Chapter 11: The Cafeteria

By noon on Thursday Bianca was sitting up, and by two she was demanding pancakes.

I'd barely slept, and I ran on coffee and fury.

The fury was not all for Santo, and that bothered me most.

Nico came in at four with the nanny and Nonna, in a clean shirt, carrying a bus map of Bayonne.

He climbed onto the foot of his sister's bed and unrolled it across her knees.

"Bus 10 goes right past here," he told her. "Six stops to the bakery."

"Why do I care?" Bianca said.

"Because now you can't get lost."

She drew a purple X on the map.

I watched them from the doorway with an ache in my chest.

They were both Santo's, and they were both mine.

Santo stood in the hall outside, pretending to read a notice about handwashing.

"He hasn't eaten in three hours," the nanny said softly.

I sighed and put my head out of the ward.

"Come on," I said. "Cafeteria."

The hospital cafeteria at five o'clock was a long gray room smelling of overcooked beans.

Nico came with us, because he would not be left behind, and he carried a tray with three cartons of milk.

We sat at a corner table under a clock that ran four minutes slow.

Santo ate his sandwich as if someone were timing him.

"You always eat in the car," Nico said.

Santo stopped chewing.

"At school pickup," Nico went on. "I see you through the window."

"You eat out of a bag with one hand, and with the other you check the mirrors."

"It's a habit."

"It's a bad habit." Nico set down his milk. "Sit properly. Both elbows on the table. Vivi always says that."

"I do say that," I said.

Santo put both elbows on the table, very slowly.

A corner of his mouth twitched.

"There," said Nico, satisfied. "Now it's supper."

"Is it?"

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