I saw then where Marco got his certainty that his father never got scared.
Dante didn’t need volume.
He had the kind of authority that made other people adjust themselves around him.
It was unsettling.
And yet every few seconds his hand returned to Marco’s shoulder, as if reassuring himself that the boy was truly there.
That was when I understood something else.
He had been terrified.
He was simply better than most people at hiding it.
Marco sneezed.
My hospital instincts took over before my common sense could stop them.
“He needs dry clothes soon.
He’s been soaked for a while.
Warm, not scorching, shower when you get home.
Keep an eye on him tonight.
If he develops persistent shivering, confusion, unusual sleepiness, or anything that worries you, get medical help.”
Nicholas stared at me.
Dante asked, “You’re a nurse?”
“No.
Cafeteria.”
For the first time, Nicholas looked almost confused.
“At St.
Catherine’s?”
“Yes.”
“Your ID—”
“Says dietary services.”
Dante glanced at the badge hanging from my neck, though the lettering was turned toward my jacket.
“You work in a hospital cafeteria and walked into a dark alley because you heard a child crying?”
“I had pepper spray.”
Marco looked impressed.
Dante didn’t.
“That doesn’t make an alley safe.”
“Neither does being six years old.”
His eyes held mine.
Nicholas looked away, perhaps hiding a reaction.
Then Marco started laughing.
It broke the pressure in the room.
Dante looked down at his son.
“What’s funny?”
“Ellie talks to you like Grandma used to.”
Dante became perfectly still.
Nicholas coughed into his fist.
I decided not to ask.
Dante picked up Marco’s backpack and helped him into the still-damp navy coat.
Marco unwound my scarf from his neck.
“Here.”
“Keep it until you’re home.”
“But it’s yours.”
“I know where I live.
You were the one who got lost.”
Marco considered this logic, then nodded solemnly.
Dante opened the door.
Rain swept against the glass behind him.
Marco stopped on the threshold.
“Ellie?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you walking home?”
