Mothered (48)

At least for her, that was something of a comfort: knowing they lived in a city renowned for its medical centers. The University of Pittsburgh was one of many places around the world frantically searching for a vaccine. She zipped through Squirrel Hill, the streets deserted, and got onto Forbes Avenue—and pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

“I left Coco a couple days of food.” He paused to catch his breath, sucking in the mask as he gasped for air. “If I’m in there longer will you check on her?”

“Of course.”

“You still have the spare key?”

“On my key ring, always.”

“And if . . . if I’m there for a long time, will you take her to your house?”

Grace shot him a glance, hating that the night—and their masks—hid much of his face. His question gave away his fear, his concern about . . . not coming home. Whatever emotion she’d once called Panic was nothing compared to how she felt now, a turbulent churning of dread and desperation. Months of pandemic news hadn’t prepared her for this. She thought she’d been living it before, the #PandemicLife, but then it had only been near her, around her. And now it was gripping her heart, threatening to stop the muscle from beating.

“Of course, I’ll bring her to my place tomorrow—no point in her being lonely and the last thing you need to worry about is Coco. I’ll take good care of her and they’ll take good care of you.” Her voice broke.

Neither of them knew what else to say. A wraith traveled with them, leaning between the front seats like a reckless child. Grace reached out and gripped Miguel’s trembling shoulder, but soon she retracted her hand, needing it to turn up the hill toward UPMC Presbyterian.

“Just drop me at Emergency.”

“I was going to park.”

“They might not even let you in.”

She turned into the Emergency driveway, relieved that there wasn’t a line of cars waiting to drop off sick passengers, as she half expected.

“Try to let me know what’s going on, okay?” She pictured him in the near future with an oxygen mask over his face. “Text?”

“I will.” He stepped out of the car. “Take care of yourself.”

“Do you have your phone charger?”

“Yes.” He bent toward the open car window. “I’ll tell them you’re my fiancée, so you can get updates.”

She smiled behind her mask. Sometimes they pretended to be engaged, or related, in situations like this where it might be hard to get information.

“I love you, lovey,” she said. “You’re gonna be okay. You got this—but you can get over it.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Love you too. Talk soon. Thank you for Coco.”

Burying his face in his elbow as he coughed, he turned and walked through the hospital’s automatic doors. Grace was so afraid this would be her last image of him—swaddled in his blanket, struggling to breathe, heading alone into isolation and uncertainty. She didn’t want him to die surrounded by strangers. She didn’t want him to die.

She cried all the way home. Her tears refracted the streetlights’ glare, blinding her in starry bursts.





30


Grace tossed and turned for the rest of the night, and got up for good before her mother was awake. It wasn’t rational, but all she could think about was Coco—home alone, confused by Miguel’s sudden departure. She pictured Miguel talking to the cat—his usually high-pitched kitty voice racked with coughs—telling her he had to go but would be back soon. Grace had had a cat, many years ago. She’d loved that cat so much she thought she was in love with him, and it caused her some of the worst pain in her life when she couldn’t make him understand the simple words that would soothe a person: You’re okay; don’t be scared; I love you. His death was the greatest loss of her life, and she swore she’d never have another pet.

She threw on the same not-quite-clean pants but this time put on a fresh top. The mission felt too urgent to take the time to brush her teeth, but she rinsed with mouthwash and whipped a comb through her hair. The cat wouldn’t care about her appearance, but Grace might need to stop for gas.

The drive to his apartment took twice as long as it had in the middle of the night; people were on their way to work. It struck her as odd that anyone was still going to work. Shouldn’t they all stay home? Barricade themselves behind their doors until the danger passed? Yet here she was—undeniably exposed, potentially spreading pathogens wherever she went. Out of guilt, she put on her mask as she parked in front of Miguel’s, though no one was around. It had been a mansion once (by her standards), but now the building held seven apartments of varying sizes. Miguel had a spacious one-bedroom on the second floor.

Coco padded to the door, meowing as Grace let herself in. Good, the cat still recognized her; she rubbed against Grace’s legs. The apartment smelled like Miguel—his aftershave and favorite magnolia candles—with an underscent of Cat. Fishy wet food and litter box.

“Hey fluffy girl, let’s get your things together.” She scratched the cat’s head and then went to find all of the cat’s paraphernalia.

It felt weird to be there without Miguel. She’d cat sat for him before, when he went on longer vacations and didn’t want to overburden Kadin, his downstairs neighbor. But this time Grace knew he wasn’t off somewhere drinking mojitos or spending lazy days on someone’s deck. She envisioned him with an IV, getting blood work, a chest x-ray . . . what else? Hopefully he was in a regular hospital room and not intensive care. Or maybe he was still in the emergency department; she’d dropped him at the hospital barely four hours ago.