I roll my eyes and finished, “He expects it to be followed.”
“Yeah, I guess that's what's up.” As bad-ass as Sierra’s been since hitting the compound like a song by The Gap Band*, she rubs her arm self-consciously, like an insecure first-year nurse.
“Sierra, you don't have to run the clinic,” I assure her. “I'm not feeling too great, but once this morning sickness and fatigue passes, I'll get to work.”
Sierra twists her lips, a frank expression replacing the insecure one. “Yeah, I’m kinda thinking I do have to run that clinic if I want to stay on here.”
She frowns at me like the nurse she used to be. “And I should probably do a temperature check while I'm here, and maybe a prenatal exam—have you had one yet?
I’m about to open my mouth to say she doesn’t have to do that when Crazytown’s construction truck pulls up in the background.
“Hi, hello, Dr. Amira,” Lucinda says, bouncing out of the passenger seat. She opens the back door to pull out the two-year-old whose real name I’ve forgotten because everyone calls him Lil’ Crazytown.
“Waylon said I should come here and look after Toni while you get some rest,” she tells me.
As adorable a picture as she and Lil’ Crazytown make coming up the stairs, I have to say, “What? I don't need a babysitter—”
Once again, my words are cut off, this time by the roar of Charlie's motorcycle. He pulls up right behind the truck with Meemaw on the back, her arm wrapped around a brown bag of groceries.
“Meemaw! Meemaw!” Antonia and Lil’ Crazytown call out. They jump up and down as if a rock star of Griffin Latham’s status has arrived.”
“Hi, little babies!” Meemaw calls out, handing Charlie the brown bag so that she can climb off the bike. “Hi, Dr. Amira!”
I rub at the building headache, “Please tell me Waylon didn’t….”
“Waylon told me to get my tooshie over here and make sure you got tucked into a bed and fed lunch after a nap,” Meemaw answers before I can even get that wish out of my mouth. “He texted Charlie too—said you needed more ginger beer and gummies STAT.”
She pats Charlie’s leather-covered shoulder approvingly. “So when I came in to get the lunch groceries, this gentleman was nice enough to give me a ride over here with everything Waylon wanted you to have.”
Again, I roll my eyes. Sure, nice enough. Everybody except Meemaw seems to know that Charlie is hopelessly in love with her.
But this probably isn’t the time to point that out.
“I don't need any help,” I tell her, just like I told everyone else.
“That’s not what Waylon said,” Meemaw answers like Waylon’s the same as a weather report declaring a one-hundred percent chance of snow. “Plus, I can take care of little Toni for you while you take your nap.”
“No, no, no, Meemaw,” Lucinda says. “Waylon says I’m supposed to be the one looking after Toni.
“We’ll do it together,” Meemaw declares, giving Lucinda’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I brought stuff to make enough mostaccioli for an army. We can all have a lunch party after Dr. Amira's done with her nap.”
“Yay!!!” the kids call out.
“Cool, a lunch that’s not made in a microwave!” Sierra says, looking just as excited as the children. “Maybe I'll come over from the clinic to join you. What time are you thinking? Should I get your number? Also, what’s mostaccioli?”
“It’s kind of like the midwestern version of a ziti, I suppose,” Meemaw answers. “One of us will come over and knock on your door when it’s all ready. No problem.”
Meanwhile, Crazytown reverses his truck and drives away like everything’s decided.
“I don’t need help. I’ve got this,” I insist, holding up my hands to put a stop to their madness.
I’m about to give them a stern talking to about listening to me and not Waylon—especially when he’s out of town.
But then the phone I’m still carrying in my hand vibrates before I can.
It's Antonio—actually making a phone call instead of texting!
Over the two years since I left Delaware, Ant’s DE Reyes gang has blown up into the Reyes cartel—mostly because Ant, proving what Waylon told me about him being a natural criminal leader, took every opportunity Waylon’s vouches afforded him and ran with them. He'd even been talking—in heavily coded language, of course—about expanding his cartel into other states during our monthly calls. But those calls were always at preset times. Something must be really wrong if he’s just calling me without warning.
I step further out onto the wrap-around porch out of Antonia’s earshot just in case her namesake has terrible news.
“Ant? Is everything okay?” I ask instead of saying hello.
“I mean, you tell me,” he answers. His voice sounds tired and irritated like he’s still waking up. “Just got off the phone with your man. He told me to tell you I would get on a flight and come out there if you didn't—and I'm just gonna repeat what he said here, hermanita—'Let somebody help you for once and take your ass to bed.’ What the hell is this even about?”