Chapter 29 - The Boy With the Chocolate Cake
Matthew turned eighteen at Romano’s.
He insisted.
Table Twelve.
Mrs. Romano had retired, but her daughter now ran the restaurant.
Chef Julian was older.
Marcus had more gray hair.
Claire used a cane but remained terrifying.
Eleanor attended with a new partner.
Arthur Blake, released from prison after serving his sentence, sent a card but did not come.
Hannah respected that.
Not every healed relationship needed reunion.
Matthew arrived last.
Tall.
Dark hair like Sofia.
Gray eyes like Victor.
He wore a simple suit.
No convoy.
No bodyguards visible.
Though Marcus had definitely hidden two.
Dinner began.
Victor tried not to become emotional.
Failed.
“Eighteen,” he said.
Matthew groaned.
“Dad.”
“I remember when you were six.”
“You tell this story every birthday.”
“You destroyed Romano’s.”
“One time.”
“Fourteen plates.”
“Twelve.”
“Fourteen.”
Hannah laughed.
“Thirteen. I cleaned them.”
Dessert arrived.
Chocolate cake.
Raspberry compote.
Three forks became seven.
Matthew stared.
“The honesty cake.”
“Still works,” Hannah said.
Victor raised his glass.
“To Matthew.”
Everyone lifted theirs.
Victor continued.
“When you were born, I thought my job was to protect you from the world.”
Matthew smiled.
“Here comes the speech.”
Victor ignored him.
“I eventually learned my bigger job was protecting the world from what our family might teach you.”
The table became quiet.
“You have become kinder than me, braver than me, and far less impressed by expensive watches.”
“I like watches.”
“Traitor.”
Laughter.
Victor’s voice softened.
“I am proud of you.”
Matthew looked down.
Then pulled something from his jacket.
An envelope.
“What is that?” Hannah asked.
“College decision.”
Everyone froze.
“You already opened it?” Victor asked.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Matthew smiled.
“Columbia.”
Hannah screamed.
Claire cried.
Victor looked relieved.
“Thank God.”
Matthew frowned.
“What?”
“Public university tuition was becoming attractive.”
“Columbia is private.”
Victor sighed.
“I know.”
Matthew laughed.
Then became serious.
“I’m studying child psychology.”
Victor stared.
Hannah’s eyes filled.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matthew looked around the table.
“Because angry kids usually aren’t angry.”
Hannah stopped breathing.
Eighteen years old.
He remembered.
The broken plates.
The held breath.
The slice of cake.
Victor looked at Hannah.
Everything had begun there.
Matthew continued:
“I want to work with kids who grow up around violence.”
Victor’s eyes shone.
“Your grandfather would be horrified.”
“Good.”
They laughed.
After dinner, Matthew walked through the restaurant.
He stopped near the exact place where he once stood holding a vase.
A young busboy nearly collided with him.
“Sorry.”
Matthew smiled.
“No problem.”
At a nearby table, a little boy cried because his parents were arguing.
Matthew watched.
Then walked to the dessert cart.
He bought a slice of chocolate cake.
Hannah noticed.
“What are you doing?”
Matthew shrugged.
“Testing a theory.”
He carried the plate toward the boy.
Victor laughed quietly.
“What?”
Hannah leaned against him.
“You see it?”
“Yes.”
“Full circle?”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
He watched his son kneel beside the child.
“Better.”
