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No piano lessons today. He’s sick. He needs to rest.
His features tighten slightly as he glances at Nino again. I’m half expecting an argument, but he doesn’t say anything else, opting to drive us home instead. When we arrive, I take Nino by the hand, prepared to lead him upstairs to his room, but Manuel stops me.
“No outside medicines are allowed. I’ll bring him up some Tylenol and call for the doctor. He’ll be here shortly.”
I nod, imagining that they must keep the over-the-counter medication under lock and key here too. It says something about their world that they are so concerned about outside food, drinks, or pills. It doesn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to understand they believe something could be poisoned. The very idea strikes fear in my heart as I glance down at Nino and squeeze his hand in mine. I don’t know exactly what I’ve stepped into here, but I can only hope I figure it out soon.
Once we’re upstairs, I help Nino out of his school clothes and into his pajamas. Manuel comes in a few minutes later with the children’s Tylenol, which he portions out and watches Nino drink. Then he disappears with his assurances the doctor is on his way. I wet a cloth from the bathroom and use it as a cool compress on Nino’s forehead. When he’s comfortably settled in bed, I type out a note for him and then sign the words as well, just as we’ve been practicing.
Don’t worry. I’ll call for your father to let him know you’re not feeling well.
He reaches out and touches my arm, gently tapping his fingers over the sleeve of my jacket. “What if he’s mad?”
I shake my head. He won’t be.
A moment passes where he’s quiet, lost in thought, his eyes heavy, and his body in need of rest. I’m about to tell him it’s okay to sleep when he speaks again.
“Natalia, can I tell you a secret?”
Of course.
He seems to think about it for a while before he signs the words back to me, spelling some of them out.
He’s not my father.
The blow of that delivery nearly knocks me off balance. My brows furrow together, and I study him, searching for signs of distress or confusion, but there are none that I can see. He’s just a little boy, casually telling me that the man he lives with is not his father. I can’t help myself. I have to ask.
Where is your father then?
“Gone,” he says without emotion. “Not coming back.”
I swallow the pain in my throat and nod, writing out a note for him. Can I tell you a secret?
He nods, perking up with interest. I know there are cameras here. Even if I haven’t found them, I know they must exist, so I have to be careful. I have to be very, very careful. Acting as if I’m adjusting the cloth on his forehead, I lean in like I’m giving him a kiss on his temple, and with great pain and effort, I manage a choked confession from my broken vocal cords.
A whisper of the truth.
A secret for just the two of us.
The doctor has been to visit several times when Alessio finally makes an appearance. By then, Nino’s fever has worsened, and he’s so uncomfortable it hurts to witness. I have done what I can for him, and the doctor’s assurances it’s just a virus doesn’t make me feel any better.
I am angry and irrational when Alessio steps into the room, his face devoid of emotion as always.
“The doctor says he’s going to be fine,” Alessio informs me as if I don’t know. “He needs to rest.”
I grab my phone and stab my fingers against the keyboard. I’m not leaving. Someone needs to be here with him.
He cocks his head to the side, his icy gaze piercing into mine. “I’m here now.”
And what are you going to do? Sit here wordlessly? What comfort is there to be found in that?
“Is there a problem, Natalia?” His voice is calm, but his eyes are alight with fire.
Yes, there’s a problem. This poor child is so exhausted by the militant schedule you insist on, it’s no surprise he’s fallen ill. I’m only shocked that it hasn’t happened sooner. How can you possibly expect him to keep up with these ridiculous expectations?
His nostrils flare ever so slightly, and he jerks his head toward the door. “A word, outside. Now.”
Reality starts to settle over me as I follow him out the door and into the hall. It may have been a relief to let out some of my bottled-up frustrations, but I’m aware I’m tiptoeing a delicate line, and now I’ve angered the beast.
“Do you make a habit of taking this tone with your employer?” Alessio asks me once Nino’s door is shut behind us.
