Chapter 22: Elio Turns Eighteen

Elio was up before the sun on his birthday.

I found him at six in the kitchen of the flat above the diner, dressed, with his shoes on.

He was sitting on the edge of the couch where he had slept, with his hands between his knees.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Waiting for the car."

"What car?"

"The one that comes." He swallowed. "Dad said on your eighteenth they send a car, and you get in, and you come back with a gun."

"Nobody's coming."

"I know." He looked at the window. "I keep looking anyway."

I sat down beside him and didn't say anything.

At seven the bell downstairs rang, and he jumped.

I went to the window.

An old sedan stood at the curb with its engine running.

The gate guard with the bad knee was climbing out of it, slowly, in a flannel shirt.

He had a bicycle in the trunk.

"Is that mine?" Elio said at my shoulder.

"I think it is."

We went down.

The guard stood in the cold with one hand on the handlebar.

"Your father is at the lake house," he said to Elio. "Your mother's with him. They don't know I came."

"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I went to the garage."

He held out the bicycle.

"It's a good bike. You never rode it, and that always seemed a shame."

"I wasn't allowed," Elio said.

"There's nobody to write it down. Nobody to sign, and nothing owed." The guard cleared his throat. "Happy birthday."

Elio took the bicycle.

He held it by the seat with both hands.

"Thank you," he said. "What's your name?"

The guard looked at him, startled.

"I've worked for your family for twenty-six years," he said. "You never asked."

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