Chapter 4 - A Morning with the Morettis
The following morning, I woke to the smell of bread.
For one confused second, I thought I was twelve again and my father was downstairs making Sunday breakfast.
Then the unfamiliar ceiling brought everything back.
I sat up.
A neatly folded sweater had been placed on the chair beside the bed with a note from Elena.
Wear this. Yours has flour on it.
I smiled despite myself.
Downstairs, the bakery was already crowded.
Zach sat at a corner table coloring a picture of what appeared to be a castle.
Michael sat across from him in a charcoal coat, reading emails on his phone.
“You came,” Zach said when he saw me.
“I live upstairs for approximately another four hours.”
He pushed the picture toward me.
Three people stood in front of the castle.
A little boy.
A woman with yellow hair.
A very tall man beside them.
I looked at Michael.
“Who’s that?”
“My dad.”
“He looks unhappy.”
“He always looks like that.”
“I do not,” Michael said without glancing up.
Elena called from behind the counter.
“You do.”
Michael sighed.
Zach pointed at the woman.
“That’s you.”
“And why am I standing next to your father?”
“Because children go in the middle.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Michael finally put his phone down.
“Zachary.”
“What?”
“You have a doctor’s appointment.”
“That has nothing to do with the picture.”
“It has everything to do with why we are leaving.”
Zach turned to me.
“Will you come?”
I looked at Michael.
He seemed equally surprised.
Zach’s confidence vanished just a little.
“I don’t like doctors.”
That changed the question.
I crouched beside him.
“What kind of appointment?”
“My ears.”
Michael explained.
Zach had been struggling to hear certain sounds clearly after several ear infections. The specialist expected it to be manageable, but Zach had convinced himself that every doctor appointment involved needles.
“Will there be needles?” Zach asked.
“No,” Michael said.
“You said probably yesterday.”
“The doctor confirmed.”
Zach looked at me.
“Would you come anyway?”
I should have said no.
Instead, I heard myself say, “If your father doesn’t mind.”
Michael looked between us.
“Apparently I no longer make decisions.”
“You do,” Zach assured him. “Just not this one.”
The appointment was simple.
Zach needed a minor procedure scheduled for the following month, nothing dangerous, and the doctor patiently explained every step.
On the drive back, he fell asleep against my shoulder.
Michael sat across from us in the back of the car.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Thank you.”
“He was brave.”
“He usually is.”
There was pride in his voice.
And something else.
Fear carefully hidden.
“You worry about him.”
Michael looked out the window.
“His mother died four years ago.”
My breath caught.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was sick for a long time.”
He said it simply, without inviting pity.
“Zach remembers very little. Sometimes I think that’s merciful. Sometimes I wish he remembered more.”
I looked down at the sleeping boy.
“He seems happy.”
“I try.”
Two words.
But I heard all the uncertainty behind them.
“You’re doing better than you think.”
Michael looked at me.
“You’ve known us less than twelve hours.”
“And he trusts you enough to run away because he knows you’ll come looking.”
A faint smile appeared.
“That is an extremely generous interpretation of yesterday.”
May you like
“It’s still true.”
He was quiet after that.
