Chapter 20 - WHAT BELONGS TO THEO
Luciano did not open the package.
He called Daniel first.
The protective order prohibited direct contact, but the package had been routed through Marcus’s attorney with a request for permission.
Inside was no letter.
Only a small wooden passenger car.
Handmade.
Crude.
Painted blue.
Daniel looked at Luciano. “You can reject it.”
Luciano stared at the little car for a long time.
Then he asked Theo.
Because the gift was meant for Theo.
Theo studied it.
“Did Uncle Marcus make it?”
“Yes.”
“Is he sorry?”
“I don’t know.”
Theo turned the car over.
There was no message underneath.
No secret compartment.
Just wood.
“I don’t want it,” Theo said.
Luciano nodded. “Okay.”
“But don’t throw it away.”
“What do you want to do with it?”
Theo thought for a moment.
“Put it in Grandpa’s workshop. Maybe someday I’ll want to look at it.”
Luciano felt a strange pride rise in his chest.
Not forgiveness.
Not hate.
Choice.
Marcus and Bernadette had tried to take that choice from Theo.
Luciano placed the blue car on the highest shelf.
Then Theo set the red locomotive on the workbench.
“Can we build more track?”
“All day if you want.”
“You don’t have work?”
Luciano smiled. “This is my work today.”
Theo grinned.
They spent the afternoon measuring, cutting, sanding, and arguing over the new bridge. By sunset, sawdust covered the floor and the house smelled like cedar again.
Luciano looked at his son leaning over the track, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration, and thought about Christmas night.
Everything in this house belongs to me, Marcus had said.
Luciano had answered with anger.
He knew better now.
The house belonged to a trust, the company to its shareholders, and money to an account.
But a child did not belong to anyone like property.
A child belonged first to himself.
A father’s job was not to own his life.
It was to protect his chance to live it.
Theo pushed the locomotive across the new bridge.
It made it all the way over.
“Daddy!”
“I saw it.”
“Again!”
Luciano sat beside him on the workshop floor.
“Again.”
Outside, the last winter snow had finally melted from the Moretti lawn.
Inside, the wooden train rolled forward.
May you like
And this time, nobody tried to take it away.
* * *
