Chương 8
"No, baby."
Vincent stayed silent.
Elena took a long breath.
"It's something that can tell us whether Vincent is your biological father."
Sophie stared at her mother.
Then at Vincent.
Her face did not transform with instant understanding.
She looked mostly confused.
"Like a dad?"
Vincent's heart stumbled once against his ribs.
Elena squeezed Sophie's hand.
"Yes."
Sophie studied Vincent for several seconds.
Then she asked the question neither adult had prepared for.
"If he's my dad, why did he only come yesterday?"
Vincent looked at Elena before answering.
She did not rescue him.
"Because I didn't know about you."
Sophie frowned.
"How can you not know about a kid?"
"Sometimes adults keep things from each other."
"Mom kept me secret?"
Elena flinched.
"No."
The word came too fast.
Sophie looked at her.
"I tried to tell him before you were born."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't he know?"
Elena looked at Vincent.
He forced himself not to look away.
"Because another person stopped the message from reaching me."
"Who?"
"My uncle."
"Why?"
Vincent could have softened it.
He didn't.
"Because he thought having people I loved would make me easier to hurt."
Sophie considered that.
"That's mean."
"Yes."
"Is he sorry?"
"He's dead."
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
Sophie went quiet.
Vincent immediately regretted the bluntness.
"Sorry," he said.
She shrugged in the peculiar way children sometimes did when adults made death sound more complicated than it was.
Then she pointed at his chest.
"Does your heart thing hurt?"
"Not right now."
"Mom's arm hurts where the needle is."
"I know."
"You said you don't know hospitals."
Vincent looked at Elena.
"Apparently I know that part."
Elena almost smiled.
Dr. Patel came in before Sophie could ask anything else.
She checked Elena's blood pressure, listened to her lungs, and spoke quietly with the nurse.
Vincent caught only fragments.
Cultures.
Antibiotics.
Observation.
Neutropenia.
The medical language made him feel useless.
He hated uselessness more than fear.
"She'll stay overnight?" he asked.
"At least."
Patel glanced at Elena.
"We need to watch her closely."
Elena nodded.
"Can Sophie stay?"
"Not overnight in the room."
Sophie stiffened.
"I can sleep in a chair."
Patel gave her a tired smile.
"I believe you can."
"Then I can stay."
"Honey," Elena said.
"No."
"Sophie."
"No."
Her chin began trembling.
"I was home when you got sick."
"I know."
"I can stay quiet."
"It's not about quiet."
"I won't touch anything."
Elena reached toward her.
Sophie stepped back.
The refusal hurt Elena more than the fever seemed to.
Vincent saw it.
"I can take her home," Mr. Chen said from the doorway.
Nobody had heard him enter.
Sophie shook her head.
"No."
"Little bug."
"No."
Her voice cracked.
Mr. Chen stopped.
Vincent crouched beside her.
"If you go home with Mr. Chen, you can come back first thing in the morning."
"You don't know that."
"You're right."
He glanced at Patel.
"When can she come back?"
"Seven."
Vincent looked back at Sophie.
"Seven."
"What if Mom gets worse?"
Elena shut her eyes.
Patel answered.
"We will call the person your mom chooses."
Sophie looked at Elena.
"Who?"
Elena hesitated.
"Mr. Chen."
Sophie nodded.
Then her eyes moved to Vincent.
"Not him?"
The room became painfully still.
Elena looked at Vincent.
He gave her nothing to respond to.
No pressure.
No argument.
After a few seconds, she said, "And Vincent."
Sophie seemed satisfied.
Vincent was not prepared for how much those two words affected him.
Mr. Chen took Sophie home shortly after one in the morning.
Vincent remained.
Elena noticed after the door closed.
"You can go too."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you?"
"I don't have a good answer."
"That's new."
He sat in the chair beside the wall.
"Apparently tonight is full of growth opportunities."
She gave him a weak look.
"Marco?"
"Yes."
"Still with you?"
"Unfortunately."
"Does he still hate olives?"
Vincent stared at her.
"That is what you want to talk about?"
"I am tired of talking about cancer and paternity."
"He still hates olives."
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Consistency."
She closed her eyes.
Vincent sat there while the machines worked.
Several minutes passed.
A cleaning cart rattled in the hallway.
Somebody laughed near the nurses' station.
Elena opened her eyes again.
"You should not have told Sophie your uncle thought people you loved made you vulnerable."
"I didn't know what else to say."
"You could have said he made a bad decision."
"She would have asked why."
"Then you answer in a way appropriate for a six-year-old."
"I have no experience with six-year-olds."
"I noticed."
Vincent rubbed his hands together.
"Was she always like that?"
"Like what?"
"Direct."
Elena smiled faintly.
"At three she asked a priest why God needed so much money."
Vincent laughed before he could stop himself.
Elena watched him.
"She also told my oncologist his handwriting looked nervous."
"Was it?"
"Terrible."
"Then she was right."
"That is not the point."
Vincent leaned back.
"What was she like as a baby?"
The question changed the air.
Elena stared at the blanket.
"Small."
"Helpful."
"Very loud."
"That sounds less small."
"She hated sleeping."
"What worked?"
"Driving."
Vincent felt the answer physically.
"You had a car?"
"Eventually."
"You drove around at night?"
"Sometimes for an hour."
"Alone?"
"Mostly."
He looked toward the dark window.
"Was anyone helping you?"
Elena's expression hardened.
"Do not do that."
"Do what?"
"Turn every memory into evidence against me."
"I'm not."
"You hear something difficult and immediately start deciding how it should have been fixed."
Vincent stopped.
She was right.
He hated that.
"What do you want me to ask?"
Elena was quiet for a long moment.
"Ask what her first word was."
He did.
Elena smiled.
"Dog."
Vincent looked disappointed.
"What?"
"I was hoping for something impressive."
"She was eleven months old."
"She could have tried."
"Her second word was no."
"That is more convincing."
"Her third was cookie."
May you like
"A clear set of priorities."
Elena laughed, then winced and pressed a hand to her ribs.
