Chapter 104

[ 916 words ]

Katia’s POV

I sat at the kitchen table and looked at the city through the window and thought about Delia crying in Mama’s kitchen at midnight and Aiden sleeping down the hall and Dubai today and all of it pressing together into a shape I couldn’t yet see the edges of.

Then Aiden appeared in the doorway in his pyjamas, hair magnificent, looking at me with the focused assessment of someone who had just woken up and was taking inventory of the morning.

“Who was on the phone?” he said.

“Grandma p>

“Is everything okay p>

I looked at my son. At his face that was entirely his own and entirely a mystery and entirely the best thing I had ever done.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “What do you want for breakfast p>

He climbed onto his stool. “Waffles,” he said. “With the good syrup p>

“The good syrup it is p>

I got up and made waffles and thought about nothing in particular, which was a lie but a useful one, and by the time Aiden had finished eating and declared them adequate — his highest available rating — the morning had moved on enough that I could move on with it.

Dubai was today.

I had a flight to catch.

The bag was packed by six.

Three business suits. Two gowns, one for the WEG welcome dinner and one for the race weekend gala. Shoes. The Dubai heat requiring different fabric than New York, which Sam had accounted for and I had ignored until last night when I repacked everything myself anyway, which was a habit Sam had long since stopped arguing with.

And at the bottom of the second bag, beneath the false lining that Sam had installed eighteen months ago when we started travelling for events: the race suit. Carbon fibre, matte black, custom-fitted to a body that had been driving competitively since eighteen. Helmet in its case. Gloves. The small encrypted device that connected to the circuit’s timing system.

Sam had packed the suit herself. She hadn’t said a word about it. She had folded it with the same efficient care she gave to everything, placed it under the lining, pressed it flat and moved on, which was the Sam method and which I had always found deeply reassuring.

Aiden had been up before six; I had heard his feet on the hallway floor while I was still packing, the particular light-footed sound of a child moving through a dark house with the careful consideration of someone who had decided not to wake anyone up but was awake himself. By the time I came to the kitchen, he was already on his stool, still in his pyjamas, having assembled his waffle ingredients on the counter with the organised patience of someone prepared to wait for the proper equipment to become available.

We made waffles together. The good syrup. He ate with the focused quiet of someone who was thinking about something and had decided to let it settle before he spoke.

I waited.

“How long will you be gone?” he said finally.

“Five days,” I said. “You’ll be at Gail’s. She’s already cleared her schedule p>

He nodded. He already knew this; we had talked about it three times this week. He was asking again not because he needed the information but because saying it out loud made it more manageable.

“And you’ll call,” he said.

“Every morning and every night,” I said. “Same as always p>

He took another bite of waffle. “And if something happens p>

“Sam calls Gail immediately. Gail calls you. I am on the next flight home.” I said it the way I always said it — completely, without softening. Aiden didn’t need softness. He needed completeness. “Nothing is going to happen. But if it does, those are the steps p>

He nodded. Filed it. Settled.

“Okay,” he said.

Gail arrived at eight thirty with the energy of someone who had been looking forward to five days with Aiden and was not concealing it. She had a bag of her own — enough for the full stay, because she would be moving into the penthouse while we were gone rather than shuttling Aiden back and forth to her apartment. That had been her idea, not mine. She had said, ’He sleeps better in his own bed, and I sleep better knowing that.’ I had not argued because she was right on both counts and because Gail moving in for five days meant Aiden would wake up every morning in his own room with his own things and his own routine intact, which was the closest thing to normal I could give him while I was on the other side of the world.

They had already planned their itinerary — I had not asked for details and had received them anyway: a two-minute briefing from Aiden covering the aquarium, a science museum, and a remote control car track in Brooklyn that I suspected was entirely Gail’s idea.

At the door, Aiden hugged me with the full-body commitment he gave hugs when they mattered. I held him a moment longer than necessary, and he let me, which was one of the ways he showed me he understood things without saying them.

“Win,” he said into my shoulder.

I pulled back and looked at him. “It’s a business trip p>

He looked back at me with those clear, direct eyes. “Win,” he said again.

I kissed his forehead. “I’ll call tonight p>

The WEG jet was waiting at Teterboro.

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