Chapter 9
Milo asked why Claribel was gone.
Children always reach the hardest question with the fewest words.
“She did things that weren’t safe.”
He thought.
“Because cage?”
“Yes.”
“Because bread?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Because Grandma?”
I looked at him.
“What about Grandma?”
He lowered his voice.
“Claribel said Grandma doesn’t want me loud.”
My chest tightened.
“Grandma never said that.”
“She said Grandma wants quiet boys.”
“No.”
“Grandma said I make her tired.”
“No.”
His face crumpled.
“So she likes me?”
I almost broke.
“Yes.”
“Lots?”
“Yes.”
He ran from the room.
Straight toward the east sunroom.
I followed slowly.
He stopped at Beatrice’s doorway.
Old fear.
“Grandma?”
She looked up.
Everything in her face changed.
Milo approached.
Then stopped again.
“Can hug?”
Mother started crying.
She opened her left arm.
That answered.
Milo climbed carefully beside her chair.
She pressed her cheek against his hair.
No speech.
None needed.
Then he reached into his pocket.
A bread roll.
My throat tightened.
He had brought one again.
Mother laughed silently.
Milo tore it in half.
Gave her one piece.
She took it.
For weeks, Claribel had transformed bread into discipline.
Milo made it sharing again in five seconds.
Then Mother pointed at her communication board.
Milo helped hold it.
She spelled slowly.
M.
I.
S.
S.
E.
D.
Y.
O.
U.
Milo stared.
Then burst into tears.
“I missed you too.”
I turned toward the window because Mafia bosses are apparently allowed some dignity in their own houses.
Behind me, Mother tapped the board again.
E.
V.
E.
R.
A.
R.
D.
I looked back.
She smiled.
Then spelled:
Y.
O.
U.
I.
D.
I.
O.
T.
I laughed for the first time in two days.
May you like
Good.
My mother was definitely still herself.
