Page 99 of A Dish Best Served Hot
“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me anything. There’s an investigation.”
Lola was numb. She searched her heart for grief, but she honestly didn’t know if she would ever feel it. Her father was gone, and she was sad that he had never lived a life worth living and she’d always regret the opportunities and potential he’d wasted, but grief was something different. Grief was what she could feel practically seeping through the phone. Her heart hurt for Benny. Her grandfather had loved his son, despite everything. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Benny.”
“Ourloss, Lola,” he corrected.
Lola disagreed. She had lost her father years ago, probably before she was even born. In a lot of ways she’d already mourned that person, that relationship.
“He was a terrible parent and in many ways he was a bad man, but he was still as much your father as he was my son,” Benny continued, his voice breaking on the wordson.
It was then that Lola felt her eyes water.
“Mi niño bello,” he choked out the words.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll be there as soon as possible, okay?”
It was a testament to how much pain he was in that he didn’t even try to argue with her. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. Te quiero mucho, mi leona.”
“Y yo más, Abuelo.” She hung up.
Saint sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and stared at his brooding brother. He remembered so clearly the day his parents had finally brought Leo home a week after he’d been born. Saint had been with his grandparents, trying to help keep the two-year-old twins entertained when his parents had arrived. His papi came in first, carrying in all of the stuff from the hospital and the car seat. Then his mami had arrived looking tired, but happy. It was nice to see her that way after she’d been so sad before. In her arms was a wiggly bundle of blankets. She’d sat on the couch and called her boys over to meet their little brother, Leonardo. The twins had taken one look at him and left instantly to inspect the things their papi had brought in, which were way more interesting than the baby.
Saint sat next to his mom asking a ton of questions which she answered patiently. Leo had been at the hospital to finish growing a little more because he’d left her belly before he was ready. He’d had to sit under special lights so his skin wouldn’t be yellow, get special medicine to make his blood stronger, and wear a special mask to help him breathe until his lungs got stronger. Saint told her that his brother was still too small. To which his dad replied, “He’s tiny, but he’s already tons of trouble.” His abuela told Papi not to say that, because he’d give the baby bad luck.
Abuelo smiled at the awake and wailing baby and said, “It’s too late. Some people are simply born too spicy and Leonardo is one of them.”
Through the years his baby brother had certainly lived up to the prediction of being too spicy and troublesome. But nothing had prepared any of them for Leo to be once again in the hospital fighting for his life for a week.
When they’d first been told that Leo had been shot in the shoulder, Saint had hoped it wouldn’t be serious. There are no vital organs there. But after listening to the many specialists and surgeons treating his brother, his family had learned the hard way that the shoulder contains the subclavian artery, which feeds to the brachial artery (the main artery of the arm) as well as the brachial plexus, the large network of nerves that control arm function.
The bullet that had struck his brother had broken his clavicle and damaged both the subclavian artery and the brachial plexus. The first week had been one of no sleep, frequent prayer, and constant worry that the emergency surgery Leo had undergone hadn’t fully stopped the bleeding or he would get an infection. Then they’d spent week two learning about the surgeries still in Leo’s future that would hopefully correct the nerve damage and allow him full function of his shoulder and arm. All that to say that Leo was still in trouble and would be for a while still.
And it was Saint’s fault. He’d failed yet again to protect his family when they needed it most.
Leo’s raspy voice pulled him out of his thoughts before they could spiral. “Stop staring at me like that.” He skewered Saint with a glare. “Why are you still here anyway? I thought I told you to go mope somewhere else.”
“I’m not moping,” he lied. “Besides, if I leave, then Mami comes. Is that really what you want?”
“Point taken,” he said with a stretch of his neck. Suddenly he froze, even his breath, and his face went stark white. He was in pain.
Saint grit his teeth and fisted his hands. He hated seeing his brother like this, but he already knew better than to tell Leo to push the little button that would release additional morphine into the IV in his arm. His brother was being stubborn about using pain medication. “Not using the medicine they give you is preventing you from resting completely, you know.”
“Being in the fucking hospital is preventing me from resting completely. They’re in here bothering me every ten minutes.”
Saint didn’t reply to that because it was true if only a little hyperbolic.
As if to prove Leo’s point, there was a knock on the door before it slid open and the nurse, a very familiar, middle-aged Afro-Latina, came in. “Leo, I’m here with your next dose of medication,” Sofi’s mother announced. Sofi’s mom had been a trauma nurse for as long as they’d known her, so it hadn’t been too much of a shock when she’d first come in to announce she was going to be one of Leo’s nurses. They all knew that she was competent and a badass, so they were glad she’d been assigned to Leo. She was just the kind of nurse he needed.
“When do I get to leave?” Leo asked her irritably.
Just like her daughter, Alicia Santana was quick-witted. “When the doctors are sure that your artery won’t reopen and cause you to bleed out,” she replied, without missing a beat.
He harrumphed at that.
“Have you not slept?” she asked. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m not a crabby little kid,” he responded, sounding like exactly that.
Alicia just gave him a look before going back to typing something in his chart on the computer that sat atop a rolling cart.
