Page 113 of Night of Shadows

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Nora is telling Brontos about the Children's Museum.

"Brontos. The museum has fish. Real ones. Mama said."

Brontos has no opinion on file.

"And there is a building you can walk inside that is shaped like a bubble. Not a bubble. A pretend bubble. Mama said."

Brontos accepts this.

"And there is a thing where you can put your hand in the water, and the fish do not bite you because they are nice fish. Mama said."

Brontos is keeping notes.

I walk in silence beside her.

Halfway down the second block, Nora stops walking. She looks up at me.

"Daddy."

"Yes, ‘agápi mou.’"

"Mama is sad today."

I crouch down on the sidewalk. The salt is grinding under the knees of my pants. I do not care. Nora's small face is at my eye level, and her eyes are golden like mine, and she is, in twenty-six months and however many days of being conscious of the world, learned to read her mother's face.

"Mama is not sad," I say. "Mama has work tomorrow that is making her serious."

"Serious like sad."

"Serious like brave."

Nora considers this with the gravity she brings to all important new information.

"Brave like Brontos."

"Brave like Brontos."

"Okay."

She starts walking again. The hand in mine is small. The boots are loud. We go on.

? ? ?

The daycare foyer is warm.

Ms. Fitzgerald is at the sign-in clipboard. She’s in her late fifties, with a gray cardigan, half-moon reading glasses on a chain. She’s been Nora's teacher for fourteen months. She’s, by my count, signed Nora in for approximately two hundred and sixty mornings. She’s signed Nora in once with me before, on a Wednesday three weeks ago, when Maeve had an early federal building meeting, and I dropped Nora off at 8:15 AM.

Ms. Fitzgerald looks up.

"Good morning, Mr. Konstantinos."

"Good morning."

"Nora."

"Hi, Ms. Fitzgerald. Brontos says hi."

"Hi, Brontos."

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