Chapter 11 - THE MAN WHO LOOKED AWAY
“Yes, Ethan.”
Uncle Salvatore's answer was almost a whisper.
“I saw you.”
Nobody moved.
Ethan looked at him.
“Through the window?”
Salvatore nodded.
“I was standing near the entrance after lunch.”
The boy's expression became painfully still.
“Did you know it was me?”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Claire drew a sharp breath.
Luca slowly stood.
“Uncle Sal?”
The older man held up one hand.
“Let me finish.”
He turned toward Ethan.
“I saw you wearing Daniel's coat. I knew it was your birthday.”
Ethan's eyes filled.
“Then why didn't you come outside?”
Salvatore looked at the floor.
“Because I was told you weren't supposed to come in.”
The boy stared at him.
“But you knew me.”
“I did.”
“You knew Dad.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Since he was seventeen.”
Ethan swallowed.
“Then why did you listen?”
The question seemed to take the strength out of the old man's shoulders.
Salvatore pulled out a chair.
He sat slowly.
“Because I made a mistake.”
Nobody interrupted.
“I knew Vanessa was organizing the private lunch. I assumed Luca had agreed to everything.”
He glanced toward his nephew.
“And I didn't want another argument about family business.”
Luca stared at him.
“You should have asked me.”
“I know.”
“You could have brought Ethan straight to me.”
“I know that too.”
Salvatore's eyes filled.
“I saw a boy standing outside in the cold, and I decided keeping the peace was more important than finding out why.”
Ethan looked down at his father's coat.
Salvatore leaned forward.
“Your father would have been ashamed of me.”
Luca didn't disagree.
That was perhaps the hardest part.
Claire finally spoke.
“Salvatore, you don't have to punish yourself in front of Ethan.”
The old man shook his head.
“I'm not trying to.”
He looked toward the boy.
“I'm trying to tell him the truth.”
Ethan wiped his cheeks.
“Were you mad at me too?”
Salvatore's expression crumpled.
“No, son.”
“Then why did nobody come?”
For several seconds, the older man couldn't answer.
Finally, he said, “Because the grown-ups who were supposed to protect you stopped paying attention.”
Luca rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Including me.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Including us.”
I watched Ethan think about that.
Thirteen-year-olds don't always know what to do with adult apologies.
They can't measure sincerity by the elegance of the words.
They measure it by what happens next.
Salvatore seemed to understand.
He took out a small notebook.
“Ethan, your mother says you're staying in Chicago.”
The boy glanced at Claire.
She nodded.
“Yes, we are.”
Salvatore looked relieved.
“Would you still like to play baseball this spring?”
Ethan nodded.
“Then I want to come to one of your games.”
His voice trembled.
“If you'll let me.”
Ethan considered him.
“Do you know anything about baseball?”
Luca laughed softly.
“Almost nothing.”
Salvatore shot him a look.
“I know enough.”
Ethan smiled.
“Dad said you thought every hit was a home run.”
Claire laughed.
“He did say that.”
Salvatore's eyes filled again.
“He wasn't wrong.”
For the first time, the tension around the table began to soften.
But Ethan wasn't finished.
“You can come,” he said.
Salvatore smiled.
“Thank you.”
The boy looked directly at him.
“But if you say you're coming, you have to actually come.”
Salvatore's smile disappeared.
He nodded.
“That's fair.”
“And if you can't, you have to tell me.”
“I will.”
Ethan held out his little finger.
“Promise?”
Salvatore hooked his own around it.
“Promise.”
Claire wiped her eyes.
Luca watched them quietly.
Then he looked toward me.
“Natalie, would you ask Romano to put Ethan's baseball schedule beside the Sunday reservation?”
“Of course.”
Ethan looked pleased.
“Can I write the dates?”
Luca handed him a pen.
“All of them.”
While Ethan carefully wrote the first three game dates, Claire unfolded Daniel's coat again.
Something slipped from the inside pocket.
A small, worn baseball ticket.
It landed near the watch.
Claire picked it up.
“Oh, my goodness.”
Luca looked over.
“What is it?”
She turned the ticket between her fingers.
“I haven't seen this in years.”
Ethan leaned closer.
“Is it Dad's?”
Claire nodded.
“From the last Cubs game he went to with Luca.”
Luca stopped smiling.
He remembered immediately.
“That was the game against St. Louis.”
Claire looked surprised.
“You remember?”
“Daniel spilled mustard all over my shirt in the seventh inning.”
Ethan laughed.
“That sounds like Dad.”
Luca took the ticket carefully.
Then he noticed something written on the back.
Three names.
Daniel.
Luca.
Ethan.
Beneath them was a fourth line.
It had no name.
Only two words.
One more.
Ethan frowned.
“Why did Dad write that?”
Claire looked toward Luca.
He stared at the ticket, remembering something.
“Your dad had a little rule about our dinners.”
“What rule?”
Luca smiled sadly.
“He said a family table shouldn't have a fixed number of chairs.”
Ethan studied the empty line.
“Then who's the extra seat for?”
Luca looked toward Daniel's old coat.
Then toward the drawing Ethan had made.
May you like
Before he could answer, Ethan asked something that made Claire reach for his hand.
“Was Dad saving that seat for someone who didn't have a family?”
