“I didn’t . . . I don’t have a car. Um, I can . . .”
I fidget, thinking about my motorcycle parked in the lot downstairs. Diego’s hand lands on my arm, the warmth catching me off guard when he steps closer.
“I didn’t mean for you to drive. We’ll take my truck. I’ll bring it around.”
The authority in his voice is apparent. He’s still in charge, and I’m still rattled. The suddenness of everything keeps the haunting memories of my mother swirling in my mind. How fast we lost her after her fall. When they discovered her cancer. How advanced it was.
“Grab your stuff. I’ll get his bag, and we’ll walk him outside together.”
His hand leaves my arm, his eyes surveying the room before closing the notebook and putting it back in the duffel. He slings my father’s overnight bag onto his shoulder and digs out his truck keys.
My reaction is delayed by seconds. I jump into action to grab our coats, backpack, and purse while Diego gets Papà standing, relying on the young man to help him out the door.
I’m left to shut off the lights, lock my door, and follow behind. I worry about what they will find, what will happen in the coming days, and how the semester that started so well is already going downhill. True to his word, Diego waits for us to settle in the lobby before jogging out to pull his truck around and help my father into the passenger seat.
Once we’re all settled inside, the heat blows throughout the spacious cab, overtaking the silence between us. Diego’s hands grip the wheel firmly, his gaze locked on the road ahead. Papà’s arm is cradled in the makeshift sling atop the console.
I’m in the back seat, clutching my purse and backpack, my fingers twisting the strap as if holding it tightly enough might somehow steady my nerves.
“We should go to the ER.” I lean forward between the seats to get their attention. “They’ll have everything he needs.”
Papà turns his head slightly, his expression firm even as he winces from the movement.
“No, Cara, it’s not necessary. This is a small injury. The urgent care will do.”
“It’s not small!” The words burst out before I can stop them, my grip on the strap tightening. “You fell, Papà. What if it’s worse than you think? What if?—”
He cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head.
“I know you’re worried, Isabella. This is not a matter for the emergency room. Let’s not waste time arguing.”
Diego glances at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes holding mine. An unexpected sincerity in them, as if silently agreeing with me and not my father. It helps to know I’m right.
“Urgent care is faster,” Diego offers hesitantly, trying to bridge the divide between our differing opinions. “We’ll get him checked out, and if they think it’s serious, they’ll send us to the ER.”
I want to argue, but the logic in his words rings true. The lump in my throat grows heavier as I nod, lean back into the seat, and mindlessly watch the scenery out the side window. The cab remains quiet, with no music, no talking, just the weight of our shared worries.
The urgent care center is a small building tucked into the corner of a strip mall. The fluorescent lights above the entrance cast an artificial glow in the dark evening sky. Diego pulls up to the curb, parks the truck, and hops out to help my father.
I hurry to follow, my hands fumbling with my things as I sling my backpack and purse over one shoulder and grab my father’s coat from the back seat and his overnight bag. Diego’s already by his side, easing him carefully out of the truck. His movements are swift but measured, his arm steadying Papà as they approach the entrance.
The automatic doors slide open, and the cool air inside shocks me. The receptionist glances up, her expression softening when she sees us. Diego babbles, explaining the situation.
Within moments, Papà is whisked away by a nurse, leaving me and Diego standing in the sparsely decorated waiting area. I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping my belongings until Diego places his hand gently over mine.
“Hey, he’s in good hands.”
I nod, but the lump in my throat refuses to budge. He observes me, his dark eyes searching mine. His hand lingers for a moment before he lets it fall away.
“You could have left all this in the truck.”
He reaches for everything clustered in my hands. I don’t know why I grabbed everything.
“I . . .”
I stare at the steel door they took him through, letting Diego unload everything onto the row of chairs opposite a television showing the news. Without thinking, I reach for him, my fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket. The hesitation in his expression is brief, but it’s there. Just a flicker of uncertainty before he steps closer, his arms lifting to wrap around me.
I sink into the embrace, the warmth of his body in contrast to the icy knot in my chest. My hands clutch the front of his jacket as I press my forehead against his shoulder, my breath hitching with worry. I don’t know how long we stand there, the low hum of the newscasters filling the silence between us.
