Chapter 7 - THE CHILDREN WHO REFUSED TO BE BOUGHT
Six months after Martin’s conviction, Leah returned an envelope to me unopened.
We were sitting at Lumia.
Sunday dinner.
Noah was trying to balance peas on a spoon.
Sophia pretended not to watch.
Elena slid the envelope back across the table.
Then Leah put her hand on it too.
“What is this?” I asked.
“The trust,” Elena said.
I frowned.
“What trust?”
“The one your lawyer created for Leah and Noah.”
I looked at Mara.
She suddenly became fascinated by her water glass.
“Mara.”
“You told me to establish educational security.”
“I told you to research options.”
“You are imprecise when emotional.”
I opened the folder.
Two million dollars for each child.
Education.
Housing.
Medical costs.
Protected principal.
Elena’s face was not angry.
Worse.
Disappointed.
“I thought we talked about this.”
“We did.”
“You said you weren’t going to make us into a project.”
“I’m not.”
“You created four million dollars of project.”
“It’s for them.”
Leah frowned.
“We have money now?”
“No,” Elena said.
“Yes,” I said simultaneously.
Elena looked at me.
I corrected.
“Potentially.”
Noah raised his hand.
“I want dinosaur.”
Sophia laughed.
“Trust dissolved.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Elena, Aaron’s documents helped expose the entire fraud.”
“I know.”
“Your family paid a price because my organization failed.”
“Your organization owes restitution.”
“Yes.”
“The court approved compensation.”
“Yes.”
“We accepted what was legally awarded.”
Barely.
The victims’ settlement had paid Elena enough to buy a modest home and rebuild savings.
She refused everything beyond that.
“This is different,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because this is you trying to make sure Leah and Noah never need anything.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
I stared.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Leah answered.
“Mom says needing people is normal.”
I looked at her.
She continued eating.
Apparently philosophical destruction required no eye contact.
Elena softened.
“You can’t protect children from every future hardship by putting money around them.”
“I can try.”
“I know.”
“And that’s the problem?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Sophia.
“Help.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She’s right.”
Traitors.
All of them.
Elena pushed the envelope closer.
“If you want to do something for them, create scholarships for children whose parents exposed fraud or lost work protecting patients.”
I thought.
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve planned this.”
“Yes.”
Mara smiled.
“Excellent governance.”
I ignored her.
“What about Leah and Noah?”
“They can apply someday like everyone else.”
“No preferential treatment?”
“No.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s fair.”
I looked at Leah.
“What do you want?”
She thought.
“A bike.”
I laughed.
Finally.
A solvable problem.
“What kind?”
Elena pointed at me.
“Normal bike.”
“What is a normal bike?”
“One that costs under two hundred dollars.”
I looked personally offended.
“Do those have brakes?”
“Victor.”
“Fine.”
We bought a blue bicycle.
One hundred eighty-nine dollars.
I had never spent twenty minutes comparing children’s bicycle helmets before.
It was exhausting.
Leah rode in circles around Lincoln Park.
Noah ran behind her screaming instructions no one needed.
Elena stood beside me.
“Thank you.”
“For obeying the budget?”
“For asking.”
That landed.
I had started doing more of that.
Asking.
Sophia too.
My relationship with Sophia had become impossible to ignore.
Not because anything dramatic happened.
Because nothing did.
She texted me when I forgot to eat.
I fixed a broken refrigeration contract at Lumia only after she requested advice.
We argued about wine.
She hated my taste in music.
I hated that she was usually right about people.
One evening after closing, we sat at the bar.
Empty restaurant.
Same room where Leah had first approached me.
Sophia poured two glasses of wine.
“You know everyone thinks we’re sleeping together.”
I nearly choked.
“What?”
“Employees.”
“Which?”
“All.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“They’re fired.”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Do you want to?”
“Fire them?”
“Sleep with me.”
I stared.
Sophia Bellini was forty-six.
Widowed twelve years.
Caroline’s friend before she became mine.
Sharp-eyed.
Impossible.
Beautiful in ways grief had prevented me from noticing until recently.
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Excellent.”
“I mean—”
“Victor.”
I stopped.
“I haven’t done this in a long time.”
“Had wine?”
“Wanted someone.”
Her expression changed.
Softer.
“Then don’t decide tonight.”
I exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“Also, your answer was terrible.”
“I know.”
Two weeks later, I asked her to dinner.
She stared around her restaurant.
“We eat dinner together twice a week.”
“A date.”
“Oh.”
I suddenly understood why men fear asking women simple questions.
“You can say no.”
“I know.”
“I’m adding that because I apparently have a control problem.”
“You do.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
Our first date was not at Lumia.
Sophia refused.
We went to a neighborhood Italian place where nobody cared who I was because the owner cared more about soccer.
I laughed.
Twice.
Sophia noticed both times.
“Leah was right.”
“About?”
“You smile now.”
“Unfortunate.”
“Very.”
We moved slowly.
No press.
No public announcement.
No replacing Caroline.
That mattered most.
Sophia had loved Caroline too.
One night, she said:
“Being happy with me doesn’t mean you loved her less.”
I looked away.
“I know that logically.”
“Grief is terrible at logic.”
“Yes.”
The children accepted us faster than I did.
Leah asked:
“Are you dating?”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
Sophia answered:
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
That was it.
Noah asked if that meant I could sleep at the restaurant.
We explained several concepts.
Badly.
Life was becoming normal in ways I had once thought impossible.
Then Elena called one Thursday morning.
Panicked.
“Victor.”
I stood instantly.
“What happened?”
“Leah fainted at school.”
Everything inside me froze.
No.
Not another child.
“What hospital?”
“Lurie.”
“I’m coming.”
I reached the emergency department in twelve minutes.
Leah was awake.
Angry.
Good sign.
“They made me lie down.”
“That is generally what happens after fainting.”
“I’m fine.”
Elena looked terrified.
Doctors ran tests.
Bloodwork.
ECG.
Neurology.
Hours.
Finally, a pediatrician entered.
“She’s okay.”
We all exhaled.
“Likely dehydration combined with not eating enough this morning.”
Elena turned toward Leah.
“You skipped breakfast?”
“I was late.”
“That is not happening again.”
I almost smiled.
Then the doctor looked at me.
“Mr. Hail?”
“Yes?”
“Leah told us something unusual.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
The doctor smiled.
“She said if her hospital bill costs too much, you have leftovers.”
For two seconds, nobody moved.
Then Sophia laughed.
Elena cried.
I covered my face.
Leah looked embarrassed.
“What?”
I sat beside her.
“Nothing.”
“You’re weird.”
“Yes.”
I reached for her hand.
“Leah?”
“What?”
“You never have to ask for my leftovers again.”
Her face changed slightly.
I continued before she could argue.
“But your mother will yell at me if I try to buy your life.”
Elena nodded.
“Correct.”
“So…”
I looked at Leah.
“You can always ask me for lunch.”
She smiled.
“Okay.”
May you like
That was enough.
More than enough.
