Then he looks down at me again.
“But I will tell you this, Olivia.”
My whole name sounds fancy when he says it.
“If your mother ever needs someone to stand between her and something that means her harm, I’ll be there.”
My chest feels funny.
Warm and tight.
Like when Mama hugs me after I’ve had a nightmare.
“And if you need someone?” he continues, his voice softer now. “I will be there for you too.”
I stare at him.
He looks serious.
Not like grown-ups who say things because they think kids won’t remember.
I remember everything.
Especially promises.
Even almost-promises.
“Okay,” I whisper.
His eyes get softer.
“Okay.”
I look back toward Mama.
She’s laughing now, but I can still see the tired in her shoulders.
Then I look at Mr. Moretti again.
“You should start by making sure she drinks water.”
His mouth curves.
“I can do that.”
“And eats lunch.”
“Yes.”
“And doesn’t let people be mean to her.”
His expression turns dangerous in a way that makes me feel safer, not scared.
“That,” he says, “will be my pleasure.”
I nod once, satisfied.
“What if it’s her body?” I ask.
