Chapter 8: Because we separate
He didn't come to when he was moved to the passenger seat, or when the car started again. He didn't hear the discussion between mother and daughter or the hesitation in the woman's voice. But when the kid was released from his seat and his cries rose to an even more desperate crescendo, his eyes automatically opened, as if some primal reaction had forced him to wake up.
Disoriented, winded and in pain, he sat up quickly – too quickly – and intended to prevent whoever it was from harming the child.
"Stay still, it's okay!" urged a voice next to him.
But the boy was calling his name, and for the first time he didn't mind the word he was using – he welcomed it.
Mando managed to open the passenger door and would have reached his goal, defending the kid, if it wasn't for two factors. First, the person who was now holding the child was also a child – a girl, who looked petrified. Second, his knees gave out under him and he would have face-planted if not for the arms around his shoulders stopping his fall.
"Don't move, you've lost a lot of blood," said the woman from the car. "We're not going to harm your son, we promise, we just want to help," she added, Mando's eyes never leaving the boy's movements.
He felt cold all over, his shirt drenched in blood and sweat, and for the life of him couldn't get his breath back. Dimly aware that he needed to stop the bleeding on his back, and somewhat cognizant of the fact that the child looked safe for now in the young girl's arms, he asked for the first aid kit that Paz had placed behind the driver seat. When the woman let go of his shoulders, he barely managed to hold himself upright on his shaking arms.
"It's okay," he said in the direction of the two children – he wasn't sure which one he was trying to reassure, as both seemed either terrified of him or for him.
When the kit was opened in front of him, he was pleased to see that he had everything he needed. He started listing all the steps he needed to go through in order to focus on something other than the pain: irrigate the wound with sterile solution, numb the site with a shot of local anesthetic, close the incision with a stapler, cover it with gauze, and finally swallow pain meds and antibiotics to hopefully prevent an infection. He could do this. He had to.
"Leave us, we'll be fine," he told the woman in a tone he hoped convincing.
"You're not going to do this here, come inside," she replied.
For the first time, Mando looked at his surroundings and noticed they were no longer on the side of the small track where he thought he'd parked the car. They were in front of an old house, surrounded by trees. Who knew who else was there? Who knew who else was watching them?
"It's fine," said the woman, somehow sensing his distress, "it's just us, there's no one around, you're safe."
But he wasn't.
"Go back inside your house, leave us," he pressed, trying to order his thoughts over the incessant buzzing in his ears. They couldn't stay here in the open, he was putting everybody at risk.
"You can't treat that wound on your own, you need help," she argued.
Mando looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. He could see in her dark eyes and hard stare that she wouldn't easily be dissuaded.
"It's not safe for you to stay with us, your daughter…" he started, before she interrupted him.
"Your son needs you in one piece, now let us take you inside."
She'd beaten him at his own game, using the child as his weak spot.
"You don't know who we are," he tried as his last trump card, his heart beating so fast it felt like it wanted to escape his chest.
"You're the man they mentioned on the radio – the soldier from Los Angeles. You killed someone in Castle Rock. Was he trying to take your son?"
Your son. It was the third time she used that word.
"He's not mine," he corrected her, not witnessing the surprise in her eyes as he lowered his to the ground, "but yes, he was trying to get the kid," Mando conceded.
He couldn't feel his legs under him anymore, and the toddler had quieted down a bit in the girl's arms. He'd probably exhausted himself crying – the little one needed proper sleep. His trembling arms hardly supporting his weight and recognizing the tell-tale signs of impending loss of consciousness, Mando came to an uncomfortable decision: he needed help indeed.
So he nodded, hoping the woman would understand that she'd won, and with her assistance, they slowly made their way to the house. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and managed to support a great deal of his weight. The few steps leading to the porch almost proved impossible to his screaming back, and he passed out again, but only for a few seconds. The woman helped him stand up again, unfazed, and together they managed to get inside.
The next few hours were a blur, but he didn't regret his decision to ask for help – there was no way he would have managed to close the wound on his own. Her hands proved steady, and she only seemed to hesitate when it came to using the staple.
"Why not stitches instead?" she asked.
"The kit doesn't have the equipment, it's meant for stabilizing wounds quickly on the battlefield. The staples are faster to apply."
She still wasn't convinced, but didn't require more guidance and proceeded carefully. The local anesthetic had barely made a dent on his pain, but Mando was past the point of feeling anything but. The two capsules of morphine he allowed himself afterwards with the antibiotics must have had an effect though, because he woke up in a different place.
It took him a while to come to, and at first he had no memory of what had happened or where he was. He was lying on his right side on something soft. The pain was still there and he had no trouble remembering the stabbing now, but it was somehow diffused, as though it was emanating from something other than his body. Like he was no longer directly connected to the wound. There, but not there. In other words, the morphine was still working, which meant he hadn't been sleeping long.
His ears were still ringing and his vision poor over the spots dancing across his eyes – he could recognize the signs of serious blood loss, but hopefully he'd recuperate in a timely manner. He didn't see how he could get himself a transfusion anyway.
A sound stopped him in his attempt to slowly stand up and prepare to leave the place. The child. He was giggling in another room nearby. He hadn't heard it often, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was his kid laughing.
His kid.
It had taken being literally stabbed in the back by his own gang to come to accept it.
Mando let himself close his eyes for a little while longer. They were safe. He could rest.
The second time he came to, soft light was streaming from a window close to where he was lying. It was morning. He'd been asleep for hours, with scant memories of the night. Being too hot then too cold. Nightmares. Trying to convince himself that the worst hadn't happened while he'd been out of commission, he took stock of his condition. His right side was numb from not having moved in a while, and his lower back would still cause shooting pain to the rest of his body anytime he tried to move in a certain way, but he was better.
"Your fever's gone," said a voice above him.
Mando tried very hard not to react, for fear the true agony he'd suffered would come back, but he didn't quite manage it and swallowed hard.
"Do you need more morphine?" asked the woman, reading his movements, "I got you to take one during the night but it's been hours, now."
He had zero memory of such an event, and that worried him. Carefully, he pushed himself up with quavering arms and closed his eyes forcefully when his head started spinning. When he was sure he wouldn't suddenly throw up, he opened them again. He'd been moved to some kind of camping sleeping pad in what he assumed was the living room. He propped his good side against the back of the sofa directly to his right, and tried to remember what he had wanted to say.
"You passed out after you took morphine the first time. So we couldn't move you to a bed upstairs. I hope you weren't too uncomfortable."
"It was fine, thank you," he managed to reply. "No more morphine," he added, finally remembering the question she had asked.
She looked doubtful at that but didn't press him. She had knelt on the floor, a safe distance away so as not to appear as hovering or crowding him. When he saw her eyes dip slightly, he finally noticed that his chest wasn't covered by anything and managed to quickly grab the sheet that lay discarded near his feet, reassured at least to see that he was still wearing his jeans. The fast movement had cost him, but he felt better with the barrier between them. Mando thought he spied an amused smile on her lips, yet he couldn't be sure.
"You were burning with fever at one point last night, and your shirt was drenched already. You kept on mumbling things but you didn't fight me. You seem a lot better, now."
"What was I saying?" he asked, self-conscious once more.
"I couldn't quite make everything out, you were half delirious. It was a mix of Spanish and English, I think. Something about a cupboard, maybe. And you were asking about your child."
The child. Mando cursed himself for not having asked after him the minute he woke up.
"Where is he?" he inquired, the words rushing out now, "Is he okay? Did he eat? Did you change him? Did…"
"He's fine," the woman interrupted, calmly "he's still sleeping upstairs with my daughter, Winta. He's safe."
"We'll be gone as soon as he wakes up, I promise."
She looked doubtful again at that but didn't say anything.
"Thank you," Mando added after a few seconds of silence, "for everything. I'm really grateful for your help, it's…well, it was very nice of you."
He was so very bad at this and his fuzzy head wasn't helping.
"It's Omera, by the way," she told him.
It hadn't crossed his mind to ask for her name, and he wondered what that said about him.
"And you're Mando?" she asked, and he nodded, then frowned.
"How do you…"
"They said your name on the radio."
Right, the radio. He was still being hunted. He'd killed a man the previous day. This propelled him to his feet, but it proved harder than sitting up, and he had to grip the sofa tightly. The simple act of putting any kind of weight on his left foot was ridiculously painful. How he was supposed to walk, let alone drive, he didn't know. But he had no choice. So he let go of the couch and proceeded slowly. It took five long minutes to reach the kitchen, which was only a few steps away on the old creaky floorboards, and Omera followed him in silence. She didn't try to help him, but she didn't try to stop him either – she was letting him come to the obvious conclusion on his own – he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
He sat at the kitchen table with a relieved breath, and spied the first aid kit on the table. He rummaged for the painkillers he knew were there, and Omera handed him a glass of water. Not morphine, he had to be careful with it and wanted to keep a clear head, but stuff he hoped strong enough to help with his state.
"You should drink more water, you need fluids," she stated, refilling his glass.
"Do you work in the medical field?" Mando asked, remembering her efficiency the previous day when dealing with his wound.
"No," she replied. "Not for a long time, at least."
He wondered what that meant, but didn't press her – it wasn't his business.
"Are you hungry?" she inquired, intent on changing the subject, it seemed. "Your son had some food last night, and we gave him a bottle. We got the stuff from your car. Clothes and diapers as well, I hope it was okay."
"Of course," Mando replied, puzzled that she would be unsure about such a thing and choosing not to correct her again on her assumption – he'd done it once already.
"I parked it in the garage. No one comes around here, but just in case."
"Thank you," he repeated.
"The guns I left in the car."
There was no judgment in her voice so Mando simply nodded. He looked at her again and tried not to notice how beautiful she was. He felt utterly inadequate, with the stupid sheet over his shoulders and the dried sweat and blood stickily clinging to his hair and skin. His only worth lay in his actions. Being incapacitated meant he had nothing to offer.
"I'm not hungry, you've done far enough for me already. I'm sorry if I kept you up last night."
"Not at all," Omera replied, somehow finding his words amusing. He must have looked as bad as he felt, because she next suggested he might benefit from a shower. That he agreed on, and they shuffled to the small bathroom, thankfully located downstairs. She left him to his own devices after bringing him his bag, and he was relieved, fearing she had been about to suggest helping him.
The pain meds had kicked in, but it didn't stop him from emitting a startled gasp when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He didn't think he'd ever looked so pale or tired, and he was pretty sure he couldn't blame the lightning on that. Mando tried to focus on the positive, his wound, which didn't look infected when he peeked under the bandage, and was no longer bleeding. Still, he reminded himself to take another round of antibiotics today.
It proved tricky to wash but the warm spray felt good on his skin. It also allowed himself to think for a bit. Hopefully, he'd be well-enough to travel later today, as he couldn't take advantage of the woman's kindness for long – Omera, he corrected himself – then he'd have to figure out if it was still safe to drive to Paz's sister, or if he needed to find somewhere else to hide for a while. The police and feds were probably on red alert, and more gang members would come.
This last consideration was the hardest to swallow – a tiny part of him had still been hoping that somehow, the situation would be resolved. That he could reason with Greef, make him see that he was wrong. But he had to accept that it would never happen, now. His own gang, his family had abandoned him. For good. There was no going back from this. Just like there was no going back from the vow he had made to himself regarding the boy, his boy. He wouldn't stop until he knew he was safe.
He didn't see much improvement in the mirror after his shower – his hair was still shaggy and his face scruffy, but he felt slightly better.
When he rejoined Omera in the kitchen, she was on the phone. His satellite phone. Fearing the worst, part of his mind started planning his escape with the kid.
"He's here," she said to whoever it was, "he can talk to you."
She walked towards his paralyzed form, and handed him the receiver.
"It rang while you were in the shower. A Colonel Vizla. Apparently he tried calling several times last night, but I never heard it, I'm sorry."
Too stunned to reply, Mando simply took the phone from her.
"Paz?" he checked.
"Jesus Christ, kid," he replied.
Mando sighed in relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. No matter what, he could still count on Paz to be there for him.
"Are you okay?" he pressed.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," Mando assured him.
"That's not what she was just saying."
"I'll be fine," he corrected, "it's not that bad."
Paz grumbled. Omera went back to her cooking. Mando should have moved somewhere else but he stayed where he was.
"We should have known it wouldn't be this easy, hey?"
"Did you warn your sister?" Mando asked.
"Yeah, as soon as I heard about the 'incident' in Castle Rock, I knew you wouldn't be making it over there the same day. It seemed like it was a close call, kid."
"I should have seen it coming," he berated himself. "I should have been on my guard."
"What's done is done. You did what you had to do to protect the boy. He's good, right?"
"Yeah, he's still sleeping. The woman… I mean, Omera's daughter, she's been looking after him."
"You have to stay where you are for the time being. You can't leave this place, you hear?"
At this, Mando made for the living room again.
"Paz, we have to go, it's too dangerous for them. I can't let them take such risks."
"She told me her house was in the middle of nowhere, no one is going to come. It's the best place to lay low for a few days."
"Paz…"
"And I found someone we can trust. But she needs to gather some intel, first. She's gonna call you, and you're gonna listen to her."
"Who is she?" Mando asked.
"You don't need to know that just yet. Just hear her out when she calls, okay? You can trust her."
Mando didn't like this, but he trusted Paz. So he would have no choice but to trust whoever he had found to help him out.
"Paz, I can't stay here," he tried again. "We'll find somewhere else."
"Where? Haven't you been listening to the news? The whole area is surrounded. There are police roadblocks on every road from the state border to Olympia."
Shit. That was bad.
"She's not gonna let me stay, Paz," Mando murmured, hoping Omera wasn't listening, "and she'd be right not to."
"She just told me different," assured Paz. "She wants you to be safe. You and the boy. She understands what's at stake. And I think she likes you…"
"Paz," Mando cut in, "be serious."
"I am! People are just kind sometimes, kid. They just want to help, no strings attached. You know that, right?"
But Mando didn't. This was a foreign concept to him.
"Look after yourself, you need to heal. And call me back tomorrow, yeah?"
They hung up soon after that.
Before he had time to process Paz's words, a sound he had strangely come to both dread and welcome could be heard from the stairs: the child was crying. The girl – Winta, he corrected himself again – was carrying him, and Mando could tell she was doing her best to calm the wailing toddler, despite her young age. He approached them slowly, and Omera joined them at the bottom of the staircase, alerted by the noise.
"Dada!" said the boy as soon as he saw him, and his heart filled with longing.
Mando raised his arms, and Winta hesitated a second before handing the child to him – he probably hadn't made such a great impression on her the previous day, and he hoped he'd be able to rectify that.
"I'm sorry, he just woke up like that, crying and crying. I couldn't do anything!"
"It's okay," Mando replied, emitting a sigh when the child burrowed against his chest, then a wince when he had to move him from his usual left side to the right one instead. "It's not your fault, he gets like that sometimes and it takes a while to calm him down."
But it didn't take long at all this time. As soon as the boy had placed his small arms around his neck and hugged him, soft words of reassurance in his ear, the sobs stopped at once. Mando didn't see Omera's knowing look, as he was busy hugging the child back. He wanted to say so many things to him, how sorry he was for scaring him the previous day, how he had missed him and how he would do everything in his power not to let anything like that happen again. But there was no need, it seemed. A hug worked just as well.
They ate breakfast, the boy refusing to sit anywhere but on his lap, while Omera and Winta exchanged looks he couldn't decipher. Mando didn't know where to start regarding how long they'd be allowed to stay, so he turned to the girl first, as he assumed talking to her would be easier.
"Thank you for looking after him yesterday," he began.
"What's his name?" she asked in return.
"Huh, he doesn't have one." Winta looked puzzled. "I mean, I'm sure he does, I just don't know it." More bewilderment.
"Then what do you call him? Just now, you said 'Carino', before he stopped crying. That's Spanish, right? What does it mean? I thought that was his name."
He'd been wrong – talking to the girl was worse than talking to her mom.
"Cariño. It's… It means… It's like 'darling one', I guess. Just a word you use with kids."
Why was it so hard to explain? He hadn't realized how natural the word had started to feel, when he would have never dreamed of using a similar term of endearment in English.
"Can I play with him again today? I have summer school tomorrow, so I won't be able to see him as much."
"Sure," Mando replied, amazed at her leaps in changing topics every time he answered one of her questions – she was worse than Paz. He also didn't try to read anything in her assumption that they'd still be there the following day.
"I think he'd like drawing with me. Has he ever drawn with you? Can you draw? Can he?"
"Winta – let the man eat," Omera admonished quietly.
"Sorry," said the girl, "I'll go dress now so we can play later. See you little one!" she announced with a smile for the kid, standing up.
She received an answering coo, which pleased her, then Mando went back to feeding him some cereals, his own breakfast discarded for now.
"I'm sorry," Omera told him, "she's not used to being around a lot of adults apart from me and her teachers. But she loves children of all ages."
"It's fine," replied Mando, wishing he had been that comfortable around people at her age, "and it's good of her to want to spend time with my… with the kid."
"You said yesterday that he wasn't your son. But hearing you and seeing the two of you now, I can't quite believe it," she voiced. It seemed that she had wanted to mention this for a while. And Mando couldn't blame her – he was still confused on the subject himself, even though he had started coming to terms with some aspects of it.
"It's hard to explain…" he started. But it wasn't, he realized. Since he had already told the story of how he had come across the kid to Paz, it meant the words came more easily the second time. He eschewed some finer details, such as his current job description, for lack of a better term, but he didn't lie to her. She didn't deserve to be lied to, especially if she meant to let them spend some time in her home. He didn't try to sugarcoat the situation – bad people were after him and the boy, and he couldn't promise it would be safe for her and her daughter to have them stay.
"It's obvious the child trusts you," said Omera after he was done explaining the circumstances to her. "And kids, especially so young, rarely make mistakes in judgment of character. They can feel it."
Mando looked down at the curly head, resting on his chest. He wondered if that's what it was. If the kid had somehow felt his good intentions, despite how little he actually thought of himself.
"Please stay with us, you'll both be safe here," she maintained.
"But I don't know how long that's going to be," Mando stressed. "The Colonel you had on the phone, my friend Paz, he found someone to help us, but I'm not sure when she'll call."
"You're going to need time to heal, you lost a lot of blood yesterday."
"I feel better," and it was true, the pain relievers had helped, although he still felt extremely tired.
"Stay today at least, and see if you are rested enough tomorrow or if your friend's contact calls."
That seemed reasonable to Mando, and he gratefully accepted, even if part of him wondered how he could make it up to her, somehow. She probably wouldn't accept money, even if he had some thanks to Paz, but all throughout the day it kept interrupting his thoughts – he wasn't used to accept kindness without some kind of compensation.
His exhaustion meant he spent most of the day on the sofa in the living room, careful not to put too much pressure on his back, with the kid and Winta playing close by. The toddler was back to his clingy self, which had stopped a bit in Bolinas, but he couldn't blame him – he must have been terrified the previous day. As long as he was in his line of sight and could secure regular hugs or words of reassurance from him though, he seemed fine spending time with Winta, who never tired of finding occupations for him: drawing, playing, reading… He was amazed.
He managed to find a small way to help out late afternoon, when mother and daughter had converged to the coffee table with Winta's homework. The boy had refused to be put down for a nap, probably enjoying himself a bit too much, but he was resting against his chest on the couch, his eyes still open but his respiration slow.
The duo was getting frustrated over calculus, Omera finding the correct result but unable to explain how she had gotten there to Winta.
"Can I try?" asked Mando, slowly sliding next to them with the kid munching on his T-shirt collar now.
"I'm ten, I'm not stupid," said the girl, frowning.
"No one said that," placated her mom.
"I'm not going to summer school because I need remedial studies, I just like going, and it's not like I have anywhere else to go during the holidays anyway," she grumbled.
"Winta, we talked about this…"
Mando didn't follow the rest of their conversation and picked up a pencil.
"How about now?" he asked after a minute, having resolved the simple equation with easier to understand fractions. Omera had indeed the good result, but it was probably too difficult for the girl to understand her reasoning.
Mother and daughter looked at what he had written, and Winta emitted a pleased "Yes, now I get it!". Mando smiled, and hoped Omera wasn't resentful that he had managed where she had failed. But she wasn't – quite the contrary.
"Can you explain these ones as well?" asked the girl, and Mando did his best helping with all the problems and equations she showed him.
The kid was still slobbering on his T-shirt and Omera left the room to bring him his pacifier. He muttered his thanks, absorbed by Winta's homework, and when they were done half an hour later, the boy had fallen asleep in his arms without his noticing.
"You're good at this," marveled Winta, glad to be done with her studies but sad that the kid was asleep and she couldn't play with him anymore.
"I like numbers," confirmed Mando, "I was good at math at school."
"Did you go to college?"
"Not after high school, no. But I got a degree in Engineering when I was in my twenties. I'm studying for another one now," he confided.
"Engineering, that sounds nice! I want to study Computer Science."
"That's a good plan," he agreed, "you can do a lot of stuff with that."
"Mom went to college too, but she had to drop out before I was born. She was studying to be a doctor."
So that explained it, thought Mando.
"And then she started nursing school when I was three but had to stop that too when dad died."
Mando wasn't sure what to answer to that, even though Omera wasn't in the room with them, so he settled on a neutral "It's a shame."
"Yeah, I don't remember much from that time, I was just four. But she works at a drug store now, so that's not exactly the same, but I guess she managed to keep doing what she liked in a way."
"Sure," he agreed, even though he was quite certain Omera didn't feel that way.
He had of course imagined that there was a dad somewhere, but not that Omera was a widow, and he felt bad for not having inquired a bit more on the situation even if there again, it really wasn't his business.
"You don't remember your dad?" he queried, feeling less guilty about asking the girl about this.
"Just little things," she replied, shrugging. She didn't appear to find the subject of conversation sad – she simply didn't have much to say about it.
Winta went back to her drawings after that, and Mando remained pensive. The girl had been four and she didn't remember much about her father. What hope did he have that the kid would remember anything from the time they were spending together? He'd had him for a week, and he didn't expect it would take that long for whoever Paz had deemed trustworthy to intervene on his behalf. The kid would be reunited with his family, if he had any left, and if not they would find someone safe for him. Mando hugged the child close to his chest, hoping he'd never forget the feeling of having his warm, dozing form against him.
He had trouble finding sleep that night. He turned down Omera's offer to use the guestroom upstairs, and remained on the sleeping pad. It felt safer to stay close to the front door, despite the woman's continued assurance that no one would find them there. The kid's borrowed cot was close by, as he had refused to sleep in Winta's room again, no matter how much the girl pouted. Mando felt secretly glad of that fact – no one had ever shown such interest or trust in him before, and he enjoyed the feeling, especially if it wasn't one he would be able to experience for much longer.
The room was too hot, and his back was once more troubling him, quick flashes of pain keeping him awake anytime he thought he had found the right position to sleep in. He had refrained from taking any more painkillers, and he was starting to regret his decision. But being awake meant he heard the child's sobs before they got too loud for once. It had started very quietly, so quietly that Mando had thought he might fall back to sleep on his own. After a couple of minutes, he realized that wouldn't happen, and he was too helpless to resist picking him up.
"Todo esta bien, estoy aquí, chico," he whispered to the boy, holding him securely against his chest and slowly walking around the dark room. He wasn't very loud, but the tears wouldn't stop as easily as they had that morning.
Not feeling too great on his feet still, Mando eventually sat on the couch, and kept on murmuring meaningless reassurances. He had realized that the words didn't exactly matter, the kid just liked the sound of his voice and his calm tone. The toddler eventually emitted a drawn out sigh and calmed down, but he wouldn't go back to sleep. The small hands were playing against his chest, testing the texture of his skin and tracing the scars he found. It was tickling and Mando chuckled, the kid copying him with a happy giggle.
"It's nice to know that at least you don't mind that I'm ugly," he said with a grin, tickling the baby's sides gently, just to hear him giggle some more.
"You're not ugly," said a voice in the dark.
Mando was getting better at not flinching every time Omera surprised him, but he felt foolish for not having heard her. To think he'd meant to remain vigilant during the night, and here he was tickling the kid.
The sofa dipped beside him as she sat down. It was hard to see her face, but Mando preferred it that way.
"You shouldn't be so self-conscious about your scars," she added.
Mando wondered how much she had seen, but then remembered she had been taking care of him the previous night when he'd been sick with fever.
"Ugliness isn't just something visible on the outside," he replied, more serious.
"I haven't been completely honest with you," Omera started after a few seconds of silence, Mando tensing at her words. "When your friend called this morning – Paz. We'd been on the phone for a while when you came in. It rang just after you went to the bathroom."
He stayed silent, wondering where she was going with this.
"He told me about you. What you'd been through. Your childhood, the gang… He didn't have to. But I could tell he wanted me to know. To understand why I shouldn't let you leave."
"It wasn't his place to tell you that," grumbled Mando, angry at Paz and feeling silly now for having thought he would be sparing her feelings by not telling her everything regarding the boy. She must have thought he was being dishonest.
"You're right," agreed Omera, "it wasn't. But he clearly cares about you. He said he'd come to get you if you couldn't stay here."
Mando stopped resenting Paz – he'd never mentioned this on the phone.
"I had a breakdown after Winta's father died. A bad one. I felt alone and angry that he had left me with our daughter, this old house he'd half-finished renovating, and all these loans I knew nothing about to pay off. I had a really hard time pulling through, and fought tooth and nails to keep Winta from being taken away by Child Protective Services. And when I saw you with your kid yesterday… It all came back. That anger. The way you wouldn't let anyone take him from you. I don't care that he's not technically your son or that you've only had him for a week – that's what I saw. There was no way I was going to turn you away."
He didn't know how to respond, not used to being on the receiving end of such personal confessions. It seemed that the dark was loosening both their tongues. The child against his chest had no idea the conversation had turned so grave and was happily babbling now, his tears long forgotten.
"Do kids so young have nightmares, do you know?" he asked, thinking he was changing the subject when he actually wasn't. "Because… I mean, I don't know much about children, but this boy… He just seems so calm and contended most of the time, but at night he wakes up terrified. I don't know what he's been through, but it probably wasn't very pleasant, at least just before I found him. And yet looking at him now…"
"He's happy," she replied simply.
"Yeah. I think so, at least."
"I think so, too."
Mando sighed, enjoying the silence punctuated by soft noises from the toddler. He was slowly settling and he'd soon be able to put him back in the crib.
"Winta was older when she started having nightmares, but I guess it's possible. It's probably his way of processing the trauma."
Feeling terrible again for what he had made him go through the previous day, Mando stroked his back in slow circles.
"You're doing your best, trust me."
Mando didn't think his best amounted to much, but her words still made him feel better. She wished him goodnight after the boy had been returned to his bed, and sleep came easily for him after that.