Chapter 10
Ricardo had left for work by seven thirty. He’d told me the night before I could straighten up while he was gone, that the housekeeper wouldn’t be in until Thursday and Leo liked his things a certain way. He said it casually, keys in hand, like it wasn’t permission he was giving.
Leo was on the rug in the living room, building a road out of wooden blocks that kept falling over. I was folding the small throws on the couch, putting the picture books back in a stack. The sideboard against the far wall was low and dark wood, the kind with heavy drawers that stuck if you didn’t pull evenly. One of Leo’s cars had rolled under it.
I knelt down and reached for it, and my hand bumped the bottom drawer. It slid open an inch.
Inside, there was a tight bundle. Not toys. I stopped.
Three silk scarves folded together, soft colors — pale blue, cream, a faded yellow — and a thin plastic hospital bracelet looped around them. The bracelet had a name printed on it and a date that was almost rubbed off. The fabric smelled faintly like perfume and laundry detergent, the kind of scent that holds on even after washing. Someone had tried to make it neat, but it was pressed down, hidden under a stack of old placemats.
Leo came over before I could close it. He stood next to me and looked straight into the drawer.
“Those are Mom’s,” he said.
I didn’t touch them right away. I sat back on my heels so I was at his height.
“Did you put them here?” I asked.
He nodded. He picked up the blue scarf with both hands and held it to his cheek.
“Dad puts them in the closet,” he said, his voice very small. “When I cry he puts them up high so I can’t get them. So I hid them here.”
He said it like he was telling me where he kept his crayons, no drama in it. That was what caught in my chest. He’d learned to hide what he needed instead of asking for it.
I smoothed the other two scarves with my fingertip. I didn’t unfold them. “Do you like having them where you can see them?”
He nodded again, harder this time. “I want one on my bed.”
We sat there on the floor for a minute. The apartment was quiet except for the heat clicking through the vents. I could hear a truck on the street below.
I knew I shouldn’t decide this without Ricardo. The pattern was right there — Leo reaching for his mother, Ricardo putting the reminders away because the crying hurt him too. If I just left the scarf on the pillow, it would look like I was going around him.
I took my phone out and laid the bundle the way Leo had arranged it, the bracelet resting on top of the blue scarf. I took a photo in the daylight from the window.
I texted Ricardo. Found these in the sideboard where Leo hid them. He said he wants one where he can reach it. Can we keep the blue one on his pillow? Not stored away. I didn’t move anything else.
I showed Leo the photo before I sent it. “I’m asking your dad,” I told him. “So we all know where it is.”
He watched the screen and then leaned against my shoulder. We waited.
Ricardo didn’t answer right away. I folded the laundry while Leo went back to his blocks, the blue scarf still in his lap. I put one of the yellow scarves gently back in the drawer and left the blue one folded on the coffee table where Leo could see it, exactly as he’d held it.
Around ten thirty I heard keys in the lock. That was early. Ricardo came in with his coat over his arm, his suit jacket still on, his watch catching the light. He stopped when he saw the scarf on the table.
Leo looked up from the rug.
Ricardo’s face tightened. It was quick, automatic — his jaw set, his eyes went to the sideboard drawer which I’d left closed, then back to the scarf. His hand flexed where the tattoos ran across his knuckles.
“You found them,” he said to me.
“I did,” I said. “He showed me where he hid them.”
He walked to Leo’s room and looked in. I’d placed the blue scarf on the small pillow, folded in a neat square, the hospital bracelet tucked just underneath so it wouldn’t get lost. Ricardo stood in the doorway and stared at it. I could see him breathing slowly, trying to keep it even.
“I put them up because he would cry for an hour holding them,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “I thought if he didn’t see them every day it would be easier.”
Leo came and stood behind his legs, holding the edge of his sweater.
I kept my voice low. “He’s crying anyway. This way he doesn’t have to hide to remember her.”
Ricardo didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then he knelt down. He picked up the scarf from the pillow and held it for a moment. He didn’t fold it away. He smoothed it once and laid it back down.
“Just this one?” he asked.
“Just this one,” I said. “In here where he can reach it.”
He nodded, once. He looked at Leo. “You can keep it on your pillow, buddy. You don’t have to hide it.”
May you like
Leo climbed onto the bed and pressed his cheek to the scarf. He didn’t cry. He just lay there with his eyes open, his hand resting on the silk.
Ricardo stayed kneeling by the bed, his hands on his knees, and after a moment he reached out and rested his palm lightly on Leo’s back.
