A Mother's Love(11)
When Robert arrived home, he was surprised to find Celeste on the playroom floor, building Legos with Bruno. He was so moved it took him a moment to find his voice. The two of them were working together, chatting in low voices, concentrating on the things they were making. The sight reminded him of Jack and he put his hand to his stomach. Celeste noticed him standing there and smiled. “Look who’s come home,” she said, and Bruno raised his chocolate-brown eyes and beamed a smile as bright as a ray of sunlight.
“With a pizza. I wonder who requested pepperoni pizza?”
That evening, Celeste ran the child a bath. She filled it with bubbles and sat on the lavatory seat and talked to him while he wallowed in the warm water like a little hippo. There was something very dear about his narrow shoulders and soft white skin. Although he spoke like an older child, he still had the body of a little boy. She was surprised to hear herself ask if he would like a story before going to bed.
“Mum always reads to me,” he told her earnestly.
“What kind of stories do you like?”
“Magical ones,” he replied.
“I suppose you like Harry Potter?”
His eyes shone and he nodded vigorously. “I love Harry Potter!” he exclaimed with zeal.
“I’ll go and see what I have.”
“Did Jack like Harry Potter?”
The child’s question was innocent, but it caught her off guard because it was so direct and delivered without the awkwardness that always accompanied the comments of adults. Most people didn’t dare mention his name at all. “Yes, he did,” she replied.
“Did he have any wands?”
“Yes, a few. They’re in his bedroom.”
“Can I see them?”
Before she could think his question over, she heard herself replying, “Yes, after bath.” Bruno didn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary. He stood up and let Celeste wrap him in a towel. She rubbed him down, feeling his small bones beneath.
With his feet still covered in bubbles he padded into the corridor. “Which is his bedroom?”
“This one,” she replied solemnly, pushing the door open. It squeaked quietly but put up no resistance.
“Wow!” Bruno cried. “This is an awesome room!” His big chocolate-truffle eyes swept over the tractor wallpaper and matching curtains, the surfaces covered with all sorts of toys and the big double bed that lay empty in the middle of the room, as silent as a tomb. On top of it lay a much-loved toy rabbit. Bruno lifted it off the bed. “What’s he called?”
“Horace,” Celeste replied, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.
“Jack really loved him, didn’t he? Mum read me the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, where toys come alive if they’re loved. I don’t think that really happens.”
“I think you’re right, Bruno.”
“I suppose he was alive to Jack, though. Like Brodie, my bear. He’s alive to me.”
“I think you’ll find wands over here,” she said. When she reached for the basket that sat on top of the desk, she saw that her fingers were trembling.
“Wow! He has loads of wands. This one’s Voldemort’s, awesome!” Bruno began waving it about, holding his towel up with the other hand. He peered into the basket to see what others Jack had. “That one’s Harry’s, and that one,” he said, poking it with Voldemort’s, “is Dumbledore’s.”
“I’m impressed you know all the names.”
“I’ve seen all the films,” he told her proudly. “Stupefy!” he exclaimed, waving the wand at an imaginary adversary. The child’s towel slipped and Celeste saw the gentle curve of his back and the delicate line of his spine. Her throat constricted as she remembered Jack’s tender body and the countless times she had pressed her face against his thick, velvet skin and kissed him. She knelt beside Bruno and rearranged the towel. “Don’t get cold,” she said softly.
Celeste looked through the books on the shelf. Each held a tender memory of evenings spent on the bed, reading together. She pulled out one about a dragon. “How about this one?” she suggested, holding it up.
“That looks good,” he replied. “I like dragons.”
“Let’s go and put on your pajamas, then.”
“Do you think there were ever dragons?”
“No,” she said, walking into the corridor.
“They might have been dinosaurs.”
“Perhaps.”
He padded along behind her. “Stupefy,” he hissed again.
6
When Robert went upstairs, he was surprised to see Bruno sitting up in bed, looking over Celeste’s shoulder at the picture book. He was engrossed in the story and Celeste was reading in the same flamboyant way she had once read to Jack. Her voice shifted up and down as she took up the different roles, and every now and then, when the dragon grew angry, her deep baritone made the little boy laugh out loud. Robert paused a moment and watched, his heart aching with longing.