Chương 52: Terco como una mula

Una made her way back to Telesfor Sanchez Road in a blur. She couldn't have said how she drove home. Everything was on automatic. Her key was in the lock when she noticed the Tupperware container at her feet. There was a folded note Scotch-taped to the top. She picked it up, squinted at the writing, and for a moment worried she'd gone blind. She was only crying. Una hurried inside so the neighbors couldn't see, and leaned back against the door.

She sobbed so hard the back of her head tapped against the door with each breath. I'm just tired, she told herself. The treatment had begun. All that was left was praying and waiting. She kept turning over the thousand mistakes of her life, wondering how it had come to this. Missing Hector and Lucinda. Trying not to picture living alone again. Feeling guilty for worrying about herself when Robin was in such terrible shape. Someday, I'll come here and they won't let me take him home. The day had come.

Everything was wrong. They'd bombarded his spine with rays and his head was next. Robin's bloodwork was bad. His heart rate was too low and his breathing was labored. Dr. Suarez had warned her about radiation pneumonitis, but that wasn't supposed to happen for a week at least. It seemed like every time the door opened, there was more bad news. Everything she learned hurt. Finally, they ordered her home to rest. The nurse said if the neutropenia got worse, they would have to move him into isolation early.

Holding the tupper, she shuffled to the kitchen to read the note. The light was better there. Dear Mrs. Martillo, I apologize for coming by uninvited. I tried to call. Hoping you and Robin are all right. If Robin feels up to it, both Sandy and Yvonne would like to visit him. Here' s my number in case we can help with anything at all. I will be praying for you both. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Jael Amsler Jael's handwriting was as perfect as a blueprint, at odds with her kind words. Una wondered how many attempts it took to write that note. She couldn't remember when she'd eaten last. Inside the container were pan dulce (sweet bread) of some kind. They smelled like roles de canela (cinnamon rolls) but in a crescent shape. She ate three. They were a little strange, but good. She thought Jael might have used cream cheese instead of lard. Una felt a little less threadbare with something in her stomach.

It was a sweet gesture, but now she had to talk to this woman and return her container. The idea of picking up the phone and making words seemed insurmountable. Mañana. Tomorrow, she would find the strength to thank Jael; to lie and say the children could visit when Robin was better. After the lineage switch, Dr. Suarez had been frank about Robin's chances. Una had never really believed the odds. She'd burned candles to Mary, Raphael, Philomena, and Nicholas—anyone who would listen. The miracle was coming.

She prayed for it every day. So where was it? Why was there a child suffering, so tiny in that hospital bed? All that pain in his face, when he'd done nothing, nothing in his life to deserve it. Born to a father who ran off and never met his son. To a mother who couldn't even take care of herself. There was no brother or sister to donate healthy marrow for the experimental transplant. They were never born. Una remembered the day Robin came to live with her, terco como una mula (stubborn as a mule).

His eyes were so much older than they ought to be. She called him lazy, not knowing his veins were already full of poison. Una's stomach churned with regret. She hated every time she'd lost her temper. She remembered when she'd smacked him in the Falcon. He hadn't cried. His eyes blazed back, dark and dangerous. It had made her so uneasy. Someday, he would remember that smack, when he was big enough to do something about it. But no, he wouldn't. She started to cry again.

She wished she could take it all back, but she couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Una said to the empty kitchen. The clock ticked on. What more could she have done?