that stir are a pair of scorpions on the patio, and a Gila monster whose fat tail rustles softly in the dried grass at the edge of the carport. He flicks the air with his tongue, and wanders off in search of a meal.
As dawn approaches, I kiss her forehead. “Temi, I have to go. I’ll be back tonight to check on you.”
She opens her eyes briefly then shuts them. “Okay.”
Fuck, this is the kind of situation where I wish I had the ability to stay out in the day. At least I can be back at nightfall.
Chapter 14
Things look a little better in the gray light of the morning, because the dark is tinged with yellow and orange. Hope. To make myself feel better, I put on the earrings. It’s a small thing, maybe a stupid thing, but they make me feel better.
I walk around the house, marveling at the changes: Locke must have been up all night, cleaning up. But I swear I remember him holding me when I woke up from time to time. Either way, I slept far better than I could have expected, and I’m entirely grateful for what he did. The house looks bare and sad, but at least it’s not a garbage wreck.
I check the fridge, finding that the eggs and vegetables are still intact, although things like milk cartons were slashed, and glass bottles were destroyed. But thanks to Locke, all of that is cleaned up.
I decide to make some omelets for myself and Abuela—if she’s okay. I remember the way her voice slurred, and a sick feeling makes me cold. What if she had a stroke in the night? I open her door with some foreboding, and I’m relieved to see her stirring a little, moving her foot, her arm.
“Temi?” Her voice is rough. “We can clean today.”
“Yes, but there won’t be that much to do, luckily. My friend already did it for us, most of it. Locke. He stayed all night.”
She sits up on her bed. “I thought he might. He seems like he really cares for you.”
“How can you tell? You haven’t even met him.” My voice goes up in surprise. “Although, he does.” I touch my cheek. The look in his eyes matches the feeling in my heart. Although we’ve known each other for the shortest time, I feel like it’s been years. Like we’re meant to be together. I hope he feels the same.
“I just have a feeling about him. I’m okay, mija.” She looks at me as if chastising me for wondering if she had a stroke. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” But she’s really shaky as she sits up, and her face is gray.
“All right.”
She doesn’t eat a thing or take a single sip of coffee. She just sits there at the table, looking around with a glazed expression. I can’t tell if she’s overwhelmed with the situation, or feeling sick.
But later on, I decide to take her to the Urgent Care despite her protestations. She’s clearly not right. She’s become even more pale and seems shaky, a little out of it, although she’s sweating on her forehead and her hands are clammy.
Abuela is remarkably compliant as I get her into the car and then into the standalone ER (it was closer than the Urgent Care), which isn’t good. To my relief, the physician on duty, a Dr. Melissa Vega, comes back in after running some tests: an EKG, some blood work—and says Abuela is just dehydrated. And that her blood sugar is far too low due to her diabetes.
“She has diabetes? But she never had that before.” I’m confused and relieved all at once. “How did she get that now?”
“Some people develop it later in life. You can manage it with medication.” The doctor turns to Abuela. “We’ll get you started on the right dose, okay?” Her eyes are kind despite her busy demeanor. “Your primary care doctor will follow up and help you manage the dosage on a regular basis.”
When the doctor leaves the room, Abuela turns to me. “You see? I knew I was fine.” But she closes her eyes. She seems exhausted.
“We’re going to put in an IV to help her rehydrate, and we’d like her to stay until we get her blood sugar balanced and verify that she’s safe to leave.” A nurse comes in with a hand-held device. “Is that all right, Mrs…” she checks the screen, “Garcia?”
“Mmm.” Abuela doesn’t open her eyes for a second, then