“Kait, I know him.”
Leo appeared behind her with his backpack already on.
“I’m ready, Aunt Chloe.”
So I let them go. Three hours later, Leo returned smelling like french fries.
“Where did you go?”
“Park. Bookstore. And diner, Mama.”
Chloe collapsed onto my couch and said she’d found a little place he liked.
“The fries are correct,” Leo added.
I laughed.
“Correct?”
“Yes, Mama. Crispy outside. Soft inside.”
From then on, the diner became part of their routine. Looking back, Leo gave me clues for years. I simply never understood what they meant. When he was nine, he told me Marcy had touched his shoulder. I immediately became concerned.
“Did you tell her you didn’t like it?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“What happened?”
“She said okay.”
The next month, he mentioned something else.
“Marcy doesn’t ring the bell when I’m there anymore.”
“What bell?”
“The service bell, Mama.”
