Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Were you able to rest?” the doctor asks, concerned.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, although I really didn’t sleep that well.
“Here,” he says, handing me two pills.
I don’t know what they are, and I’m not sure I should take them. But the doctor hands me a glass of water and encourages me to swallow. I follow his instructions, knowing that he doesn’t mean me any harm. I’m not used to this kind of immediate gratification when it comes to the medical profession. Obviously, a regular doctor would write a prescription, and I would have to go to the pharmacy.
About half an hour later, I’m feeling good. There’s a sense of relaxation that’s entirely chemical, but I don’t care. I’m given a chance to put down the heavy burden of guilt I’ve been carrying, and that’s good enough for me.
I pick up my magazine again and watch as Brandon sleeps. Occasionally, he’ll toss or turn, giving me hope that he might wake up finally. But he just mutters and continues sleeping, forcing me to be patient.
Around noon, Frankie arrives carrying a tray. He knocks on the door and lets himself in quietly, as if he’s just stepped into the study room at a library.
“How’s he doing?” Frankie whispers.
I shrug, still feeling the mellow effects of the drug. “The doctor says he’s doing better. But he still hasn’t woken up yet.”
“I brought you something to eat,” Frankie says.
He sets the tray down at the foot of the bed. I can see a fruit salad and a sandwich, both of which look amazing. I’m suddenly famished and realize I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. I grab the fruit and begin to eat. The sweetness hitting all the right spots. Frankie pulls up a chair and sits with me as I devour the lunch.
“Where’s your father?” I ask after I’ve finished my meal.
“I don’t know,” Frankie admits. “I guess he’s in his office.”
“How’s he doing?” I wonder, painfully aware that we’ve left so many things unsaid.
“I don’t know,” Frankie repeats. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess,” I respond. “Have you ever been in a gunfight before?”
“No,” Frankie says, but reconsiders after a moment. “Well, there was one time when I was five.”
“You were in a gunfight when you were five!” I exclaim louder than I meant to.
We both glance at Brandon to see if my sudden excitement will wake him up. He doesn’t stir.
“My dad and I were eating at a restaurant and someone shot out the window,” Frankie says.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Dad told me to hide under the table,” Frankie responds. “Which I did. I didn’t see much. I just remember how loud the gunshots were and how frightened everyone else was.”
“Were you frightened?” I press.
“No,” he says. “My dad was there. I just assumed that he would take care of me.”
I reach over and pat him on the hand.
“What did I know?” Frankie continues with a sigh. “I was just a kid.”
“He did take care of us,” I remind him.
Frankie nods, seeming to come to terms with something heavy. “He really does care about you.”
“I know,” I say.
We lapse into a pregnant silence. I guess Frankie is done talking, and that maybe his admission of Francisco’s affection is his way of saying he’s sorry. I know he wasn’t thrilled about the wedding. Actually, he was downright pissed. It seems like that’s all in the past now, and I’m grateful. Despite the fact that Francisco thinks I want to go our separate ways, I don’t. I think I love him.
Eventually Frankie leaves, and I settle down to watch over my brother. The doctor comes and goes every few hours, checking Brandon’s vitals. As the sun dips toward the horizon, Francisco comes in to encourage me to take a break.
“Come walk around the garden with me,” he says, holding out his hand.
I know he means well, so I accept. My legs feel like I’ve been sitting forever, and it feels great to walk around. We descend the stairs and go out the back door. The backyard is extensive and I know Francisco uses it to conduct business sometimes. But this time, we’re just walking around, smelling the roses.
He takes my hand, and we amble like an old married couple. Neither of us speaks, but we enjoy the companionship. I know I’m ignoring him in favor of my brother, and I appreciate his patience. I just don’t think I can fully concentrate on our marriage now while Brandon’s life hangs in the balance.
Francisco doesn’t bring up what we talked about before. I know him well enough by now to understand that he’s waiting for me to take the lead. He won’t pressure me, but the moment I decide I’m ready, he’ll be all ears.
After the sun has fully set, we go back inside.