Chapter 3
Theo wouldn't let go of the pencil.
Hannah Price sat beside his hospital bed and waited while he drew five small doors across the paper. Each had a circle beside it. Under the final door, he drew a crooked airplane.
“You can stop whenever you want,” she told him.
Theo considered that. “Can I keep the paper when I'm done?”
“Yes. We can make a copy.”
From the corridor, Dante watched a child make the first decision anyone had offered him all evening. The hospital had asked the adults to remain outside while Hannah spoke with him, and Dante had agreed.
His son had not.
“I'm his father,” Luca argued at the nurses' station. “I have a right to be there.”
“You can speak to the investigator separately,” a nurse replied.
Bianca stood several steps behind him. She had changed into a plain wool coat, but glitter from her gown still clung to her neck. Her attention never left the closed door.
Hannah emerged with the drawing and told the adults that an emergency safety plan was being considered. Theo would not return to the mansion that night. A court would review the placement promptly if child protective services took protective custody.
Dante offered his Aspen guesthouse.
Hannah didn't smile. “Our decision isn't based only on square footage or whether you can afford security.”
“Then investigate me.”
“We will.”
Luca leaned forward. “This is insane. My son needs familiar surroundings.”
“He told us he doesn't feel safe there,” Hannah said.
For one second, Luca looked as though he had been struck again. Then his eyes flicked toward Bianca.
The exchange was small. Dante stored it away.
Theo spent the night in a temporary emergency placement arranged through the county while the agency assessed relatives. Rosa brought his airplane after the hospital cleared it. The broken wheel had been secured in a small envelope, and the ribbon remained tied around the body.
Dante waited until morning before visiting with the investigator's permission. He arrived without flowers, gifts, or anyone from his old organization. He wore a simple gray sweater instead of a suit.
Theo sat at a kitchen table coloring.
“Did Dad send you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Will he be mad that I talked?”
“Your dad's feelings are his responsibility.” Dante sat only after Theo pointed to a chair. “I made a mistake yesterday too. I hit him. I shouldn't have done that in front of you.”
Theo looked down at his drawing. “He hits tables when he's scared.”
“Who does?”
“Dad. Bianca hits the timer.”
A social worker near the doorway took notes. Dante resisted the urge to ask a dozen questions.
Instead, he asked, “Is there something you need?”
Theo held out the paper from the hospital. It had been folded into four squares.
“You can have this one,” he said. “I kept the other.”
Dante unfolded it. The five doors were still there, but Theo had added two words under one of them: NO SOCKS.
“Why no socks?” Dante asked quietly.
“Bianca says socks make the lesson too easy.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Before Dante could answer, Theo pointed to the last drawing. “The plane means I got my plane back that day. Sometimes she keeps it in the white closet.”
Dante thought of the gift display near the fireplace, covered with white fabric. Theo had spoken as if he knew every hiding place in the house.
“Did your father know?” he asked, then caught himself. Hannah had warned him not to interrogate Theo.
But the boy answered anyway.
“He said if I behaved, she wouldn't need lessons.”
The social worker gently ended the visit soon afterward. In the parking lot, Dante sat behind the wheel of his car without starting it. All those years he had called Luca weak for shrinking from confrontation. He had never asked what Luca did when someone smaller than him needed protection.
Theo's temporary caregiver had earlier asked Dante not to bring a new toy every time he visited. She explained that a child who had been threatened with losing possessions might start wondering which gifts could be taken away. Dante had listened and kept his hands empty except for the airplane.
On the drive, he remembered how often Luca had been rewarded with presents instead of apologies. Dante had believed generosity made difficult conversations unnecessary. The two things were not interchangeable. A child could want a toy and still need an adult to hear a painful truth.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number showed a photograph of the mansion's back entry.
Below it, seven words appeared:
CHECK THE TUESDAY DOOR LOG BEFORE IT DISAPPEARS.
May you like
Dante looked back toward the house where Theo was safe for now.
Someone inside the mansion knew much more than they had said.
