Deanna Roy - Forever Loved

Manuel chomped on the gum, trying to make it a manageable size, and resumed pushing the truck.

“ ¿Donde esta Mama Letty? ” Rosa asked.

Manuel pointed to the door. Rosa stood up, but I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I didn’t want to see this woman who had raised my boy, who would lay claim to him, take him deep into Mexico where I could not easily go.

I wanted to help Rosa.

“I come back,” Rosa said. “Get to know your boy. He not say much English words yet, he is little, but he understands. Letty speaks English to him.”

I watched Manuel to see if he would react to that.

After she had disappeared inside, I asked him, “Manuel, do you understand me?”

He ignored me, now making truck noises around the wad of gum. I wasn’t sure how to relate to him, what to do. I had the crazy urge to pick him up, to crush him against me, to know his weight, to feel how real and substantial a boy he was.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked.

He looked back at me, one hand on the truck, the other propping him up as he crawled along the porch. In that glance, I could see myself as a boy, the small face that had looked back from the mirror, one that was caught in photographs my mother tucked inside albums.

Rosa was right, he was mine, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

A beautiful woman in a velour sweat suit pushed through the door, holding two boxes that she could barely manage. I stood up as she brushed by.

“Can I help?” I asked, but she ignored me, dashing down and dumping the boxes in the back of the pickup. I realized now that there were several others already there. She was packing.

“Are you Letty?” I asked as she passed.

She halted, turning her face to me, the perfectly styled hair and heavy lashes out of sync with the panic in her eyes. “You cannot have the boy,” she said. “I love Rosa, but she tells many wild tales.”

I stood up. “I’m pretty sure he is mine.”

She straightened to her full height, and up on the porch, she towered over me. “That would be easy for her, no? Some American boy come in and save her? What, you plan to marry her and make more little babies?”

“I’m not sure what is going on here. She brought me here to see him.”

Letty whirled around and snatched up Manuel. He was too large to carry easily, and he fought her, but she pinned him against her hip with practiced ease. “He is all I have now, and I must keep him safe. So get out of here and let us be.”

She opened the door, then closed it behind her again. I could hear the twist of several locks.

Bloody hell.

The truck sat forlorn on the porch. I leaned over and picked it up, moving it next to the tub of gum. I knew I could knock on the door, or go around and find another way in. But hell, I didn’t know anything. Maybe you could line up a half-dozen dark-haired kids, and I would see something of myself in every single one.

I waited until the sun dipped low in the sky and the lights began to pop on in the houses. Rosa never came out. Finally I knocked on the door. No one came, but I could hear voices, shouting and crying. I wanted to smash in the door, get to them, but damn it, I had no clue what was going on. Rosa could be lying. I couldn’t just snatch the kid.

I didn’t have any choices here.

I had to walk away.

The thud of my boots on the hollow stairs echoed on the quiet street as I stomped back down to my Harley. The roar of the engine was tremendous, bouncing off the stucco facades and down the lane. I turned the bike around and headed back the way I came.

I would forget it all. Pretend it never happened.

The hospital corridors were quiet, the visitors either gone for the day or settled in for the night. I hesitated at the end of Corabelle’s hall, bracing myself for another confrontation with her father. I’d texted her a dozen times on the way home from Ensenada, pulling over every few miles, but I hadn’t heard back. For all I knew, her father had taken her phone.

The door to 425 was ajar. I knocked and stepped inside, but the bed was stripped, the flowers gone. Had they sent her home?

I had her keys. Maybe she’d been able to get a set from her complex office. I rushed back down the hall to leave, but when I passed the nurse station, I decided to make sure she had been discharged rather than moved.

“Corabelle Rotheford in 425? She’s gone?”

An unfamiliar nurse looked up. “And who are you?”

I hesitated. “Her brother. I was supposed to bring her clothes when she got out, but I guess she already went home?”

The nurse clicked on a keyboard. “No, she was moved to ICU.” She glanced up at me. “But you won’t be able to visit her there. That floor has strict visiting hours.”

Panic coursed through me. “Did she relapse?”

She put on a sympathetic face. “Maybe you should talk to your parents about it.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s the second floor.”

I took off down the hall.

“You can’t get in there after hours!” she called out.

Like hell I couldn’t.

I lunged into a stairwell and raced down two floors. When I flung open the door, I was greeted with a long desk flanked by entrances that required badge access. A hallway opposite the desk went to the elevators and the hospital’s center atrium.

A lone staff member behind the counter held a phone between her cheek and shoulder, facing away from me. I backed into the stairwell and left the door open a crack. I could watch from here for a chance to go in. Maybe if someone came out, I could race in before it locked again.

A nurse came up behind me. “Lost?”

I jumped, then straightened, hoping I didn’t look like a stalker. “Is this the second floor?”

“Yes.”

“And visiting hours are over?”

She glanced at her watch. “Yes. You can visit again starting at ten tomorrow.”

“But I can visit.”

She smiled. “Of course. You just have to be buzzed in. It is limited to family and doctor approval.”

“She’s my sister.”

“You might want to check with the nurses. In ICU there are no private rooms. Did you talk with anyone?”

“No. I just got here.”

She pushed open the door. “Tamara?”

The nurse nodded on the phone and held up a finger.

“She’ll fix you up,” the nurse said and crossed over, flashing her card at the sensor. The door buzzed and popped open. I watched the light. It held for about five seconds and then the door closed again, latching tight.

If I asked the Tamara person for help, she’d just tell me to come back tomorrow. I didn’t want to come back. I wanted to find Corabelle now .

I headed to the elevators. An opening looked down on the hospital’s hub, and all the floors dumped into a central shaft with plants hanging from the various levels, bright and green. I backed up against the rail until the nurse at the desk couldn’t see me, and waited. Surely another nurse would come off the elevator and head to the ICU. Then I could wait for her to buzz in and I could — hell, do something. Get in somehow.

The elevator doors slid open, but the two men who came out went the opposite way. I waited another agonizing ten minutes, but the only other passenger was a maintenance man pushing a mop bucket on wheels.

He did, however, head for the right ward.

I followed him partway down the short hall, wondering if I could possibly pull this off. When the man got near the desk, Tamara waved at him, then turned back to her monitor. He went in the door at her back. Perfect. I waited for the buzz, let him push through, counted to three, then blazed across past the desk in a flash.

If the woman looked up, I didn’t know it. As soon as I got through, I halted.