At last, when Peter finishes his second discourse on tadpoles, I’m forced to say, “Peter, it’s going to be bedtime soon.”
I hadn’t intended for us to stay here tonight. But we have a new lock on the door and the vigilance of neighbors who love us. Most of all, we have a chance to replace bad memories with good.
“No,” Peter cries.
Mona intervenes. “Could I read him a story?”
He launches himself into bed with expectation. This is the room where he hid with Sister Helena in fear while a stranger tore through our home, yet he seems oblivious to anything but his mother.
“Pajamas?” I suggest. “And brushing our teeth?”
Peter drags Mona to the bathroom, where an old hairbrush and two stray toothpaste caps lie on the countertop. There are no cups, because we rinse our mouths from the sink. Our toothbrushes are at Lucio’s, so Peter intrepidly rinses off an old one from a drawer. This evidence of our manly state inspires a wry smile from Mona.
“Needs a certain touch,” she says.
An hour with our son has loosened her up.
“Toothpaste,” Peter says in the voice of a surgeon asking for a scalpel.
“Toothpaste,” Mona replies, presenting the tube.
My eyes linger on Simon’s knickknacks, scattered on the countertop from the night Ugo died, when he took a hasty shower here. He is the ghost of this visit. The shadow of our family’s happiness. Seeing my son smile, I remember that my brother is alone tonight.
Mona and Peter read a few chapters of Pinocchio. Then I announce it’s time for prayers. He lowers himself to the edge of the bed, clasping his hands, while Mona glances at me, wondering. Asking.
“Sure,” I say quietly. “Together.”
The world hushes. The night leans in. For where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am, among them.
“Almighty and merciful God,” I say, “we thank You for bringing us together in this home tonight. With this blessing You remind us that all things are possible in You. Though we cannot know our future, or change our past, we humbly ask You to guide us toward Your will, and to watch over our beloved Simon. Amen.”
To which I silently add:
Lord, remember my brother who is alone tonight. He doesn’t need Your mercy. Only Your justice. Please, Lord, give him justice.
At the door, before Mona leaves, she says to me, “Thank you.”
I nod. “It meant the world to him.”
I can’t let myself say more.
Mona has fewer inhibitions. “I’d love to come back and see you both again. Do you want me to bring over some dinner tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. So soon. I have to be at the courtroom in the morning. I have to be prepared for whatever Mignatto might ask of me at any hour of the day.
I begin to answer, but she sees my expression and waves me off. “It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. You call me when you’re ready. I want to help, Alex, not get in the way.” She hesitates. “I could even stay with him if you’re going to—”
“Tomorrow’s fine,” I say. “Let’s do dinner tomorrow.”
She smiles. “Call me if you feel the same way in the morning.”
I wait. If she kisses me, I’ll know we came too far, too fast. I’ll have to second-guess what happened tonight.