Page 15 of Franco
I nod, still slightly off-balance from my conversation with Dante. "Just work checking in. I'm clear for the rest of the day."
"To babysit me and pick up my son?" She sounds skeptical. "Your boss is okay with that?"
"Apparently," I say, still somewhat surprised myself.
Sarah studies me, her perceptiveness once again catching me off guard. "That surprises you."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
She seems to consider asking more, then thinks better of it. Instead, she shifts the ice pack on her ankle and says, "I should probably change out of this uniform before we pick up Tommy."
"Can you manage it with your ankle?" I ask, immediately regretting the question when I see the flush of embarrassment that rises to her cheeks.
"I'll be fine," she says quickly. "I'll just... it might take me a bit longer than usual."
I nod, understanding her need for independence despite her injury. "Take your time. School pickup isn't for a couple of hours."
Sarah pushes herself up from the couch, wincing slightly as she puts weight on her ankle. I resist the urge to help her, sensing that my assistance might not be welcome for this particular task. She limps toward what I assume is her bedroom, then pauses in the doorway.
"Thank you," she says, not looking back at me. "For everything. I know I keep saying it, but... it means a lot."
Before I can respond, she disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I hear the soft sounds of drawers opening and closing, movement as she changes clothes.
I remain in the living room, taking the opportunity to observe more details of her life. A small bookshelf in the corner holds a mix of children's books and a few worn paperbacks. On top sits a framed photograph of Sarah, looking younger and less tired, holding a newborn Tommy. Beside it is a child's drawing,clearly Tommy's work—stick figures labeled "Mommy" and "Me" holding hands next to what appears to be a house.
The coffee table holds a stack of mail, most of it bills based on the return addresses visible. A notebook lies open, filled with calculations—budget planning, every dollar accounted for with meticulous precision.
It's a life of managed scarcity. Of making do with less than enough. Of prioritizing a child's needs above all else.
I think of my own apartment. Spacious, expensive, and utterly impersonal. No photographs, no children's drawings, nothing that marks it as mine beyond the few possessions I've accumulated. It's a place to sleep, to change clothes, nothing more.
Sarah emerges from the bedroom a few minutes later, now dressed in jeans and a simple blue sweater that's slightly too large for her frame. Her hair is brushed and tied back more neatly, though still in the same practical bun.
"Better," she says, limping back to the couch. "Less like I just rolled out of bed."
"You should keep icing that ankle until we need to leave," I tell her, gesturing to the ice pack she'd left behind.
She nods and sits, propping her foot up again and reapplying the ice. "So," she says after a moment, "what do people in your line of work do on weekday afternoons when they're not delivering groceries to strangers?"
"Usually I'd be overseeing security for Dante's businesses," I say, deciding on a version of the truth that doesn't involve the more unsavory aspects of my job. "Checking vulnerabilities, training staff, ensuring everything runs smoothly."
"Security," she repeats, as if testing the word. "That explains why you move the way you do. Always aware of everything around you. Noticing details most people miss."
"It's necessary in my position," I say.
"I bet." She adjusts the ice pack again. "What were you doing in my neighborhood last night? It's not exactly the kind of place I'd expect someone like you to be walking around after midnight."
"I was heading to the docks. Business matter. Your alley was a shortcut."
She nods, absorbing this information. "Lucky for us."
"Yes."
Chapter 6 - Sarah
"Yes."
Lucky for us, indeed. If he hadn't been taking that shortcut, if he hadn't stopped when he heard my scream... I shudder to think what might have happened. Those teenagers might have taken more than just my purse. Tommy could have been hurt.
