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He wrinkles his nose. “Mmmm… just if Mommy serves them with ketchup.”
“Can I tell you a secret,” I lean in a little, and Davi does the same. He looks clearly excited about this. “I don’t like veggies that much either. But my mother taught me we need to eat them to grow up tall and strong. I’m sure if you listen to your Mommy, you will be tall as a tree one day.”
“Taller than you?” he asks with a voice full of hope.
“Taller than me,” I assure him, then stand, taking out the linen handkerchief from the back pocket of my pants and give Marcus a quick glance. He gives me a nod with his wistful glance fixed on us. “But first, let’s start cleaning those hands of yours. We don’t want more accidents, right?”
“No more accidents,” he struggles to say the word as he offers me his little hands to clean.
As I wipe them, I notice something peculiar. “Can you stretch your hand for me, Davi?”
“No.”
“Are you hurt?” Maybe the kid fell while running.
“Davi was born with a condition. The ligament is too short for him to have full movement, but it isn’t painful. There is no need to worry.”
This is so freaking weird. How many people in the world were born with the same condition? A voice inside of me screams that something is wrong. It’s like I’ve entered an unknown dimension.
“It not the hand I use to hold my pencils,” the little boy cuts into my train of thoughts. “The other is fine.”
Davi extends his right hand with open fingers for me to examine. I take it and give it a look, but my mind is reeling. It’s been years since the last time I drank alcohol, but I’m feeling inebriated. Inebriated and fucked in the head.
“Davi, your hands are like your mother’s?”
“Oh no,” he says, then adds: “Mommy’s hands are fine. And she likes her nails black.”
Black nails…forget it, Posada, that means nothing. The kid’s name means nothing. Shit. I can’t breathe.
“My daughter is a single mother, David.” I hear Marcus’s voice above the cloud of confusion over my head. A single mother. “The doctor said it could be hereditary or part of the birth’s complications. Davi was a preemie. We just don’t know.”
I lift my left hand for Marcus to see it, my own finger curled over my open palm. The man’s eyes open in shock, but he offers nothing.
“What’s your mother’s name, Davi?” I need a clue. Another fucking piece of this impossible puzzle.
“Melanie.” Again, those dimples greet me as I inspect each feature with more attention. I know where I’ve seen that face before in a thousand pictures at my parent’s home and in the mirror every day.
I rack my head, looking in a maze of recollections for any direction. Melanie… I can’t remember that name. But my memories are clear. The only woman I slept with in those months was her…
Ella. My personal ghost.
I look at the boy in front of me again. Unruly black hair, falling over his forehead. Dark brows knitted together as if he knows something is happening here. Something important.
“Hey, Davi, where is your Daddy?” Important question, and the answer is very much needed.
“Don’t know,” he replies with a shrug. “He’s busy. I never meet him.”
I finish cleaning his hands and then do the same with mine. I stand in front of Marcus, ready to fire questions at him. Starting with where his daughter is now. I need to see her.
The man looks as shaken as me. I know what’s happening in his mind because the same questions are swirling around mine.
Of all the towns in this country, I had to end in this exact place….
“Hey, Dad!” A female voice calls out, and I turn to see who’s talking. “I know you’re busy, but the insurance company guy is here looking for you and…”
The same jade green eyes that have been tormenting my dreams for the last four years are looking at me open like saucers.
“Oh shit,” I hear, but I’m unsure if the words came from my mouth or hers.
