Chapter 4 - THE SCHOOL THAT WASN'T HIS CHOICE
"Five nights a week?"
Luca stared at the yellow enrollment card.
Oliver looked up at him.
"Does that mean I have to sleep there?"
"No, buddy."
"But it says—"
"I know what it says."
Luca placed the card face down.
"You're not going anywhere."
Vanessa pulled out a chair.
"Luca, Ashcroft is an excellent school."
He turned toward her.
"Then why am I hearing about it from my ten-year-old son?"
"Because you haven't been willing to discuss his emotional needs."
"I discussed getting him counseling."
"Exactly."
Luca stared at her.
"Counseling, Vanessa. Not sending him away."
She pressed her palms against the table.
"Ashcroft has a residential support program. Smaller classes, counselors, structured activities. I thought Oliver might benefit from a change of environment."
Teresa shook her head.
"He's ten."
"Children attend boarding schools at ten."
"Some do," Teresa replied. "But Oliver never asked to."
Vanessa looked toward the boy.
"Didn't you tell me you wanted a fresh start?"
Oliver's face reddened.
"I said I wanted things to be like before."
"Which isn't possible, sweetheart."
Luca's expression hardened.
"His mother can't come back. That doesn't mean everything else in his life has to disappear."
Oliver lowered his head.
I noticed his shoes weren't touching the floor.
He looked impossibly small in that enormous chair.
Vanessa opened a leather folder she'd left beside her seat.
"I wasn't going to force him to attend. I wanted him to visit first."
Luca pointed toward the yellow card.
"Then why does this have a boarding start date?"
"Because they needed a tentative schedule."
"And why does it say you've confirmed the accommodation?"
She hesitated.
"I thought you'd appreciate me handling the details."
"Not when the details involve removing my child from his home."
Vanessa looked away.
For several moments, the only sound was the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock.
Then Oliver asked, "Dad, do kids get to take their own blankets?"
Luca turned immediately.
"What, buddy?"
"To that school."
"You're not going."
"I know. But if I did, could I take my soccer blanket?"
Luca's eyes filled.
"Of course."
Oliver touched the blue plate.
"Could I take this too?"
Luca swallowed.
"Anything that's yours."
The boy thought for a moment.
"Vanessa said I couldn't."
I looked toward her.
She sighed.
"Oliver, I said the school might not allow breakable things."
"But you said I had to stop carrying it around."
"Because it's a plate, sweetheart."
Oliver looked at Luca.
"Mom made it."
Luca put his arm around him.
"I know."
I remembered the first time I'd seen the blue plate.
It had been my second week working at the mansion.
Oliver was eight then.
He'd been standing at the kitchen counter beside Luca, carefully arranging blueberries into a smiley face.
Luca had burned the first pancake.
Oliver had laughed so hard he dropped a strawberry.
Later, Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, told me the plate had been painted by Oliver's mother, Elena, shortly before she became ill.
She'd wanted him to have something ordinary.
Something he could use every day.
Not an expensive heirloom locked behind glass.
Just a little blue plate for Sunday pancakes.
I looked at Vanessa.
"Mrs. Bellini, may I ask something?"
She gave me a cold look.
"I suppose you're going to anyway."
I kept my voice steady.
"Did the school know Oliver didn't want to leave home?"
Vanessa blinked.
"What?"
"Did anyone tell them?"
"Claire, this is a family matter."
"Then why was I instructed to pack his belongings?"
Luca looked toward me.
"What instructions?"
I swallowed.
"Mrs. Bellini gave the household staff a moving schedule. She said the upstairs guest rooms would be reorganized after the wedding."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Those rooms have needed attention for years."
"Oliver's bedroom was included."
Luca stared at her.
"My son's bedroom isn't a guest room."
"I was planning to make it more appropriate for the next stage of our lives."
Something passed across his face.
"What next stage?"
Vanessa hesitated.
"Eventually, we might have children together."
Oliver looked up sharply.
I saw the words land.
"Would they get my room?"
Vanessa closed her eyes.
"Oliver, nobody said that."
"But where would my stuff go?"
Luca drew him closer.
"Your room stays yours."
"Even if you have another kid?"
"Even then."
Oliver studied his father's face.
"Promise?"
Luca held his gaze.
"I promise."
Vanessa looked hurt.
"You're making me sound like I wouldn't have room in this family for both children."
Luca answered quietly.
"Then stop treating the child who's already here like an obstacle."
Her eyes filled.
"I never said he was an obstacle."
"You removed his place at our engagement dinner."
"I thought the evening would upset him."
"You sent him away from Sunday breakfast."
"I told you he needed space."
"You told him I didn't want him."
Vanessa fell silent.
Luca leaned forward.
"Those are decisions you made, Vanessa. Not circumstances that happened to you."
She looked at the floor.
For the first time, I wondered whether she understood how thoroughly she'd damaged her relationship with Oliver.
Or whether she was only beginning to realize Luca might discover every decision she'd made.
Teresa reached for the leather school folder.
"May I see the rest?"
Vanessa hesitated.
Then pushed it across the table.
Inside were brochures, an application, and several pages describing Ashcroft's residential program.
Luca read through them.
He stopped at a section labeled Family Background and Student Adjustment.
His forehead tightened.
"Who filled this out?"
Vanessa looked up.
"I did."
"Did you discuss it with Oliver?"
"Of course."
Luca turned the page.
"What did you ask him?"
Vanessa swallowed.
"How he felt about living here."
Oliver looked confused.
"I don't remember."
Luca read another paragraph.
Then his face changed.
"Oliver, buddy, did somebody ask you to write a statement for the school?"
The boy's shoulders stiffened.
"Yeah."
"Do you remember what it said?"
Oliver looked down.
"Some stuff."
Luca turned the application toward me.
Across the page were six crooked lines in a child's handwriting.
I recognized Oliver's uneven capital letters.
I'd helped him practice them during homework.
The statement read:
I don't think my dad wants me at home anymore. I get in the way when he is busy. I think I should go somewhere else.
I covered my mouth.
Luca stared at the page.
Then looked at his son.
"Buddy, is that really how you feel?"
Oliver's eyes filled.
He shook his head.
"Then why did you write it?"
The boy looked toward Vanessa.
May you like
His little voice began shaking.
"Because she said if I didn't, you'd be mad at me for ruining your wedding."
