The Little Guard

“I am your new bodyguard,” the little girl announced to the man at the end of the breakfast table. Her borrowed blue jacket dragged on the floor, and a toy whistle hung from a ribbon around her neck.

Silvio Morelli looked up from the stack of papers beside his coffee. Two security staff stood near the door. One covered his mouth, but the other did not hide her smile.

“And what are your qualifications?” Silvio asked.

“I can see very far.” The girl raised a hand above her eyes. “And I know when people need snacks.”

From the hallway came a hurried voice. “Nina!”

Her mother, Ada, entered carrying a basket of folded linens. She stopped when she saw her daughter in the oversized jacket. “I'm sorry, Mr. Morelli. I thought she was drawing in the staff room.”

Nina turned proudly. “I got a job.”

Silvio set down his pen. “I'm afraid the position requires a thorough interview.”

Ada knelt beside her daughter. “The jacket belongs in the costume cupboard for the community play. We talked about asking before you borrow things.”

Nina considered this. “I was going to ask after.”

“Let's ask before next time.”

The three-year-old nodded with the solemnity of someone accepting an important treaty. Ada helped her out of the jacket while Silvio watched. His company owned the old villa and the gardens around it. He had a reputation for being difficult, partly because he rarely spoke at length and partly because local papers preferred a dramatic description to a patient one.

Ada had been hired to help prepare the villa for an upcoming charity event. Her usual childcare arrangement had fallen through that morning, and the house manager had offered the staff room for Nina until Ada could arrange a replacement. Ada had worried that bringing her daughter would make her seem unreliable. Now her daughter had marched into the owner's breakfast room with a toy whistle.

“I'm very sorry,” she said again.

“You've already said that,” Silvio replied. “Is she safe with you until your shift ends?”

“Yes. My neighbor can collect her after lunch.”

“Then there is no emergency.”

Nina studied the papers. “Are those your problems?”

“Some of them.”

“Do they need snacks?”

Silvio laughed, a short sound that surprised him as much as anyone else. Ada smiled despite herself. It was the first time she had seen him without the careful expression he wore when inspecting the property.

Nina pointed to a photograph beside his plate. A woman stood in a garden holding a watering can. “Who is that?”

“My sister, Lucia.”

“She looks sad.”

Silvio glanced at the photograph. Lucia had died several years earlier, and he had kept the picture because it showed the garden they built together. “She was tired that day,” he said. “We had planted a great many flowers.”

Nina climbed carefully onto a chair with Ada beside her. “Maybe the flowers needed a guard too.”

The security staff member by the door, a woman named Giulia, offered Nina a paper badge and a pencil. “Every guard needs a checklist,” she said. “First rule: stay with your grown-up.”

Nina drew a large circle and announced that she was ready. Ada thanked Giulia and took her daughter back to the staff room. Behind them, Silvio picked up Lucia's photograph. He had been trying to decide whether to close the garden after the charity event. A report said the paths needed repair, and the cost was higher than expected.

He looked at the small paper badge Nina had left on the table. Someone had drawn a crooked flower inside the circle. Under it, in Giulia's neat handwriting, were four words: Stay with your grown-up.