Chương 5
“What do you want?”
“Leo has been awake since four.”
“That sounds like a parenting issue.”
“He won’t drink. He won’t let anyone change his clothes. He keeps saying your name.”
Clara rested her forehead against the door.
Dante continued, “Mr. Moretti asked me to bring you.”
“Asked?”
A pause.
“He instructed me to request your assistance.”
Despite herself, Clara almost laughed.
“Go away.”
“He offered ten thousand dollars for the week.”
Clara opened the door.
Dante did not smile.
“You think I opened this because of the money?”
“I think you opened it because you’re angry.”
“You came to my home after I said no.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not asking.”
“No.”
“At least you know.”
Dante held out the paper bag. “Breakfast.”
Clara looked inside. Coffee, a croissant, and a small carton of milk.
“You people think money and food make everything reasonable.”
“No. We think they make conversations longer.”
She studied his face. Up close, he looked older than she had thought, perhaps forty-five. The scar near his hairline continued behind his ear.
“How is Leo really?”
“Quiet.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“He cried until he vomited. Now he’s sitting under the dining table.”
Clara’s anger weakened.
“Where is his father?”
“Sitting on the floor outside the table.”
That image did what the ten thousand dollars could not.
Clara stepped back. “You stay in the hall while I get dressed.”
Dante nodded.
“And I’m not agreeing to a week.”
“Understood.”
“I go for one hour.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“You’ll tell him before we arrive.”
“Yes.”
She closed the door, then opened it again.
“And no one touches my phone.”
Dante’s face remained expressionless. “Then don’t bring it.”
She shut the door.
Leo was still beneath the dining table when Clara arrived.
He sat beside the empty velvet chair with his knees pulled to his chest. His cream sweater had been replaced by blue pajamas, but the collar was twisted from where he had been pulling it. A plate of untouched toast rested near his feet.
Ricardo sat three yards away on the floor, his back against a carved cabinet. He had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. The tattoos on his forearms looked less ornamental in daylight.
He rose when Clara entered.
Leo crawled from under the table and ran to her.
The movement was not dramatic. He did not throw himself into her arms. He simply reached her, pressed his forehead against her leg, and stood there trembling.
Clara crouched.
“Good morning.”
He gripped the side of her coat.
“Did you sleep?”
Leo shook his head.
“Did your father sleep?”
The boy looked at Ricardo.
“No.”
Clara glanced up.
Ricardo’s dark hair was untidy. A faint red mark crossed one cheek where he had apparently rested against his own arm.
“You told Dante one hour,” he said.
“That’s what I told Dante.”
“Name your terms for the week.”
“I don’t have terms because I don’t have a week.”
Leo took her hand and pulled her toward the table.
She allowed him to lead her beneath it.
The space smelled of furniture polish and toast. Clara sat cross-legged beside him. Ricardo remained outside, too large to join them without making the table seem absurd.
Leo pushed the plate toward Clara.
“You want me to eat?”
He nodded.
She took one bite of toast.
Leo watched her chew, then picked up the other piece and nibbled the corner.
Ricardo’s shoulders lowered.
Clara looked at the third place setting above them. Through the gap between chair legs, the empty velvet seat seemed to hover.
“Why do you keep setting her place?”
Ricardo’s relief disappeared.
Leo stopped chewing.
Clara kept her voice gentle. “Mama chair?”
The boy nodded.
“Mama coming?”
He nodded again, more urgently.
Ricardo stepped closer. “Enough.”
Clara looked at him through the table legs. “He thinks she’s coming to dinner.”
“He thinks many things.”
“Because no one tells him anything.”
“He is three.”
“Three-year-olds understand gone. They understand later. They understand not today. What they don’t understand is an empty chair being prepared every night.”
Sarah entered from the sitting room carrying a cup of coffee. She stopped when she heard Clara.
Ricardo looked at his sister.
“Tell the staff to remove the setting.”
Sarah’s fingers tightened around the cup. “You told them never to.”
“I’m telling them now.”
Leo crawled toward the empty chair and wrapped both arms around one leg.
“No.”
The single word silenced them.
Clara reached for him. “We won’t move it now.”
Ricardo’s face turned rigid.
“Everyone out,” he said.
Sarah set down her coffee. “Ricardo.”
“Not Clara. Everyone else.”
The housekeeper and two staff members disappeared. Sarah hesitated, then left. Dante remained near the doorway.
Ricardo looked at him.
Dante went.
When they were alone, Ricardo lowered himself to one knee beside the table.
“Leo, your mother is not coming to dinner.”
The boy stared at him.
“Not today,” Clara added.
Ricardo’s eyes shifted to her, but he did not correct her.
Leo’s lower lip trembled. “Tomorrow?”
Ricardo opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Clara waited.
“Not tomorrow,” he said.
Leo leaned against the chair leg.
“Where Mama?”
Ricardo’s hand closed into a fist against the carpet.
Clara watched the battle move across his face. It was not between truth and lies. It was between different lies, each carrying a separate cost.
“She had to go away,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because she made a choice.”
Clara’s voice sharpened. “That isn’t an answer for him.”
“It is the only answer.”
Leo began pulling at his collar.
Clara reached for his hands. “No one’s moving the chair today. Look at me.”
His eyes found hers.
“We’re going to have breakfast,” she said. “Then we’ll open the curtains a little. Not all the way. Then we’ll find somewhere quiet.”
“Clara stay?”
“For breakfast.”
His breath hitched.
She looked at Ricardo. “After breakfast, your father and I are going to decide what happens next.”
Ricardo’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
May you like
Clara ignored him.
Leo ate half the toast beneath the table. Clara ate the other half. Ricardo remained kneeling outside until his leg went numb and he had to shift his weight.
