“Today, he was outside,” she said. “In the garden. In a wheelchair with a green blanket. Nurse Gloria was with him, so Mrs. Keene said I could say hi.”

I finally breathed again.

“What did you say?”

“I asked if he was the window boy.”

“And?”

“He asked if I was the waving girl.”

A shy smile appeared on her face.

“His name is Tobias. He turns 11 tomorrow. He likes dinosaurs and hates vanilla pudding.”

“You learned all that today?”

“He talks fast when someone listens.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I looked at the tin.

“And the lunch money?”

“He said nobody was coming for his birthday.”

“Honey, his parents may have reasons.”

“I know,” she said. “But he still looked sad.”

Then she opened her backpack and pulled out a small grocery-store cake and a cheap dinosaur toy with one crooked eye.

“I spent $11.40,” she said. “Every coin I had.”

My eyes stung.

“You gave away all your lunch money?”

“I didn’t give it away. I used it.”

“For a boy you barely know?”

Her chin lifted.

“I know him.”

“Waving at someone isn’t knowing them, Della.”

“Then how come I know he pretends not to cry when his mom leaves fast?”

I had no answer.

I wrapped my arms around her.

“You can’t skip lunch to be kind,” I whispered. “Next time, you tell me. We figure it out together.”

“You’re always figuring out bills,” she mumbled.

“We’ll do it properly,” I said. “We’ll go to the front desk. We’ll ask. If they say no, we listen.”

She leaned back.

“So yes?”

“So maybe.”

Her smile nearly broke me.

—

The following afternoon, I left the diner with aching feet, picked Della up, and we walked to the hospital together.

She carried the cake as if it were made of glass.

At the reception desk, I asked if we could see Tobias on the pediatric floor.

The woman typed something into her computer and shook her head.

“Only approved visitors can go up.”

“Could you call Nurse Gloria?” I asked. “Please?”

Ten minutes later, Nurse Gloria came downstairs.

 

NEXT POST