Chapter 3 - The Broken Toy
Sunlight crested Lake Michigan, painting the hospital room in pale, unsympathetic gold. Toby woke up to the smell of oatmeal and iodine. The pain had shifted from a dull roar to a sharp throb in his fractured right leg, which lay elevated in a heavy plaster cast.
Beside his bedside table sat a small plastic bag containing his personal effects retrieved from the accident scene.
"Mom?" Toby called weakly.
Marcus stepped out from the en-suite washroom. He had splashed cold water over his face, but his eyes were darkened by exhaustion. Elena had gone downstairs to handle insurance paperwork. For the first time, father and son were alone.
Marcus froze mid-step, his body instantly tensing. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and walked awkwardly toward the bedside.
"Mom went downstairs for a moment," Marcus said, his deep baritone sounding foreign and too loud in the quiet room. "She'll be right back."
Toby looked at him, his hazel eyes guarded. He didn't smile; he didn't reach out. He simply looked down at the plastic bag on his bedside table.
"Can I have Leo?" Toby whispered.
Marcus glanced at the bag. He reached in with his large, tattooed hands and pulled out a small, yellow plastic excavator. The toy's plastic scoop was snapped off at the hinge, jagged and broken from the impact of the taxi's tire.
Marcus held the mangled toy in his palm. "It's broken, Toby. I’ll order you a new one. A metal one, much bigger."
Toby turned his face toward the wall, pulling the rough hospital blanket over his chin. "I don't want a new one. Leo was the one we built the sandbox mountain with."
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Marcus stood with the piece of shattered plastic in his palm. He realized then that he had no idea what "sandbox mountain" was. He had missed that Saturday. He had missed dozens of Saturdays.
He didn't throw the toy away. Slowly, Marcus slipped the broken excavator into the pocket of his trousers.
