Chapter 2 - THE HAND SIGN
“Who are you?”
Rico Moretti’s voice was low enough that Clara almost wished he had shouted.
She stopped beside the table with the warm milk in both hands.
“Clara.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She looked at Leo instead.
The little boy was gasping between sobs, his fingers twisted into the front of his tiny navy sweater.
Everyone else kept approaching him from above.
Grabbing.
Commanding.
Correcting.
Clara lowered herself slowly to the floor.
Rico’s bodyguards shifted.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“I’m not touching him.”
That made Rico pause.
Clara placed the milk on the marble between herself and Leo.
Then she whispered:
“You don’t have to drink it.”
Leo’s crying hitched.
“You don’t have to talk either.”
His eyes found hers.
“Everybody can stop asking things for one minute.”
The restaurant was so silent Clara could hear the refrigeration unit behind the bar.
Rico stared.
No one spoke to his son like that.
Therapists asked questions.
Doctors gave instructions.
Nannies begged.
Rico commanded.
Clara simply removed the requirement.
Leo’s breathing slowed.
Clara pushed the warm milk a few inches closer.
“My mom used to give me this when my chest felt too tight.”
Rico’s gaze sharpened.
Clara continued:
“Not magic.”
“Just warm.”
Leo stared at the glass.
Then took it.
One sip.
Another.
The screaming stopped.
The entire restaurant seemed to exhale.
Dante looked at Marco.
Marco looked as if he had witnessed a resurrection.
Rico did not move.
Then Leo did something stranger.
He lifted his small right hand.
Palm inward.
Thumb touching his chest.
Then two fingers moved outward.
Clara froze.
Rico noticed.
“What?”
Clara stared at Leo.
The boy repeated the gesture.
Then another.
Her face changed.
“He’s signing.”
Rico stood.
“What?”
Clara answered without looking away from Leo.
“He’s using sign language.”
“No.”
Rico shook his head.
“He doesn’t know sign language.”
Leo signed again.
This time Clara understood perfectly.
Mom.
Then:
Safe.
Rico went white.
“Where did he learn that?”
Clara slowly turned toward him.
“Your wife.”
Every muscle in Rico’s face hardened.
“You knew Elena?”
Clara said nothing.
Leo reached toward her.
Not for the milk.
For her hand.
He touched two fingers to her palm.
A small pattern.
Rico’s expression collapsed.
He knew that one.
Elena used to make the same sign against his hand when they were alone.
Their private signal.
I’m here.
Rico sat down.
For the first time that night, the most feared man in Brooklyn looked afraid.
Clara whispered:
“I met your wife before she died.”
May you like
And suddenly Leo’s silence was no longer the only mystery at the table.
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