Sunday morning.
Benicio yawned. He’d driven almost all night. Only once had he risked stopping at the side of the road to catch a few winks. Matthew had slept through most of the trip. He would sit, staring straight ahead, until fatigue caught up with him, then he would slump to the side and snore. Benicio was relieved to hear the soft purr, but the way Matthew slept made him look dead. Spooky.
The priest looked at the road. New Brunswick was a pretty enough province. Lots of trees. Good highways. He smiled.
Then he frowned. For a moment he had felt like a tourist on a jaunt. But he was a rogue agent from the Vatican with a kidnapped child in the car. I really need to take a break, he thought. I’m losing it.
A billboard announced something called an Irving Big Stop at the next exit. He figured it was time for another stop. He wanted to get something to eat and clear his head.
He drove down the ramp and saw a restaurant and gas bar right next to the highway. He parked on the far side of the lot, away from the pumps. There were quite a few cars. He hoped the restaurant wasn’t too crowded.
He looked at Matthew. The boy had woken up when the car stopped.
“Hey guy,” Benicio said softly. “We’re going to go in here and get a bite to eat.”
No answer. No acknowledgement.
“You hungry?”
Still nothing.
Benicio reached out to pat the boy’s shoulder but stopped in time. Physical contact was an important part of how Benicio communicated. A tap on the knee. A hug. Touching someone’s arm. He was Italian, after all. It was difficult to restrain himself with Matthew.
He got out of the car. By the time he walked around the car, Matthew stood waiting.
“Bene,” he announced. “Let’s go see what’s for breakfast.”
They had to wait in line to be seated. Matthew had walked slowly alongside Benicio, without resistance.
The Irving Big Stop was a pleasant, clean place. A big, happy hostess welcomed Benicio and Matthew with a heavy French accent.
“We have only de booth open?” she said. “You and your son like de booth?”
He nodded, and she led them to a booth by the window overlooking the parking lot. Matthew sat across from Benicio. The hostess dropped plastic menus in front of them and then pulled a paper place mat from her pocket and set it in front of Matthew.
“You like coloring, little man?” she asked, although she didn’t wait for a reply. She reached into a pouch on the front of her apron and pulled out a handful of well-used crayons. She set them on the place mat. “Voilà!”
She turned to Benicio. “Your waitress will be right with you.” She spun and was gone.
“She’s friendly,” Benicio said.
Matthew didn’t look up.
“What’s that you have?” the priest asked, leaning over. The paper place mat was covered with activities. Mazes. Animals to color. A simple word-find puzzle.
“That looks like fun,” Benicio said. “Can I help color?”
Matthew didn’t move.
“I’d really like to color that moose. I think I should make his head orange.”
Matthew lifted a hand from his lap and picked up the orange crayon. He held it up to Benicio. His eyes stayed down.
Benicio’s hand shook slightly as he took the crayon. He couldn’t believe Matthew had responded. He wanted to hug the boy. Just color, he told himself. Don’t overreact.
He started coloring the moose.
“I could really use some help,” he announced. “I bet this moose would look funny if someone colored his legs green.” He kept working on the head.
Matthew picked up the green crayon and started, very slowly, to color the moose’s legs.
Benicio wanted to laugh out loud.
“Bon matin,” a singsongy voice interrupted them. “Good morning.” The waitress had appeared, holding a coffeepot.
“Good morning,” Benicio said, sitting up straight.
“Coffee?” she asked.
Benicio turned his mug up, and she filled it in one dramatic pour.
“You ready to order?”
“What do you say, Matthew? Shall we get something?”
Matthew continued to color the moose.
“What about some pancakes? Do you like pancakes with lots of syrup?”
Matthew stopped coloring for a second and nodded slightly.
“Pancakes it is! Make it two orders,” he told the waitress.
She wrote on a pad and swept away. Benicio looked around the busy room. Every staff person in the restaurant was constantly on the go. Coffee being poured. Huge plates of food being whisked to tables. It was a wonder they weren’t careening into each other.
Benicio and Matthew continued to color until the food arrived. Huge stacks of buttermilk pancakes perfectly browned and sending off curls of steam. A pitcher of real maple syrup. Benicio had never realized there was a difference. He silently vowed never to buy fake maple syrup again.
To his surprise, Matthew began eating the pancakes right away. Benicio realized the boy must be very hungry. The roadside food hadn’t been nearly enough. No wonder Matthew had been so compliant on the way in here. He was plowing his way through the pancakes quickly. Benicio hoped he didn’t burn his mouth.
“Go easy, buddy,” he said. “We have time. I’ll get you some more, too, if you want them.”
Matthew kept eating.
Soon they were both nearly done. Benicio felt much better with a few good cups of coffee in him, and he’d connected with Matthew in a way he’d never thought possible. He felt slightly optimistic for the first time since he’d walked into Father McCallum’s home and found that violent scene.
Matthew finished his last bite and carefully set his fork on his plate.
Benicio smiled at the boy as he finished counting out money to leave on the table. “Well, buddy,” he said. “What do you say about hitting the road again?”
“What’s your hurry?” a gruff voice said from next to them.
Benicio turned to find Maury and Jeremy standing at the end of the booth.