Chapter 13
By noon, the room was filled with the pale, watery winter sun that managed to punch through the smoke of the chimneys across the courtyard. The nurse returned with a tray of lukewarm broth and a clean stack of hospital linens, but she took one look at the two men in the room—one old and stiff in his black tuxedo, one young and grubby in his torn gray coat—and quietly backed out, closing the door without a word.
Julian stood by the window, looking down at the alley below where a stray cat was picking through a pile of discarded vegetable crates. He had taken off his overcoat and draped it over the back of the plastic chair, revealing the stark white of his shirt and the black silk of his bow tie that now looked a little crumpled at the edges.
Leo woke up around noon, rubbing his eyes with the back of his dirty sleeve, blinking against the glare of the window. He looked around the room with a sudden flash of panic before his eyes landed on Julian standing by the glass.
"Are you still here?" the boy asked, his voice thick with sleep.
"I told you," Julian said without turning around. "I don't have anywhere else to be."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the heavy gold fountain pen he used to sign deeds and lease agreements, and walked over to the narrow bedside table where Clara’s chart lay beside a plastic cup of water. He flipped the metal cover open, turned to the blank back page of the intake form, and pressed the nib against the paper.
He didn't write his business name. He didn't write Vance & Associates, Real Estate and Investments. He wrote his given name—the one he had buried under fifty years of French limestone and notarized contracts—using the same cramped, barbed-wire script he had learned at the parish school by the river.
Julian Vance. Miller's son.
He tore the page from the clipboard, folded it twice, and slid it under the wooden flute on the blanket.
"What's that?" Leo asked, leaning over the bed to sniff at the fresh ink.
May you like
"It's a receipt," Julian said, his voice steady again, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the windowpane where the city blurred into the gray sky. "It means the debt is paid."
***
