“You ask a lot of questions.”
“So do you.”
Caleb almost smiled.
Then Eli said, “Were you her boyfriend?”
Caleb was silent.
Eli’s eyebrows rose.
“Whoa.”
“Don’t say whoa.”
“You were.”
“Go upstairs, Eli.”
“Did you break up?”
“She left.”
“Why?”
“Because she was smarter than me.”
Eli considered this.
“That sounds true.”
Caleb laughed once.
The building door opened.
Sofia appeared.
“Eli!”
Her son turned.
She hurried across the sidewalk.
“What are you doing?”
“Talking.”
“I told you to stay upstairs.”
“I wanted to ask him something.”
Sofia grabbed his shoulder—not roughly, but urgently.
“Go inside.”
“Mom—”
“Please.”
Eli looked at Caleb.
Then went inside.
Sofia remained.
Traffic passed behind them.
Finally Caleb said, “How old is he?”
She closed her eyes.
“Don’t.”
“How old?”
“Eleven.”
Caleb’s heart began pounding.
“When’s his birthday?”
“Caleb.”
“Tell me.”
“January seventeenth.”
The world narrowed.
He had been arrested fifteen years ago in November.
If—
Caleb did the arithmetic again.
Something didn’t fit.
Unless Eli had been born—
“Eleven?” he whispered.
Sofia stared at him.
Then understanding crossed her face.
“No.”
Caleb looked up sharply.
“No what?”
“He isn’t yours.”
A ridiculous amount of pain moved through him.
Pain he had no right to feel.
“Okay.”
“His father died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was a good man.”
Caleb nodded.
“Then why are you scared of me?”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her face hardened.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then leave.”
“Sofia, I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. Yesterday your son returned my wallet. Today you saw me and looked like someone had pointed a gun at you.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Maybe I remember what happened to people around you.”
Caleb absorbed that.
“I changed.”
“I can see that.”
“How?”
“The newspapers.”
He frowned.
“You kept track?”
“Everybody keeps track of hurricanes they survive.”
That hurt.
She immediately looked regretful.
But neither apologized.
Caleb said quietly, “If you need help—”
“No.”
“I own apartments.”
“No.”
“I could get you a better job.”
“No.”
“For Eli.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
Caleb stopped.
Sofia folded her arms tightly.
“We don’t need to be rescued.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then Caleb asked, “What happened to his father?”
Sofia looked away.
“Car accident.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
This time she believed him.
Her shoulders softened slightly.
Caleb nodded toward the laundromat.
“The shoes were just shoes.”
“I know.”
“He did something good.”
“I know.”
“You raised a good kid.”
Sofia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
Caleb stepped back.
“I’ll leave you alone.”
Relief moved over her face.
Then he added, “Unless he loses another wallet.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Caleb started the motorcycle.
He was halfway down Preston Avenue when a black sedan pulled from the curb behind him.
He noticed it because riders notice vehicles.
Especially vehicles that follow them through four consecutive turns.
Caleb changed lanes.
The sedan did too.
Then it turned away.
Caleb watched it disappear.
Old instincts stirred.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Someone had been watching Sofia’s building.
Three days later, Eli did not come to the library.
Caleb told himself that meant nothing.
On the fourth day, he drove past the block.
Sofia’s apartment window was dark.
On the fifth day, he received a call from an unknown number.
