“Yes.”
“I wanted you to come here right away,” he said. “Don’t let anyone blame you. Do you understand? This is not your fault. I already know you well enough to know you’ll blame yourself.”
I said nothing. He was right. In my heart, I thought it was my fault. If I had not come to live with him and his sister and mother, he would not be in this hospital bed, and he would not need a serious operation on his eyes.
“You must not return to Mexico,” he continued, as if he had the power to read my thoughts. “Don’t let my mother send you back.”
“How can I stop her?”
“You can stop her. My mother respects only strength. She pushes until someone pushes back. You understand?”
I did understand, but I couldn’t imagine pushing back on Tía Isabela.
“I need you to help me get better. Okay?”
I was still holding his hand. “Yes, but how?”
“You’ll see. I was afraid you were already sent back. That’s why I wanted you brought here right away. Do you understand what I’m saying, Delia?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Good. Muy bueno. Now I will have plenty of time for you to teach me how to speak Spanish.”
I smiled and was still holding his hand when Tía Isabela returned with the doctor.
“You’ll have to end this tête-à-tête, Edward. Dr. Morris is here.”
Edward released my hand. “Delia is going to help me with my recuperation,” he told her. “We’ve just settled on it. She’ll read to me.”
“She can’t read English, Edward.”
“She’ll manage. I want to learn more Spanish, anyway.”
“We’ll discuss this later, Edward. Now is not the time. Let’s not jump too far ahead,” Tía Isabela said.
“That’s what I want,” he said sharply.
The doctor put his hand on Tía Isabela’s arm to get her to stop any possible argument or unpleasantness. She glared at me, spun on her heels, and retreated to a corner of the room.
“Go wait in the visitors’ lounge,” she told me in Spanish.
Edward plowed through his pain to smile. “Haven’t heard you speak Spanish in some time, Mother,” he said.
“Go,” she told me, and I left the room. I had no idea where the lounge was, but I stopped another nurse in the hall and asked, “Where I wait?”
“The lounge? Oh, go through that door, and turn right,” she said, pointing down the opposite end of the hallway.
“Gracias. Thank you,” I said, and walked down the hallway.
In the corridor, standing by the door, was a boy about Edward’s age, wearing a pair of jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and a royal-blue sports jacket. His light brown hair was very thick and, although not as long as Edward’s hair, was nearly down to the base of his neck and over his ears. He had it brushed away from his indigo-blue eyes. I thought he had a very gentle, almost angelic smile.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re Delia, right?”
“Sí, yes.”
“I’m a friend of Edward’s, Edward’s amigo. Jesse Butler.” He extended his hand. It was as smooth as mine, with thin fingers. On his pinkie was a black onyx ring with a tiny diamond at the center. “Cómo está Edward?”
I shook my head and started to explain in Spanish.