Chapter 3

I reach for the coat beneath Leo's shoe.

"Please don't stand on that."

"Daddy paid for it."

"Move your foot."

He does, but only after looking toward the door.

I know that look.

He's checking whether someone is coming to stop me.

"I'm taking this," I say, holding the red bundle. "The rest can wait."

"No."

He moves in front of me.

"You're not allowed."

"Leo."

"Aunt Serena said you don't listen."

I look at him.

He's four.

He still puts his shoes on the wrong feet.

There was a time when he couldn't say my name without smiling.

Now he folds his arms and waits for me to obey him.

"This belonged to Grandma."

"She gave it to you?"

"Yes."

"Then why is it here?"

"Because I lived here."

"You don't now."

I lower my eyes.

For a moment, I can't find anything to say.

Then I put the bundle into my bag.

He lunges for it.

"Give it."

"No."

His fingers catch the cloth.

I pull back.

The fabric opens between us.

The pendant hits the concrete floor.

The sound is small.

A sharp crack.

Then one piece slides beneath the shelf.

I stare at it.

Leo stares, too.

I crouch and reach for the broken pieces.

The silver frame is bent.

A blue flower has split down the middle.

"Step back."

He moves his shoe.

I collect the pieces beneath it.

My mother wore the pendant when she came to my graduation.

She wore it to Sunday lunch.

When I was little, I used to hold it while she carried me.

On my wedding morning, she fastened it around my neck with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

I thought she meant the necklace.

I said yes.

Now I wonder whether she meant any of it.

Leo shifts beside me.

"You shouldn't have pulled."

I close my fingers around the largest piece.

"I told you it belonged to Grandma."

"You were taking it."

"It was mine."

His mouth starts to tremble.

I know what will happen next.

He'll cry.

Someone will come.

I'll be told that whatever happened, I'm the adult.

I know I'm the adult.

That doesn't stop my hands from shaking.

"Do you remember Grandma?"

He looks away.

"The blanket on your bed? She made that."

"Aunt Serena got me a new one."

"She used to call on your birthday."

He kicks at a strip of cardboard.

I think of my mother holding the phone while a nurse helped her sit up.

She always asked whether Leo had grown.

Whether he liked the little picture books she sent.

Most of them never reached him.

I didn't tell her that.

"Do you know why she's at the rehabilitation center?"

"No."

"She got hurt saving you and Daddy."

He shrugs.

I stare at him.

Three years ago, my mother saw a car slow beside them outside a restaurant.

She saw the gun before Dante did.

She pushed him toward the parked cars with Leo in his arms.

One of the shots hit her.

She has needed help walking ever since.

Dante's father stood beside her hospital bed and promised she would never have to worry about anything again.

Leo wasn't old enough to remember.

But someone should have told him.

Someone should have taught him what she did.

"Grandma kept you safe," I say.

He looks up.

"Aunt Serena says you always say that."

"Because it's true."

"She says Grandma gets everything paid for."

I put the porcelain onto the red cloth.

"Leo, stop."

He lifts his chin.

"Daddy doesn't owe that old woman anything."