“It smells like honest cooking.”
“She hasn’t made a bad meal in over thirty years, and she isn’t about to start now.”
The room was quiet. It was after usual visiting hours, but the nurses allowed me in as long as I came alone.
Machines spoke in low electronic rhythms. Somewhere farther down the corridor a cart rattled once and stopped. The light panel above the bed was at its lowest setting. It made the room feel less like a hospital.
Thiago was propped slightly against the pillows. A rigid brace kept his left arm anchored across his chest. Bruising along his ribs had darkened through the afternoon into the dull yellow of healing.
I opened the bag and laid the food out on the tray: rice, braised greens, and a small container of stewed beans.
“You’re aware this is a liability,” Thiago said.
“For whom?”
“For the nurses who discover their patient is eating better than the staff.”
He pushed himself up a fraction. The movement made him inhale sharply once.
“Easy,” I said.
“I am being easy.”
“You are being stubborn.”
“Also true.”
He ate slowly at first, then with more appetite than he seemed to expect. I poured coffee from the thermos and set it beside him, settling into the chair at his right side with a book I’d brought but wouldn’t read.
The gris-gris pouch was in my jacket pocket. Not for protection. For remembrance.
Thiago finished the meal without rushing. I folded the containers back into the bag and moved the tray aside.
A knock sounded lightly against the doorframe. Dominic stepped in.
“The nurses were reluctant.” He smiled briefly.
Approaching the bed, Dominic focused on Thiago. “You look less like a patient,” he observed.
“That’s encouraging.”
“Your color has improved. That will please the doctors.” He glanced at the brace and monitors before looking at me. “You’ve been here all day?”
“Yes, except for leaving long enough to pick up food.”
“You should go home, eventually.”
“Eventually.”
He studied me for another second. “Not tonight,” he said. “Celeste is staying over to monitor my progress. Whatever that means.”
He stepped to the foot of the bed and rested one hand briefly against the footboard. Then he looked directly at Thiago.
“Mr. Reyes,” he said. “Thank you.”
Thiago shifted slightly against the pillows.
“I was doing my job.”
