He could walk away. Nobody knew he was there, and he would not be blamed for anything that happened to Hamilton. He could take the bread and return to the overpass, where he had already planned to use the medical journals as a pillow beneath his jacket. He could tell himself that trained professionals were coming, that he was only nine, that a poor child did not belong in a medical emergency at a luxury restaurant.
But Rebecca's voice arrived in his memory before he had made the decision. "Someone please listen." He pressed the hospital wristband between his fingertips, remembering the small crease where the fastener had once been secured around her arm. His mother had listened to every question he asked, even the ridiculous ones, because she believed attention was the simplest form of respect.
Miles stood up.
The shrubs rustled as he stepped toward the railing. His left foot landed on a small pebble, and the sharp pain made him gasp, but he continued forward. He was only a few feet from the nearest table, separated from the patio by a low wrought-iron barrier and an enormous distance in money, comfort, and social position. Brandon saw him first and frowned.
"Sir," Brandon said to Hamilton. "There's a child over there."
Hamilton turned his head. His expression changed immediately, as though the sight of Miles had personally insulted him. The expensive restaurant, the carefully planned celebration, and the people he had invited were all part of a world he believed belonged to him. A dirty, barefoot boy emerging from the alley seemed to violate the entire arrangement.
"Get that kid away," Hamilton snapped. His voice carried to the neighboring tables. "Why is there a homeless Black child beside our food? I don't want him stealing anything or spreading whatever he's picked up out there."
A few guests laughed reflexively, and others looked embarrassed by the sound. Richard glanced toward the phone in his hand, weighing whether to keep filming. James the waiter stiffened so visibly that Victoria noticed. Across the patio, a couple who had been celebrating an anniversary fell silent over their dessert.
Miles's face grew hot. He had been called worse things during the months he lived outside, but hearing it did not become painless through repetition. His mother had told him that a person's value did not shrink because somebody failed to recognize it. Tonight that lesson felt terribly difficult to believe.
"Please, sir," he said. "I think I know something about your leg."
Hamilton laughed once, incredulous. "You think you know something about my leg?"
"I've been reading a medical article," Miles answered. "The way your foot turned and the way the pain started, it looks like something I saw in a diagram."
"A diagram," Richard repeated with a snort. "Greg, please tell me we're not doing this."
Miles reached for his bag. "I can show you. There's a case study about a muscle spasm that can cause severe pain and make a leg hard to move. I don't know if it's the same thing, but I think somebody should look at it."