"I'm still looking for someone who makes me feel like that," a voice behind us said. It startled me, but neither of the
men reacted; maybe they'd heard her coming. Mercedes Rodriguez, maid of honor, looked great in the royal-blue dress. The color made her skin seem even darker, as if she had that perfect, dark tan that other people risked skin cancer trying to achieve. She had her mother's height but her father's slenderness, so that she looked model-like, but with too much of her mother's curves to truly look like a modern model. The vampires in my life had told me that thinness that extreme was only for the poorest of people, those who couldn't afford food. If you had money, you didn't starve yourself. Times change, I guess.
The last time I'd seen Mercedes had been in the hospital with Tomas. She'd looked younger and a lot less finished. Today with full makeup, she looked like she and Connie could have been twins; without makeup she looked younger, but didn't most of us under thirty? Mercedes had graduated with a degree in nutrition and was actually working in a doctors' group that specialized in helping athletes, and us ordinary folk, after an injury. Last I'd heard they'd partnered with a gym whose trainers specialized in helping people after injuries, or helping them prevent injuries through smarter exercise: work smarter, not harder. I hadn't even thought about it, but it was almost designed for helping her little brother. Sometimes karma plans way ahead of the game.
I moved closer to Mercedes to say, "I thought you were living with the tall, dark, and handsome that's been at your side most of the day."
"Frankie, Francisco, is great."
The tone alone took a lot of the positive out of the "great." I raised eyebrows at her but didn't want to say anything she wasn't ready to hear. You can realize someone is wrong for you a long time before you're ready to say I quit. Mercedes and I chatted, but we weren't like besties or anything, so it wasn't my job to say the hard, awkward things.
"I don't think I realized until tonight that he doesn't make me feel like that"--she nodded at her parents on the dance floor, and then turned to me--"or make me feel like the three of you."
She'd said it, so I took the opening. "Then why are you living with him?"
"He's handsome, charming, athletic, a doctor specializing in sports medicine with an emphasis on rehabilitation after injuries. My degree in nutrition will help us treat the whole patient, not just the injury. Professionally we're great."
"But professional isn't everything," I said.
She gave me a smile that was more irony than laughter. "Maybe not."
I was debating on whether she wanted more girl talk, or if we should just tell her about Tomas, but she saved me the trouble, stepping forward and including Micah and Nathaniel in the conversation. "I saw you talking to Tomas. He hasn't wanted to talk to anyone in the family much, but he seemed to be talking to you."
"It's part of my job to talk to people afterward," Micah said.
"After what?" she asked.
"Usually it's after they, or someone in their family, has been attacked by a lycanthrope, but violence is violence, and how people react to it is pretty similar."
She nodded, as if that made sense to her. "Let's go somewhere we can talk without spoiling the reception for anyone else." She looked up, then nodded and smiled at her live-in boyfriend, Francisco, because that was what he'd introduced himself as, not Frankie. She took my arm and pantomimed that we were going somewhere together. He'd probably assume we were going to the bathroom. Men were always willing to accept that women weren't capable of going to the restroom alone, because most women moved in packs for the powder room. I'd never understood why; I was okay on my own, but in the blue formal you might need some help with the skirts. Connie's gown with its layers of lace and hoop skirt was lovely, but I was betting she'd need all the bridesmaids to hold the skirts if she wanted to use the bathroom. It was one of the reasons I was not wearing a hoop skirt for my own wedding.
The moment that Francisco wasn't looking she dropped my arm, picked up her skirts, and just started for a door in the far corner. Micah followed her with a glance back at us. I nodded him onward and he caught up with Mercedes. She was moving pretty good in the dyed-to-match high heels.
Nathaniel and I brought up the rear. I glanced back and found that Manny and Rosita had been joined by Connie and her new husband. The four of them had the dance floor to themselves while everyone beamed at them, happy to see thirty years of happiness alongside the beginning of more. It was a nice visual, but as usual when there was something nice, I was walking away from it to talk about things that would have spoiled the happiness behind me. At least now I wasn't alone when I did it. Nathaniel and Micah were willing to leave the easy happy stuff behind to deal with the hard stuff that you had to do so other people could be safe and happy. Hell, the three of us spent a lot of our couple time discussing hard topics with the rest of the people we were involved with so we could keep being happy. Ignoring the hard things doesn't make them go away. I was glad I had people in my life now who were willing to work at things.
Mercedes led us to what looked like a break room, complete with vending machines, small tables and chairs, and even a couch against one wall. It was blissfully quiet. I hadn't thought the reception was loud until we got away from the noise. My shoulders dropped and let me know I'd been hunching them a little, like I did when I was tense. I expected Mercedes to go to a table, so we could all sit, but she turned to us as soon as the door closed. I guess we were standing.
She turned to Micah. "Tomas talked to you longer than he's talked to any of us. He's started with a counselor, but I don't think he's talking to her either."
"He might do better with a male counselor," Nathaniel said.
Mercedes looked at him; her eyes were solid brown, but it was a pale brown like milk chocolate Easter candy. I realized that my eyes were darker. I was all mixed heritage, but my mother's nearly black eyes came true.
"What difference would a male counselor make?" she asked.
"He's a thirteen-year-old boy," Nathaniel said.
"So?"
"Tomas is just learning, or trying to become, the kind of man he's going to be. While he's trying to figure out what it means to be a man, he's kidnapped, shot, and he couldn't protect his sister," Micah said.
"Connie is our older sister; she's always protected us," Mercedes said.
"But that was when Tomas was a kid; he's not really a kid anymore," Nathaniel said.
She made a face and rolled her eyes. "He's only thirteen, he is a kid."
"And that's why he won't talk to you," Nathaniel said, "because to you he's still your little brother, but inside his own head he's trying to be more than that."
She frowned and studied Nathaniel's so-serious face. "I don't understand that, because he'll always be my kid brother, but you're right; he's at the age where we all try to figure out what we'll be as adults. You're saying as his family we can't see him clearly."
"Something like that."
"You think he'd do better with a male counselor, because he's learning to be a man and suddenly everything that society tells him is manly just got taken away from him."
"Not away, but he's hurt," Nathaniel said.
"How bad is the physical damage?" Micah asked.
"What did Tomas tell you?"
"That the doctors aren't sure he'll walk again."
"That's not true, he will walk again."
"How about run?" I asked.
Mercedes looked serious and then sad; it was not a good sign.
"That bad?" I said.
"He got shot in the stomach, but there seems to be nerve damage down one leg. It's just bad luck that the bullet hit what it did. A one-in-a-million issue, the orthopedist said, but he also told Frankie and me in private that if the bullet had gone a few inches the other side he might have bled out and died before he got to the hospital, so it's all so . . . Tomas's whole future hung on a few millimeters inside his body, and what the bullet hit, or didn't hit."
Her eyes got shiny with unshed tears, sparkling in the dramatic wedding eye shadow. She took a deep, shaking breath, visibly steadying herself. Her voice was almost eve
n as she said, "They think if he does his physical therapy religiously, and adds even more weight lifting than he was doing for track, that he should recover enough to run."
"Recover enough to run like he did before?" I asked.
She shrugged. "No doctor is going to say yes or no right now. There are too many variables. I've tried to explain it to Mama and Papa, but they want definite answers and it's just not that easy."
It took me a second to realize that Mama and Papa were Manny and Rosita.
"I understand the reasoning," Micah said. "They can't know for sure what will heal, and they can't control how hard Tomas works at his physical therapy."
"He's young, so that will help him heal, but he's started the very beginnings of PT, and he's not working at it like he should."
"He's depressed," Nathaniel said.
"Yes, but if he doesn't do his PT then it's almost a guarantee that he won't heal enough to do track again. Damn it, if he doesn't put effort into recovering, he could end up crippled permanently."
"What will make the difference?" I asked.
"Following doctor's orders, being serious about PT, and in a few weeks if he does that Frankie and I will help him start adding weights and other exercises. This is the kind of thing we both wanted to do to help people. We, I, can help Tomas, if he'll let me." The tears started trickling down her cheeks now.
I glanced at Micah, and then Nathaniel. One looked at me, and the other one made a small motion. I sighed and hugged Mercedes, letting her fold herself down so I could hold her while she cried even though I was inches shorter. Why was it always the girl who was supposed to hold people when they cried? Shouldn't whoever was best at it, regardless of gender, do it? But I patted her back and made comforting noises, not sure if it did a damn bit of good, but sometimes it's the best you can do, or the best I can do.
"Have you tried introducing him to someone who's recovered from a similar injury?" Micah asked.
It made Mercedes stand up straight and wipe at her eyes. She wiped too hard and smeared her eye makeup. I'd tell her before she went back to the reception. "We've got some patients who are pro athletes. It's not the same kind of injuries, but Tomas loves sports, and hearing about how hard they're working to recover might help him work harder at PT. That's a great idea, Micah, thank you."
"Yes, it is, but what about Anita talking to him now?" Nathaniel asked.