50
LUCA BELLANDI
I sent my first plea for help at six twenty in the morning.
The day before, Gabriela had shown me the clothes and left the contact numbers within reach.
I was to arrive early at their rooms in the guesthouse and get the children ready with their grandmother’s help while Gabriela went to the site.
I’d already done both school runs with Cris.
Now it was my turn. At six oh five, I discovered that knowing the way was the easy part.
I wrote:
Which lunchbox belongs to which child?
Blue: Noah. Green: Heitor. Yellow: Camila.
Two minutes later, I wrote again: Heitor says the green one is Noah’s now.
Trust the colors, she replied. He pulled that switch on me yesterday.
Managing three children before seven in the morning was more complicated than coordinating offices on different continents.
Camila wouldn’t take her medicine because Heitor had told her it tasted like frog.
Noah had lost a notebook that was exactly where he swore he’d already looked.
Heitor had his shirt on backward and insisted it was Italian fashion.
“Shoes,” I ordered, trying to regain some authority.
“Which foot?” Heitor asked.
“The matching one.”
“What does matching mean?”
“The left shoe goes on the left foot.”
“Which one is this?”
I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes left. Their grandmother checked the lunches with me and set out Camila’s medicine. While I was looking for a water bottle, Heitor started switching the labels. I stopped searching to put them back; my daughter needed to take exactly what we’d packed for her.
“Mommy makes a list on the fridge,” Noah informed me.
The sheets were right where Gabriela had shown me the night before. Times, medicines, what went in each backpack. That morning, with three voices calling for me at once, I’d lost track of the order we’d agreed on. I went back to the first name and started checking again.
Their grandmother finished Camila’s hair while I zipped up the last backpack.
“Noah, do you know where you left your bottle?”
“On the table. I already told you.”
“You did. I forgot.”
“The yellow one is Camila’s.”
“Yours is blue.”
He pointed to the living room table.
I fetched the bottle. Before we left, we checked the seat belts and car seats, and their grandmother reminded me she’d meet me back at the guesthouse at lunchtime.
We arrived at school three minutes late.
Heitor was wearing mismatched socks. Camila had a perfectly straight yellow ribbon in her hair, an achievement I couldn’t claim.
“Mommy’s never late,” Noah remarked.
“I was late today. I’ll be better organized tomorrow.”
A woman by the gate recognized me and raised her phone. Another came closer to look. I stepped between them and the children.
“No photographs, please.”
“Is it true they’re your heirs?” one woman asked.
Noah took Camila’s hand. Heitor opened his mouth, ready to answer.
“They’re children going to school. Please respect that.”
The principal came to the gate and led us inside. Gabriela had already let the school know I’d be bringing them that day. I showed my ID and checked their records and emergency contacts with the secretary.
“Relationship to the student,” she prompted.
I wrote father in the space she indicated. I kept staring at the word until Heitor tugged on my shirt.
“Are you going to cry?”
“No.”
“Your eye’s wet.”
“Dust.”
“Inside the school?”
Noah rolled his eyes.
“Leave him alone.”
I crouched to say goodbye. Camila kissed my cheek. Heitor gave me a high five. Noah asked:
“Will you be here when it opens?”
“I’ll be here at eleven fifty.”
In the car, Matteo told me the acquisition meeting had been moved to eleven thirty. That was the time I’d blocked off for the school run.
“Move it to ten thirty,” I told him.
“They asked for eleven thirty. The American team can’t make it any earlier.”
“Then we’ll do the preparation at ten thirty. I leave at eleven twenty, and you and the finance director run the meeting. Anything that needs my decision waits until after two.”
“I can send a driver to the school.”
I looked at the gate.
“I promised.”
Matteo was quiet for a moment.
“I’ll divide up the agenda and let everyone know.”
Before leaving, I sent him the points that needed my input.
At eleven twenty, we finished our preparations, leaving Matteo to run the meeting. At eleven fifty, I parked outside the school. The triplets came out together. Heitor was running; Noah held a sheet of paper; Camila reached for my hand.
“She checked,” Noah announced.
“The teacher opened my lunchbox,” Heitor explained.
“Mine had apple,” Camila said, showing me the empty container.
I looked at Heitor.
“See why you can’t switch the labels?”
He tried to look innocent.
“I was only playing.”
“I know. But we need to be able to find everyone’s things. You can help me put them away this afternoon.”
“Is that a punishment?”
“It’s so we get it right tomorrow.”
Noah handed me the paper. There were six people holding hands. I recognized the white streak in one person’s hair, but the other dark-haired figure wasn’t Cris.
“Grandma,” he explained before I could ask. “You’re here.”
He pointed to the figure beside the tree.
I thanked him and placed the drawing on the passenger seat.
On the way home, Camila said she felt sick and turned pale.
I pulled over safely. She was responsive, but I didn’t want to decide on my own that it was just carsickness.
I called her care team and followed their advice to take her for a local assessment. I let Gabriela and her mother know.
“I’ll meet you there,” Gabriela replied.
“We’re a few minutes away. I’ll go in with her and let you know as soon as they tell me anything.”
Her grandmother arrived to look after the boys while I went in with Camila. My daughter sat on my lap and asked for her rabbit. I sent Gabriela the room number and waited with Camila.
She arrived during the examination. Camila’s color had returned, and she was talking to the doctor. After checking her history and contacting her specialist team, they told us we could go home, keep an eye on her, and come back if anything changed.
In the hallway, Gabriela put the papers away slowly.
“I can stay with her this afternoon,” I said. “Your mother will be with us. Would that give you time to finish what you need to do?”
She looked at Camila, who was already asking for lunch.
“Yes. Call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
At home, her grandmother stayed with Camila while I made pasta. Heitor spilled his juice; Noah refused the sauce. After lunch, my daughter fell asleep on the couch, and I let Gabriela know. The meeting was still scheduled for that afternoon. I called Matteo before putting my phone away.
I explained that Camila had been checked over and that I was staying with her. I asked him to send me the decisions in writing and refer anything urgent to the finance director.
“I’ll go through whatever’s left tonight.”
Noah looked up from his blocks.
“Did you have work?”
“I had a meeting. I’ll do it later.”
“Mommy works at night.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes we have cereal for dinner.”
“Do you like that?”
“I do. Camila wants bread.”
“I managed pasta today.”
“We can have it again tomorrow.”
“That’s good news for me.”
Noah fitted a red block on top of the others.
“Your phone’s ringing,” he said.
It was a confirmation from Matteo. I acknowledged it and silenced my phone, leaving calls from family and the medical team enabled. Heitor made up a song about pasta while I wiped the floor.
“There,” I said.
“Is that lady going to take pictures tomorrow?” Noah asked.
“The principal has already spoken to her. I’ll be there too.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to pose for anyone.”
Noah looked at his sleeping sister.
“Then don’t put us on the wall like you.”
“I won’t.”
When Gabriela arrived, she found a messy kitchen, two open lunchboxes, and me sitting on the rug. Heitor was asleep with his head on my thigh. Noah was building a tower beside me. Camila was breathing peacefully on the couch.
Their grandmother came out of the kitchen to tell her Camila had slept well. Gabriela touched her daughter’s forehead, checked her breathing, and sat on the end of the couch.
“Has she had her afternoon medicine?”
I opened the log we’d filled in when we gave her the dose.
“Yes. Your mother checked it with me.”
Gabriela read the entry and handed my phone back.
“Did you manage to eat?”
“Between the juice on the floor and the request for more pasta.”
Noah added another block.
“He got there ten minutes early.”
Her gaze shifted to me.
“And the lunches?”
“In the right colors. Heitor’s going to help me check tomorrow’s.”
“Me too,” Noah said.
“Then come early.”
He nodded. Gabriela smoothed Camila’s blanket and looked down at me on the floor, my shirt wrinkled, a sauce stain on my pants. For a few moments she stayed where she was, without getting up to take over.
That night, back at the rental house, I spoke to Gabriela on a video call while she and the children got the lunchboxes ready. I wrote down their choices of fruit. Heitor stuck on the labels and held them up to the camera.
“Tomorrow you can’t take so long with the shoes.”
“Tomorrow we’ll start with the shoes.”
“Before we put our pants on?” Camila asked.
“All right. After the pants.”
All three laughed. Gabriela confirmed what time I’d arrive. Before we hung up, Noah asked for the phone.
He brought his face close to the camera.
“Mine’s blue. Don’t forget.”
I left the list beside my keys for the next morning. At the top of the page, I underlined: Noah, blue.