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He clears his throat. Once. “So I never forget who I am.” His voice comes out rougher than it should. He reaches out and straightens Matthew’s collar, the one I fixed this morning, his big inked hand careful, like the boy might break.
And my son, who hides behind my leg from every man he meets, leans into it.
His eyes lift to mine and stay there. “Some people forget.”
Tell me why. I taught my son to tie his shoes and say thank you. I never taught him that.
Something in my chest cracks right down the middle. Four years, I told myself I was keeping him safe. I never once let myself count what I was keeping from him.
Neither of us says one word about the boy, not yet.
Enzo rises. When he speaks again, the steel is back in his voice, like the last ten seconds never happened. “Sit. Both of you.”
I do, gladly, because my legs are about to give out. Matthew climbs onto the chair beside mine and swings his legs, watching the two of us with that calm, solemn face.
Enzo takes the chair behind the desk and opens a folder. He takes out one sheet of paper and glances at it before turning his eyes to me.
He looks at Matthew again. “I assume this handsome young man isn’t your temp agency contact.”
I almost laugh. Almost. “No. This is my son. I was told this was a live-in job. If that’s the case, we’ll need to accommodate him, too.”
His eyes don’t leave my son. His son.
“That is indeed the case. Well, there’d be room to spare, as you can see. Matthew, how would you feel about living here?”
Matthew says nothing at first, weighing his words in that strangely mature way he has. “It would be… fun, I think. Do you have any toys here?”
Something close to a smile touches Enzo’s lips. “No, but I’m sure we could arrange for some to be brought in. There’s plenty of space to play. And I have a very big backyard.”
Matthew grins, the first kidlike thing he’s done since this interview started. A very big backyard in the city is practically unheard of. Enzo might as well have offered him a trip to the moon.
Enzo turns his attention back to me. “But that all assumes I decide to bring you on board.” He clears his throat. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes, please do.”
“Your references describe you as quiet and diligent.” He studies the page he isn’t reading. “Is that an accurate description?”
“I always do my job to the best of my abilities.”
“And nothing more?”
“I do what is asked of me, and then I go home to my son.”
His eyes lift to mine. There’s an emotion in them I don’t understand. “Good answer.”
Surprisingly, he transitions into what feels like a normal interview. He asks about my education, my previous jobs, my availability. He even asks the question about a difficult situation I’ve been in, and how I handled it.
Well, there was this one time I got knocked up by a crime boss and had to raise his son on my own. How did I handle it? I’ll get back to you when I find out.
His voice does things to my entire body that I resent. His suit moves when he leans back. I keep my spine straight and my hands quiet in my lap, and I answer like a woman who isn’t sitting three feet from the father of her child and who’s trying not to break out in a cold sweat.
“One more question.” He closes the folder, sets it down, and looks at me. “Do you finish what you start, Miss Callahan?”
It’s a strange question, and I’m not at all sure what to make of it. Is it a trick?
“I didn’t use to,” I say. “But I got better. I had a reason to.”
I don’t look at my son when I say it. I don’t have to. He knows. I know he knows. But neither of us will admit it out loud.
