“When you’re well again, yes. But there are walls, and thus, it is not a good space for running.”
She considers this. “You’re right—I won’t run.”
“How about I show you to your new bedroom?”
Her little head bobs.
The east bedroom faces the morning—good, clean light from around seven onward. I bought this unit partly for those east rooms, for plants that need consistent indirect light. Perfect for indoor gardening.
The room has been empty since I moved in. Just bookshelves to store some of my medical texts. Somehow, between stitching people up and helping others die painlessly, plants never became a top priority.
I look at the wide windowsill, the quality of the light even at this midmorning hour. A pity to use the room for something else—there are so many poisonous plants one can grow with the right attention. But when I’m honest with myself, I know I’ll never get around to it.
Besides, I think Opal will like this room.
“Here we are. What do you?—”
She runs past me to investigate, opens the closet, closes it, opens it again, and makes a circuit of the perimeter. Her enthusiasm catches in my ribs. “Mine?”
“If you like it.”
She grins, missing a canine. “I love it!”
Why had I not noticed that missing canine?
“You gave her the best room,” Lena says, from behind me.
I should have noticed that tooth before. I’m more observant than this. Why?—
“Dario, are you okay?” Lena asks.
Right. The kid, the room. “She’ll use it better than I was.”
Lena gives me a real look, then goes to help Opal unpack.
I leave them to it, heading for my office. Time for my tea. Lemon verbena for the nerves, vanilla for mood elevation, and just a hint of narcotics to keep the edge of reality to a tolerable level. Nothing hallucinatory—just enough sedation to keep me awake, but also leave me with my humanity intact. For the most part.
When I can breathe again, I realize the fault is not with me. I didn’t notice Opal’s missing tooth because, to my mind, children are exactly that—children. I don’t catalog their features the way I do with adults. Children are not a threat, and therefore, are not worthy of note.
But this child is now in my home and will be for three months. That changes my calculus.
Later, after Opal is asleep and the apartment has settled into a new quality of quiet I’m adjusting to, Lena finds me in the kitchen. She’s changed into something easier—no shoes, hair down around her shoulders—and she’s carrying herself differently than on the drive over. Less braced. More at ease.
She sets out ground rules. “I keep working.”
“That will significantly lengthen your commute.”
The faint arch of her brow tells me I crossed a line. “I will keep working, Dario.”
“Very well.” I won’t argue the point. I don’t care if she keeps working, so long as it doesn’t interfere with our arrangement.
“Opal’s routine stays exactly as is. Same school, same schedule, same everything.”
“Won’t the address change affect where she attends?” Living where I do, I know she can get into a better school.
But there’s that sharp brow again. “She loves her school and her friends.”
I shrug. “Whatever you need.” I wasn’t planning to touch any of that, but she needs to say it out loud, so I let her talk.
