Chapter 9 - The First Night Vincent Didn’t Watch
By autumn, Mateo’s room looked like a child lived there again.
There were basketball stickers on the wall.
A science project on the dresser.
Books everywhere.
The wheelchair had scratches along one side from an argument with a doorway.
Vincent had nearly had the chair replaced.
Mateo refused.
“It has history.”
Vincent understood.
Clara reduced her hours.
Mateo no longer needed constant care.
At first, Vincent hated that.
Not because Mateo needed her.
Because Vincent did.
He had gotten used to finding Clara at breakfast.
Used to hearing her argue with the cook.
Used to the way she walked into his office without knocking when something mattered.
One afternoon she gave notice.
Not quitting.
Transitioning.
“Three days a week.”
Vincent stared at the paper.
“No.”
Clara smiled.
“We’ve done this before.”
“He needs you.”
“No.”
Vincent looked toward the hallway.
“He likes you.”
“Yes.”
“You know his routine.”
“Yes.”
“You—”
“He can dress his upper body himself. He transfers with supervision. School has support. He’s doing bladder management with the nurse. He knows his pressure schedule.”
Vincent knew she was right.
“He still needs someone.”
“Not me every hour.”
Vincent looked at her.
“And what are you doing?”
“I applied to finish my RN.”
He blinked.
“You’re going back to school?”
“If I get in.”
“You’ll get in.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I can make a call.”
Clara pointed at him.
“Do not.”
He smiled.
“I was joking.”
“You were absolutely not joking.”
“No.”
She laughed.
That evening Mateo learned.
“You’re leaving?”
“Three days.”
“That’s leaving.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Who’s going to make me do skin checks?”
“You.”
He looked offended.
“That’s terrible.”
“Independence is exhausting.”
“What if I forget?”
“Then you set an alarm.”
Mateo looked at Vincent.
“Dad will remind me.”
Clara and Vincent exchanged a look.
“That’s not independence,” she said.
Mateo sighed.
“Fine.”
Then he looked down.
“Are you leaving because I’m better?”
Clara crouched.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you need less help.”
“That’s the same.”
“No.”
She thought.
“When you were little, did your dad carry you?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he carry you everywhere now?”
Mateo looked at his wheelchair.
Clara immediately realized the metaphor had gone wrong.
But Mateo smiled.
“That example sucked.”
“Yes.”
Vincent laughed.
Clara tried again.
“Needing less help doesn’t mean people leave your life.”
Mateo studied her.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Later, Vincent stood in the control room.
Most of the interior camera feeds had been removed months earlier.
Only perimeter security remained.
Monitor 4 was black.
Mateo’s old feed.
Vincent had never removed the monitor itself.
Dominic entered.
“You still come down here?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at the blank screen.
“Habit.”
Dominic leaned against the console.
“You know the kid’s upstairs playing video games with Jamal.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to check?”
“No.”
Dominic stared.
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
“I’m trying to identify you.”
“Get out.”
Dominic laughed and left.
Vincent turned off the control-room lights.
Then he did something he had not done in nearly two years.
May you like
He locked the door from the outside.
And went upstairs.
