Page 86 of Love Always

She’s had her own terrible night. Another house fire just south of Camden. “Chief thinks it’s arson again. But you know him. Not the brightest bulb in the box.”

Chief David Keller and my sister go way back. In high school he kicked her off the boys’ soccer team even though she was one of the top players. She never forgave him.

“If you want to go see Mateus before he leaves, you better get going,” says Devon.

“Isn’t he getting out at nine? That’s what they told me at the nurses’ station when I called this morning.”

“All I know is Nic is heading up first thing, Finn’s leaving after nine—and Bryce is at the police station waiting for that detective.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because suddenly the professional line between their work and us is gone. That rule they have? Out the window. At least for right now.”

But I need to wait for Cory to set off for school before I leave. I borrow Devon’s red Corolla, make my way up the peninsula and turn south heading toward Portland and the hospital.

It never occurs to me to tell any of the guys where I’m going.

Chapter Eighteen

Mateus

When I wake, it’s like coming up from a deep dive, and something tells me if I’m not careful, I’ll end up with dream-bends. I have to wake slowly, in stages. Acclimate. Pain wraps around my left leg and burns in a spiral up into my groin. I fight to push it aside, to ignore it, but it comes again: hot, searing, like my ankle is ripped off, then muscles flayed, the pain moving higher and higher to my thigh, hip.

Pain sucks the air from my lungs as efficiently as a machine and I struggle to breathe. Now I can feel her hand on my chest. I know it’s Laurel and I fight to find her, fight to remember who I am. When my eyes open, I see her face and know I’m home. Then I look down at myself and remember. I lost my leg. A long time ago. Another spasm starts, but this one is shorter than the last one and not as painful and her hand stays pressed to my chest. Sweat drips down my neck.

Her finger is on my lips, a small pressure point, and then her lips follow. I feel so weak, and every movement is an effort. All I want is to hold her. I touch her face.

΅

I wake again, this time to a nurse trying to get me to stand and use the bathroom.

“Come on Mr. Gutiérrez, you can get up now. We need to make sure you can urinate before you leave.”

I try to assure her I can’t.

She gets all pissy with me and I realize my chart has me listed as ODing and I’m Latino, worse, Mexican. This is one of those situations where I’m not sure where her prissiness comes from exactly, but it doesn’t matter. I choose to believe she’s just having a bad day.

“Honestly, I can’t get up.” I fling back the covers as proof.

“Oh.”

΅

By seven forty-five Carlson is here, taking notes, asking questions. The bottle of water was laced with fentanyl: enough to kill at least a dozen people. Whoever doped it knew we were going to crash fast. We were very lucky. Thank God for the Chris Proctor case and a Lexus stuffed with Narcan.

Carlson wipes his face. The smell of his paper cup of coffee leaves me slightly nauseated. He notices and makes a nurse take it away.

“We got Cruz’s apartment under surveillance, but he hasn’t turned up.” He pauses while I tuck in my shirt. “I didn’t know you’re an amputee.”

I smile. I hate that word, but I give him points for at least talking to me about it. He’s watched me in the homestretch of dressing and he saw the prosthetic which must have triggered this conversation. Finn and Nic and I had a meaningful conversation when they evaluated what I could and could not do for them, but very few people are in for a casual conversation. Adults, I should say. Kids are just curious.

“You carry yourself really well. I know how much work that is.”

There’s a clear question in the glance I throw him.

“My sister is a double amputee below the knee. Car accident,” he explains.

“I’m sorry.”