.
“I'm not here to take anybody anywhere.”
Leo looked at Delaney.
“Is that true?”
Delaney said, “Yes.”
He looked at me.
I nodded.
He still did not relax.
May you like
Dana folded her hands on the table.
“Leo, I heard you told Bernard something last night about your mom being hard to wake up.”
