Chapter 3
Matteo came into the kitchen at eleven fourteen. He'd taken off his suit jacket and carried it over one arm, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms, black shirt still open at the collar. He paused at the threshold like he didn't want to crowd us.
Bianca wasn't with him. I could hear the faint sound of the pitcher being moved in the hallway, then nothing.
"Hey," he said, mostly to Mia. He crouched a little so he wasn't towering over the island. "You okay there, kiddo?"
Mia nodded, but she pressed closer to me. She'd finished half the water and was turning the glass in circles, watching the light move.
Matteo looked at me. "Do you have a few minutes to talk while she colors or something? I asked Bianca to wait in the living room."
I pulled the small container of crayons and the folded grocery store receipt I kept for her doodles from the drawer. Mia took a blue crayon and started making careful lines, her shoulders still up near her ears.
"Thank you," I said. My voice sounded tired even to me.
He leaned against the counter, not sitting, hands flat on the edge. "I need to ask plain. How long has that kind of thing been happening when I'm not here?"
I stared at the yellow gloves by the sink. The question was direct, and part of me wanted to make it smaller, to say it was nothing like I'd said in the hallway. That was habit. The estate provided the small apartment off the laundry, and Mia's school was three blocks over, and references from a house like this meant next jobs. I had practiced making things small for months.
"It's not every day," I said finally. "But since about February, after she moved in more fully. She likes things done a certain way. On the knees for the baseboards, again if she sees streaks."
Matteo's jaw moved, but he didn't interrupt.
I swallowed. "Last Tuesday, Mia came to bring me her water bottle while I was cleaning the entry. She tripped near the rug. Water went on Bianca's shoe. Bianca didn't yell. She took the pitcher that was on the table and held it over Mia's head for a second, just holding it, and said if she was clumsy she'd learn to be careful. Mia didn't tell me until bedtime."
Mia's crayon stopped moving. She didn't look up, but her hand tightened.
"I told Mia to stay in the back room when Bianca is home and I'm working the front," I said. "Today I thought she was in there. She must have come to look for me."
Matteo exhaled slowly, his eyes going to Mia and back to me. "Did Bianca spill the water today?"
"I had just filled the bucket," I said. "I turned to get the cloth. When I turned back, there was water spread near my knees and the pitcher was in her hands. She said I was clumsy."
He nodded once, like he was filing that away. He didn't promise anything big or use words like always. He pushed off the counter and checked the hallway, then looked back.
"Here's what I want to do," he said, low and even. "You and Mia eat lunch here. Don't go back to the hallway today. I have cameras in the entry and hall, but I don't watch them unless there's a reason. Now there's a reason. I'm going to look, and then Bianca and I are going to have a real conversation. If you need to leave the house at any point, you tell me and you go, no questions."
Mia finally looked at him, eyes still wet but less wide. She slipped off the stool and came to stand against my leg, holding her paper with the blue lines.
Matteo crouched again, just for her. "You did good telling your mom what happened," he said. "You can tell me too, anytime, okay?"
She gave a tiny nod. He stood, and I realized my hand had been resting on her head the whole time, like an anchor.
May you like
"We good for now?" he asked me.
"We're good," I said, and I meant for the next hour. Beyond that, I didn't know what Bianca would do once the hallway was empty and the pitcher was back on the shelf.
