Taking Care Of The Mobster

I take a long sip from my teacup, for lack of words to say. What I just heard Sarah say clashes with the notion of the Carlos Rodriguez I have in my head.

But can I simply take her words for the truth and let down my guard with a man like him?

It’s not like I know Sarah that well. She seems like a decent person, but I’ve proven not to be a very good judge of character in the past. I don’t know what to think. I’m even more confused now than when I got up this morning with my jumbled thoughts of the mobster.

“Okay! That’s enough seriousness,” Sarah says with a laugh. “Now, let me fix you something to eat and get Carlo’s breakfast to him.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I say. “I really don’t feel hungry at the moment. Why don’t you fix Carlos a tray? I’ll take it up to him. That way, I can give him his morning dose of medication.”

“On it,” Sarah says, flashing me a bright smile that I suspect has a deeper meaning.

I lean back in my chair with an inaudible sigh. I’d rather not think about the reason behind the housekeeper’s smile – or a certain gangster boss that keeps popping up in my head.

“If this isn’t my pretty nurse,” Carlos immediately says as I step into the room with a teasing smile.

He’s in bed with a pillow propped up to support his neck and shoulders. I start to lower my eyes from his, but I suddenly notice the beads of sweat on his temples. He’s still smiling at me, but now I can see the masked pain behind the humor in his dark eyes. I quickly move toward the bed and set the breakfast tray down on the bedside table. I lean over the edge of the bed and place my palm on his forehead. I gasp softly at how high his fever is.

“Jesus! You’re burning up,” I exclaim. “If your fever is this bad, why didn’t you call for me? What’s wrong with you?” I shouldn’t be this bothered, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Carlos grunts heavily and tries to sit up higher. I quickly rush to help him up. I grab onto his huge muscular arm and hold him steady until he finds the least uncomfortable position.

“I like how worried you are for me right now,” Carlos says, making an effort to chuckle lightly. “It makes me feel like you really care about me.”

“How can you even joke around at a time like this?” I ask, more than a little exasperated. I let out a huff as if that will help relieve the strange pressure on my chest. “I’ll go get my kit.”

I leave the room, aware of his eyes on me. Once in my room, I quickly go through my things and pull out my emergency kit. I quickly return to Carlos’s room and place my kit on the bed beside him. I dash to his bathroom to prepare a cool washcloth. I return to the room and place the washcloth gently on his forehead.

He seems worse than when I first came into his room. His eyes are unfocused and delirious with a feverish pain. I know that I shouldn’t panic, but I can’t help the trickle of fear that pushes up to my chest.

“I...I need to call 911,” I say, looking around wildly for a phone. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No,” Carlos says, weakly grabbing hold of my hand. “No hospitals, Abby.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask alarm in my voice. “It looks like your wounds might be infected.”

“I want you,” he says. His eyes shut tightly against the pain. “You...treat me. No hospitals.”

I sigh in exasperation. I search through his medications and find the pills for pain. “You need a lot of water,” I murmur, gently thrusting a glass of water into his hands. He obediently gulps down the water and murmurs a word of thanks.

“Okay... You need to lay down now,” I say, easing him into a lying position. “You probably didn’t sleep all last night... You’ll need to get as much sleep as possible too.” I prop his head comfortably on a pillow and pull the sheets to his shoulders.

“Will you...will you stay with me?” Carlos asks, shivering slightly.

He suddenly seems like a pitiful sick child in need of attention and affection. I don’t know how a man over forty can pull at my maternal strings – ones that I never knew existed– but he does.

“Yes, Mr. Rodriguez,” I say, lowering myself into the chair beside his bed. “I’ll be here attending to you all day. It’s my job to watch over you.”

He let out an amused chuckle, despite the obvious effort it takes. “Call me Carlos, Abby...”

“Okay, Sir... I mean, Carlos,” I say and sigh impatiently. “Can you stop talking, please? You really need to rest.”