One afternoon, when Leo was eight, the three of us were having lunch. A server asked him what he wanted. Leo stared at the menu. One second passed. Then another. His fingers tightened around the edge of the page.
“He’ll have fries,” I said.
The server walked away. Leo ate every fry, so I assumed everything was fine. But outside, Chloe crouched beside him.
“Did you want fries, sweetie?”
“Yes, Aunt Chloe.”
“Good.”
Leo hesitated.
“But I wanted to say it.”
I heard him, and immediately every defensive instinct inside me rose. I knew what Leo wanted. I was trying to keep strangers from rushing him. I was protecting him. Chloe didn’t criticize me, though. A month later, she showed up holding her car keys.
“I’m borrowing Leo.”
“For what?”
“Three hours of freedom.”
“For him or me?”
“Both.”
I immediately started giving instructions about crowds, noise, and what to do when Leo became quiet, but Chloe placed both hands on my shoulders.
