Chapter 10 - The Sweater With One Missing Heart
“Mommy, can you fix my sweater?”
Rosie stood in the kitchen doorway holding the little red cardigan.
Its missing heart-shaped button had left a small gap near the collar.
She'd carried it around for two weeks without wearing it.
I looked up from the dishes.
“Of course, baby.”
She approached slowly.
“Will it look the same?”
I took the sweater from her.
“I can make it pretty close.”
Rosie considered that.
Then she sat beside me.
“Mr. Grant said it looked old.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What do you think?”
She rubbed the sleeve between her fingers.
“I like it.”
“Then that's what matters.”
She looked relieved.
I found my mother's old sewing tin in the kitchen drawer.
Inside were needles, thread, safety pins, and several spare buttons.
But none matched the little red hearts.
I searched twice.
Rosie watched silently.
Then I remembered the button Denise had found beside the freight elevator.
Detective Ellis had arranged for it to be returned after it was no longer needed as evidence.
It was in a small envelope on the top shelf.
I brought it to the table.
Rosie's face brightened.
“You found it!”
“Somebody helped us find it.”
I threaded a needle.
Then I carefully stitched the button back into place.
Rosie leaned against my arm.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Were you scared?”
I paused.
“Very.”
“Even grown-ups get scared?”
“All the time.”
She thought about that.
“Then how come you ran into that room?”
I looked at my daughter.
Because I'd had no better choice.
Because she'd needed me.
Because fear hadn't left me anything else to lose.
But she was seven.
She didn't need all of that.
“Because I needed help,” I answered.
“And I knew I had to keep looking for you.”
She nodded.
“Mr. Roman helped.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Is he your friend?”
I smiled.
“I think so.”
Rosie looked at the sweater.
“Can he be my friend too?”
Something warm moved through my chest.
“If you want him to be.”
She smiled.
“I do.”
I tied off the thread.
“There. All fixed.”
Rosie slipped the sweater on.
She buttoned all three hearts.
Then she stood in front of the hallway mirror.
“It's like new.”
I watched her turn from side to side.
The sweater wasn't new.
Its sleeves were beginning to get short.
One cuff was worn.
And the fabric had softened after countless washings.
But it was hers.
And she loved it.
“Beautiful,” I said.
She grinned.
“Can I wear it tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
The next morning, I walked Rosie to school.
She held my hand all the way to the entrance.
Before the wedding, she'd usually run ahead to join her friends.
Now she stayed close.
When the bell rang, she stopped.
“Will you be here when school ends?”
I knelt beside her.
“Yes.”
“What if you're late?”
“Then I'll call the school. And you'll stay with your teacher until I get there.”
She looked down.
“What if somebody says you told them to get me?”
I felt the pain in her question.
Grant had made her doubt the person she trusted most.
I brushed her hair away from her face.
“Then you stay with your teacher. Nobody takes you anywhere unless we follow our plan.”
We'd worked out that plan with her school counselor.
Rosie knew which adults were authorized to pick her up.
She knew she could ask questions.
And she knew being polite didn't mean going with someone who frightened her.
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Then she hugged me.
“Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you more.”
She ran toward her classroom.
I watched until she disappeared inside.
Only then did I let myself cry.
Not because she was unsafe.
Because she'd been made afraid of something that should have been ordinary.
A few days later, I returned to the bookstore where I'd worked before Grant persuaded me to quit.
The owner, Mrs. Caroline Hayes, was sixty-two.
She'd known me since I was nineteen.
When she saw me standing near the counter, she came around it and embraced me.
“Evelyn Bennett.”
I smiled through tears.
“Hello, Caroline.”
She looked at my face.
Then my hands.
“You've had a rough time.”
I nodded.
“I was hoping you might need some help again.”
She stepped back.
“Are you asking for your old job?”
“If there's still room.”
Caroline smiled.
“Your job's been waiting for someone who knows why customers come back.”
I laughed.
“Because we always find the books they need?”
“No.”
She squeezed my shoulder.
“Because they feel welcome here.”
I started the following Monday.
The salary wasn't impressive.
But it was mine.
Every afternoon, I picked Rosie up from school.
Every evening, we ate dinner together.
Sometimes Beth joined us.
Sometimes Roman stopped by with pastries or groceries.
He always asked before coming.
He never made plans for Rosie without checking with me.
And whenever she wanted to show him a drawing, he stopped whatever he was doing and looked.
One Saturday, he helped us carry a secondhand bookshelf upstairs.
Rosie followed him with a screwdriver she wasn't allowed to use.
“Mr. Roman, are you rich?”
I nearly dropped a stack of books.
Roman looked amused.
“I've been fortunate.”
She frowned.
“Does that mean yes?”
He laughed.
“Yes, Rosie.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Then why are you carrying our old shelf?”
I looked at him.
He glanced at the bookshelf.
Then at my daughter.
“Because your mom asked me to help.”
Rosie considered that.
“Okay.”
She handed him a small packet of screws.
“Then you're doing good.”
Roman laughed harder than I'd ever heard him laugh.
That evening, after Rosie went to bed, he stood beside the window.
“Evelyn, I want you to know something.”
I turned.
“What?”
“If Grant's lawyers try to pressure you, I'll help you find whatever support you need.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“But I don't want you to feel you owe me anything.”
I looked at him.
“Roman, I don't.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Then his expression became serious.
“There's something else.”
He removed a folded photograph from his jacket.
It showed Nico standing in front of the Mercer Street warehouse.
Beside him was Beth.
She was holding a small cardboard box.
Roman looked at me.
“I showed this to your sister yesterday.”
May you like
He swallowed.
“She told me she'd been keeping something from Nico's last day that she couldn't bear to look at again.”
