21.
DANTE FERRAZ
I arrived at seven fifty-eight.
I waited inside the car until eight.
I did not want to turn two minutes into another mistake.
Aurora opened the door before I knocked.
“Is he awake?”
“Since six.”
“Any reaction?”
“No.”
I entered.
Tomás sat on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, watching a cartoon.
Elisa and Cecília sat on the floor.
The three characters in the program shouted too much.
“Daddy Dante,” Tomás said without taking his eyes from the screen.
“Hello.”
“My allergy went away.”
“I’m glad.”
“But I can’t eat cookie.”
“It depends on the cookie.”
Aurora appeared carrying a box.
“We need to reinforce that.”
She sat in front of all three children.
She placed different packages on the table.
“You cannot accept food from another person without asking an adult.”
Elisa raised her hand.
“Not even teacher?”
“Your teacher knows what you can eat. But if it is food from another child, no.”
“And from Daddy Dante?” Tomás asked.
Aurora looked at me.
“He asks first.”
“Always,” I said.
“And Mrs. Lurdes?”
“She knows too.”
Cecília pointed toward one package.
“This kills?”
Aurora went still.
I knelt.
“We are not going to say food kills. Some things can make Tomás very sick.”
“Like yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And stab.”
“He may need the medicine.”
Tomás crossed his arms.
“Don’t want more medicine.”
“Then don’t take food without asking,” Elisa said.
He pushed his sister.
“Don’t boss.”
Aurora separated them.
“Do not push.”
“She bossed.”
“Even so.”
The routine returned to its usual form.
That amazed me.
The previous day, I had believed my son might die.
That morning, he complained about the cartoon and fought with his sister.
Normal life.
Extraordinary.
Aurora needed to work in the studio but did not want Tomás near chemicals.
“I can stay with him in the living room,” I offered.
“I will be in the next room.”
“All right.”
“The girls have school.”
“I can take them.”
She hesitated.
“Alone?”
“I know the route.”
“With me.”
“I know how to use all three car seats.”
“Only two today.”
“All right.”
“And…”
She stopped.
The list of rules appeared ready.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You may say it.”
“Do not make detours.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t stop anywhere.”
“All right.”
“Go inside the school with them.”
“Of course.”
“Cecília may not want to enter.”
“I’ll bring her cloth.”
“It’s in her backpack.”
“All right.”
“Elisa…”
“Talks to strangers.”
“Yes.”
“I won’t take my eyes off her.”
Aurora breathed.
“Come straight back.”
“I will.”
She crouched in front of the girls.
“Daddy Dante is taking you.”
Elisa celebrated.
Cecília held her mother’s hand.
“You not going?”
“Not today. Tomás needs to stay home.”
“I stay too.”
“You’re fine and you’re going to school.”
“Don’t want.”
“I know.”
Cecília began crying.
Aurora looked at me.
Not as before.
Not asking me to move away.
Asking for help.
I crouched.
“Would you like to choose the music in the car?”
“No.”
“Would you like to sit behind your mother?”
“She not going.”
“That’s true.”
A mistake.
I tried something else.
“May I take your stone?”
Cecília looked up.
“Which?”
I removed the gray stone from my pocket.
I still had it.
“This one.”
“You still have.”
“Always.”
“It go school?”
“If you allow.”
Cecília took the stone.
“It goes with me.”
“All right.”
She agreed to put on her backpack.
At the door, Aurora caught my arm.
The touch was brief.
“Tell me when you arrive.”
“I will.”
“And when you leave them.”
“Yes.”
“Not only when you return.”
“I understand.”
She released me.
In the car, Elisa requested music.
Cecília held the stone.
“Mommy didn’t come,” she said.
“She stayed with Tomás today.”
“I know.”
“Are you sad?”
“A little.”
“Would you like to talk?”
“No.”
“All right.”
We remained silent for part of the journey.
Elisa did not allow it for long.
“Daddy Dante, when you were a kid, did you have school?”
“I did.”
“A long time ago?”
“Quite a long time.”
“Had dinosaurs?”
“No.”
“Then not that long.”
“Dinosaurs lived before I did.”
“Before Mommy?”
“Long before.”
“Before Mrs. Lurdes?”
“Before her too.”
Elisa thought.
“Before God?”
I looked in the rearview mirror.
“That question is for your mother.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Mommy knows.”
“She knows a great deal.”
We reached the school.
I sent Aurora a message before getting out.
We arrived.
I led the girls to the gate.
Elisa ran inside.
Cecília stopped.
“Stone stays?”
“If you want it to.”
“You come back?”
“To collect you later.”
“Mommy too?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She squeezed the object.
“Don’t promise.”
The words surprised me.
Aurora had taught her.
“I won’t promise. But I intend to be here.”
“You talk hard.”
“I’ll try very hard to return.”
“Better.”
She went inside.
Marta approached.
“Thank you for yesterday.”
“You acted quickly.”
“We are very sorry.”
“It was an accident.”
I believed that.
I did not want the school to treat Tomás like a threat or isolate the children out of fear.
“We should review the protocol,” I said. “I can pay for allergy-response training for the entire staff.”
The proposal came before I thought.
Money.
Solving.
Marta hesitated.
“It would be useful.”
Aurora needed to know first.
“I’ll speak to their mother.”
I corrected myself in time.
I returned to the car.
I sent:
Girls dropped off. Cecília took the stone. Marta suggested reviewing the protocol. I thought about funding allergy-response training for the staff, but I did not confirm anything.
Her response took a while.
We can discuss it.
We can.
Not “no.”
Not “you do not decide.”
We can.
When I returned, Tomás was asleep on the sofa.
Aurora sat beside him working on an estimate.
“Did it go well?”
“Yes.”
“Did Cecília cry?”
“A little. The stone helped.”
She looked at my empty pocket.
“You carry it every day?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She gave it to me.”
“It’s a stone.”
“I know.”
“You own objects worth millions.”
“None of them were given to me by my daughter.”
Aurora lowered her gaze.
“About the training…”
“You can pay half.”
“Half?”
“The school should cover part. You and I divide the remainder.”
“All right.”
“Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
She sat again.
I remained near the door.
“You may come in,” she said.
“I’m already inside.”
“You know what I mean.”
I approached the sofa.
Tomás slept with one hand open over the blanket.
“Has he eaten?”
“Almost nothing.”
“May I prepare something?”
Aurora raised an eyebrow.
“Do you know how?”
“I can make eggs.”
“He said the egg was looking at him.”
“I can remove the eyes.”
She laughed.
“They’re yolks.”
“I can scramble them.”
“Try.”
I went to the kitchen.
I cracked two eggs.
Part of the shell fell in.
Aurora watched from the living room.
“Do you really know how?”
“Conceptually.”
“That is not knowing.”
I removed the shell.
“I’ll learn.”
“Is that your new motto?”
“It appears to be.”
I scrambled the eggs.
I burned part of them.
The rest remained raw.
Aurora took over the pan.
“Move.”
“I was almost managing.”
“You were producing two dangerous textures.”
I stood beside her.
“Keep stirring,” she explained.
“I’m learning.”
“Don’t say it.”
“All right.”
Tomás woke at the smell.
“Want bread.”
The eggs were irrelevant.
Aurora attempted to hide a smile.
“Children aren’t logical problems,” she reminded me.
“They aren’t grateful either.”
“Definitely not.”
After the snack, she returned to the studio.
I remained with Tomás.
Alone.
Aurora was one wall away.
Even so, it was progress.
We built a racetrack on the floor using empty boxes.
Tomás decided one of them was a hospital.
“This car has allergy,” he said.
“Cars do not have allergies.”
“This one does.”
“All right.”
“Gotta stab.”
My stomach tightened.
“We can give it another medicine.”
“Doesn’t work.”
“Then the pen helps.”
Tomás picked up a pencil and pressed it against the toy car.
“Done.”
“Did it hurt?”
“It cried.”
“Then got better?”
“Got better.”
He was playing with the experience to understand it.
I had read about that.
Still, seeing it was different.
“Were you frightened yesterday?” I asked.
“Was.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No.”
“That’s all right.”
He pushed the car.
“You stayed with me.”
“I did.”
“Mommy took long.”
“Her car broke down.”
“But she came.”
“Always.”
Tomás looked at me.
“You always come?”
The question stopped the air.
Do not promise.
I wanted to say yes.
Wanted to erase every fear.
But Aurora was right.
“I’ll do everything I can to come.”
“Like school?”
“Like school.”
“Okay.”
He accepted it.
The imperfect answer was enough.
Aurora appeared in the doorway.
I did not know how long she had been listening.
“It is almost time to collect the girls,” she said.
“May I go?”
She looked at Tomás.
“He shouldn’t go out.”
“You stay with him.”
“And you collect the girls alone.”
“Yes.”
Aurora breathed.
“All right.”
The word meant more than the first authorization.
That morning, it had been necessity.
Now it was choice.
She picked up the telephone and sent a message to the school.
“They’ve been informed.”
“I’ll come straight back.”
“I know.”
I stopped.
Aurora noticed too.
She had said I know.
Not “I hope so.”
Not “we’ll see.”
I know.
I left before I could turn it into something else.
At school, Cecília ran toward me.
“You came back.”
“I did.”
She opened her hand.
The stone was there.
“It went school.”
“Did it like school?”
“It stayed in bag.”
“Then it did not see much.”
“But was with me.”
I picked her up.
I did not ask.
She offered herself.
Elisa took my hand.
We returned home.
Three children.
No Aurora inside the car.
My heart remained attentive to every sound.
But I did not feel panic.
I felt responsibility.
When we arrived, Aurora stood at the door.
She watched the girls get out.
Cecília ran toward her.
Elisa began describing a painting.
I removed the backpacks.
“Everything all right?” Aurora asked.
“Everything.”
“Any problems?”
“Elisa attempted to speak to a man outside the school.”
“He had a dog,” Elisa explained.
“And I told her she needed to stay close to me.”
Aurora looked at her daughter.
“What do we do with strangers?”
“Know them after.”
“Elisa.”
“Stay close to the adult.”
“That.”
She went inside.
Aurora remained.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Stop saying that.”
“All right.”
“You did well.”
The sentence struck me.
Aurora noticed.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The same one as with the smile.”
“I’m not waiting for a reward.”
“It looks like you are.”
“Perhaps a little.”
She rolled her eyes.
But there was a smile.
Small.
Real.
I followed her inside.
That night, in my planner, I added:
First time collecting the girls alone.
Then I thought and crossed out “alone.”
I was never alone.
I carried Aurora’s rules.
Cecília’s fears.
Elisa’s questions.
Tomás’s life.
That was fatherhood.
Even when no one stood beside me, four people occupied every decision.