Chapter 7

Curtis shook his head. "I shouldn't have come. I told them. I told the principal. I said, 'He's a busy man. He's retiring. Don't make him remember a janitor on the night they're honoring him.'"

"You're not a-" Marcus started.

"I know what I am," Curtis said. "I was a janitor for eighteen years. Before that, I drove a delivery truck. Before that, I was in the Army. I'm not ashamed of any of it. But I know what I look like in a room like this. I know what people see. And I knew if I came, something like this would happen. I just didn't think it would happen to you."

He picked up the envelope. He held it against his chest.

"I'll mail it. Or I'll leave it with the hostess. I'm sorry I ruined your dinner."

He turned to go. He had to walk past three tables to reach the arched doorway. He made it two steps.

"Curtis."

Marcus's voice was not loud. It didn't have to be. Curtis stopped.

"Don't go."

"I'm not your problem," Curtis said.

"You're not a problem," Marcus said. "You're the reason I know what a man is supposed to be."

The room was watching. Every table. Every spouse. Every server frozen by the kitchen door. Priya had her hand on the back of Marcus's chair, ready to steady him if he needed it. Vance had sat back down, his face unreadable.

Marcus walked around the table. He stopped in front of Curtis Bell, close enough that they could speak without the room hearing. He was taller than Curtis by half a head. He looked down at the old man's face - the deep laugh lines, the gray eyes, the small nick scar on his chin.

"I looked for you," Marcus said. "I hired a private investigator in 2005. He found nothing. I called the school district. They said the records were gone. I thought you were dead."

"I wasn't dead," Curtis said. "I was in Aurora. I worked at a hardware store for ten years after I retired. I didn't know you were looking."

"You didn't want to be found," Marcus said. "Did you?"

Curtis was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I didn't want to be a story. I just did what you do when a kid needs a hand. That's all it was."

Marcus's eyes were wet. He didn't wipe them. "It was everything."

Curtis looked down at the envelope in his hands. Then he looked at the drawing, still on the table, the broom cape, the yellow sun.

"There's one more thing," he said.