Chapter 3
The dining room emptied in that slow way it does after eleven. The men in suits near the bar paid their tabs without looking at me. Bus tubs clattered in the back. Someone turned the chandelier down a notch and the warm light pooled lower over the marble.
Leo had stayed asleep. Ricardo held him now in the side alcove by the service pass, one arm locked under him, the other hand braced against his back. Leo’s head rested on his father’s shoulder, his cream sweater rucked up a little at the waist, his breathing finally even. I stood a foot away with my hands clasped because I didn’t know where else to put them.
“You can put him down in the office if you want,” I said. “The leather couch in the back isn’t much but it’s quiet.”
Ricardo shook his head once. “If I move him he’ll start again.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d seen how Leo held on even in sleep, his small fist curled into Ricardo’s shirt.
My manager caught my eye from the host stand and tipped his head toward the time clock. I understood. I was off the floor. I was off the clock in five minutes whether I wanted to be or not.
I went to the staff room and punched out. The clock stamped 11:42. I untied my apron and folded it the way we were supposed to, black fabric over white, and set it in my cubby. My hair had come loose around my face. I retied the bun without looking in the mirror. My white shirt smelled like fryer oil and milk. I grabbed my coat from the hook, old navy wool with a missing button at the throat, and my bag, and headed for the service corridor that led to the side door on 38th.
He was there. Not blocking the way. He stood a few feet back from the doorframe, near the marble table we used for plating desserts, so there was room to pass him if I wanted to. Leo was still asleep over his shoulder, his cheek flushed, one hand open now. Two of Ricardo’s men waited further down the hall by the exit, looking at their phones.
“Ms. Clara,” he said. “Do you have two minutes.”
It wasn’t really a question, but he said it like one.
I stopped with my coat over my arm. “I need to catch the train.”
“I know. Two minutes. Please.”
I nodded. I didn’t move closer. The corridor smelled like lemon cleaner and coffee grounds. The low light from the sconce made the tattoos on his hands darker when he adjusted Leo’s weight.
“Our nanny quit this afternoon,” he said. His voice was low so it wouldn’t wake Leo. “She said she couldn’t manage him. His mother isn’t — she isn’t here. She won’t be here.” He swallowed. “I thought I could do this tonight. Bring him with me. I was wrong.”
I watched Leo’s chest rise and fall. I thought about the glass of milk half-drunk on the table earlier, the ring it left.
“I’m a waitress, Mr. Moretti,” I said. “I’m not a nanny.”
“I know that.”
“I make fourteen an hour plus tips. I can’t be on call.”
“I’m not asking you to be on call.” He glanced toward the side door, then back at me. “I’m asking if you would come tomorrow. Just to sit with him when he wakes up at night. He wakes up screaming. Every night. I don’t know what to do when he does that.”
That was the part I could answer without promising anything else. I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder.
“When he wakes up, don’t turn the big light on,” I said. “Keep it dim. Don’t ask him questions right away. Sit at his level. Put one hand here — ” I touched my own chest lightly, then my forearm — “ — on his chest or his back, steady pressure, not patting. Let him breathe with you. Say the same few words every time so he knows it’s you. ‘I’m here. You’re safe. We’re not going anywhere.’ Same words. Same voice. He doesn’t need you to fix it. He just needs to know you’re not leaving.”
Ricardo listened like he was memorizing it. His eyes didn’t leave my face.
“Same words,” he repeated.
“Yes. And don’t bring milk right away. Water is better at night. Milk was today’s thing because he wanted to hold something.”
He reached with his free hand into his jacket pocket and took out a plain white business card. He set it on the edge of the marble table between us, not in my hand. The card was thick, black lettering, just a name and a number.
“I’ll pay whatever you want,” he said. “Name it.”
I looked at the card but didn’t pick it up. The marble was cool and dark under it, the same edge that had been in front of us all night.
“I have to think about it,” I said. “I have rent due and a second job interview on Thursday. I can’t say yes tonight.”
He nodded once, like he’d expected that. “It will be there.”
Leo made a small sound in his sleep and turned his face deeper into Ricardo’s shoulder. Ricardo’s hand came up automatically to cup the back of his head.
I pushed the side door open. February air came in sharp and smelling like wet pavement and trash. I pulled my coat on and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Behind me I heard the door click, but he didn’t follow.
May you like
I walked to the corner without looking back. At Lexington I stopped and checked over my shoulder. Through the glass of the service door I could see that card still sitting on the marble where he’d left it, white against the dark stone. Up the block, a black SUV pulled to the curb and idled, its brake lights red on the wet asphalt. One of the men opened the back door and Ricardo came out carrying Leo, settled against him, his suit jacket pulled closed against the wind.
I turned and went down the steps to the subway alone. I didn’t take the card. Not yet.
