48
LUCA BELLANDI
The morning I brought Camila her pencils, I received the proposed arrangements for Paraty.
The team had cleared her to wait at home until admission, with local follow-up, instructions for school, and a contact if anything changed. Confirmation of the supply arrived that day. Gabriela fitted in the work she could resume before we returned to S?o Paulo; I reviewed my schedule with Matteo.
The document was copied to the lawyers. I read the proposed times and transport arrangements. I’d enter their routine gradually: visits and outings with Gabriela or Cris nearby first; if those went well, I’d help with school mornings.
The ban on arriving without an arrangement was near the beginning. I paused there before reading on. We’d also discuss protecting the children’s images and passing the medical instructions to everyone caring for them. I asked to join that conversation with the team.
At the end of the email, Gabriela had written one sentence just for me: Being close to your children doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. I read it before answering.
I replied:
I agree to the arrangements. I’ll confirm my work schedule and get back to you today.
An hour later, Matteo found me looking at properties in Paraty.
“The permanent suite at the Bellandi guesthouse will be ready tomorrow,” he said.
“I won’t be staying at a group property.”
“There’s a historic house available in the center. The agent says he can arrange an immediate purchase.”
“A rental.”
“Sir?”
“A rented house close enough to keep to the schedule. I don’t need a staff living with me.”
Matteo studied photographs of a two-bedroom house with a small kitchen and a yard enclosed by the spread of a mango tree.
“You plan to live here?”
“For my time in Paraty. I’ll go back to S?o Paulo the week of the procedure. I want somewhere to have them over without relying on a hotel room.”
“This could last months.”
“Or years.”
He set down the tablet.
“As chief of staff, I have to ask: should I reorganize your base of operations in Brazil?”
“I want a schedule I can keep after Camila’s procedure. Work out what I can handle from here, what I can delegate, and which trips actually require me.”
“The board expects you back in Milan.”
“I’ll speak to the board. I need this settled before I promise the children a routine.”
“And can you cook?”
I gave him a look.
“I’ll learn.”
We traveled to Paraty after lunch. Late that afternoon, I received the keys to the house the agent had made available to rent. It smelled of damp wood and fresh paint. I put my suitcase in the larger bedroom and set up the computer in the other, on a narrow table by the window.
I bought coffee, bread, fruit, and a pan. On the first day, I discovered that a washing machine required more decisions than a corporate merger. I hired a cleaner twice a week. The rest of the time, I’d have to find the things that always appeared ready for me in hotels.
The first night, I burned the rice. I ate bread over the sink and read the instructions from Camila’s team. I wrote down a question for the nurse the next morning. Then I looked for the washing machine’s outlet, half my suitcase still unpacked.
Gabriela stopped by the next day, after the nurse’s guidance session. I wanted to invite the children for a snack. She looked at both bedrooms, opened the cabinet beneath the sink, and pointed to the cleaning products.
“These need to go somewhere else. And that window will need a safety screen.”
We moved the products to a high cabinet. I called someone to fit the screen and check the outlets before the visit. Gabriela stayed in the kitchen while I wrote down what remained to be done.
“I’ll try making pancakes,” I said.
She looked at the burned pan on the sink.
“I’ll bring fruit.”
We arranged the visit for the following afternoon.
The next day, I opened the door in jeans and a black T-shirt, with a white smear on my forearm.
“Is that flour?” Gabriela asked.
“I hope so.”
A worrying smell drifted from the kitchen. Heitor went past me.
“You burned something!”
“Pancakes.”
“Mommy burns the first one too,” Camila confided.
“Camila,” Gabriela protested.
“She does.”
Cris had come with them. Camila wanted to show him the yard; Noah stayed in the doorway, holding his backpack.
“Is this your house?”
“I rent it. I’ll stay here when I’m in Paraty.”
“Can we come again?”
“We can arrange it, if you’d like.”
He came in and examined the windows.
“Then will you go back to Italy?”
“I may need to travel. But I’ll come back when I say I will.”
He said nothing. The kitchen looked like a controlled disaster: batter on the counter, three different-colored plates, a pile of misshapen pancakes. No employee would appear to set it all right.
“I can do it,” Gabriela offered.
“Let me try one more.”
“Can I at least open the window?”
“This one will work.”
She surveyed the flour-covered counter.
“The confidence is impressive.”
Heitor pointed to the pan.
“It’s smoking again.”
I turned off the heat and lifted a nearly black pancake.
“Not this time.”
Heitor roared with laughter. Gabriela pulled him away from the stove and helped Camila sit at the table. I started the batter again, a video open on my phone. Noah came closer to peer into the bowl.
Once I was done at the stove, I took the plates to the table in the yard. Cris and Gabriela were with the children. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture so familiar I stopped with the plates in my hands. She looked up, noticed, and returned to her conversation with Camila.
I set aside a pancake without banana for Camila, remembering what she’d said on the video call. Noah asked for the same; Heitor wanted the biggest. I’d remembered. Gabriela tasted hers.
“It’s edible.”
“Devastating praise.”
For a moment, we smiled at each other as we used to. She looked away first. After the snack, I showed them the mango tree and the office. Heitor asked where I slept. I opened the larger bedroom and watched him inspect the pillow, as though he needed proof I’d stay.
While his brother and sister looked at the bedroom, Noah had stayed at the table drawing. As they left, he showed me the house with six people in the yard. Five stood together. The sixth was near the door.
“Is that me?”
“Yes. You’re opening it for us.”
I swallowed.
“It’s lovely.”
I held the paper carefully.
“May I keep it?”
He thought before nodding.
“You can’t lose it.”
“I’ll keep it in the desk drawer.”
He peered into the office to check which desk I meant. On my next visit to the guesthouse, Gabriela was making a chart for the remaining days before S?o Paulo. We drew my car beside the times I’d come. The first school morning would depend on how that week’s visits went.
My car looked like a box. Camila added wheels. Gabriela wrote the school pickup time beneath it, and Noah ran a finger under the numbers.
“Is that when you’ll get us?” he asked.
“Ten minutes before you come out,” Gabriela explained.
She put the chart on the fridge. Heitor kept pressing the magnet until she told him it was secure. I photographed the schedule so I wouldn’t need to ask again.
That night, I opened the drawer and looked at Noah’s drawing. My body was almost as big as the door, but he hadn’t forgotten the pale streak. I spent a long time looking at that detail.