Have You Seen Luis Velez?(66)

“Yes, of course you may,” she said. “I’m glad to get a chance to thank you for getting me here safely this morning.”

The officer moved close to the bed, slowly and reverently, as if in church.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I know I came on a little strong when I first saw you this morning, but I’m two months pregnant, and I’m just so excited about it I can hardly contain myself. I didn’t know who you were at the time—just that you were ready to go into labor any minute. But after I found out you were the widow, I wanted to . . . you know . . . do something helpful.”

“Getting me here in time was helpful,” Isabel said. “This is Ramon.”

The officer gently stroked Ramon’s head. “He’s gorgeous,” she said. “Are you staying tonight?”

“No, I can’t. My insurance doesn’t cover much. My sister is coming by to get me after work.”

“Oh dear. You’d think one night in the hospital would be good.”

“Hard to pay for, though.”

“You’re not going to try to come to court tomorrow, are you?”

“Probably not. I’ll ask Raymond and Millie to fill me in on what I missed. But the day after, most likely. Oh, the judge will just love that. Won’t he? First I shoot off my big mouth when I’m not supposed to. Then I come back with a newborn who cries . . .”

“Well, just don’t do both at once,” the officer said.

“No, I won’t. I’ll be quiet. I’m embarrassed about that.” She looked down at the baby in her arms for a beat or two. “It’s hard not to say the truth, though.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem with trials. Somehow they have it in their heads, the judge and jury, that they’ll decide what’s the truth. But the truth already happened. They can’t decide what happened. They can only be right or wrong about it. Seems like too many times they’re wrong.”

The officer fell silent, as if regretting the direction in which she’d taken the conversation.

No one else cared to speak after that.

“Well,” the woman said. “I’ll leave you be.”

She turned and walked out of the room with no more words spoken.

Raymond jumped up and followed her out into the hall.

“Excuse me,” he called after her, because he had forgotten her name.

She stopped. Turned around.

“I need to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“Okay.”

“It’s kind of a big favor. You might say no.”

“Try me.”

“My friend who I brought to the courthouse today. The elderly woman. She’s really tired. I mean, it’s a little scary how much this day was too hard for her. I was wondering if you could give us a ride back to the subway station.”

He watched her face soften, and a deep fear in his gut softened with it. And he knew they—both he and Mrs. G—would be okay.

“I’ll go you one better than that,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride home. Wherever you live, I’ll get you home safely.”



Mrs. G fell asleep on the ride in the back of the patrol car, then woke with a start for no reason Raymond could see or hear.

“Ramon,” she said.

“What about him?”

“Isn’t that something like Raymond, only in Spanish?”

“It is, yeah.”

“Is that a coincidence?”

“Nope. No coincidence.”

She fell silent again for long enough that Raymond thought she might have fallen back asleep.

He looked past her slack face and watched buildings and pedestrians flashing by. It was dusk, almost dark. The time of day when Luis had been shot. Raymond wondered what a muzzle flash from a gun would look like in that light. Also, he hoped he would never find out.

“See?” she said suddenly, surprising him. “You’re making your mark on the world.”

“Think so?”

“I know so,” she said.

Then she definitely fell back asleep. Raymond knew because there was snoring involved.





Chapter Fourteen




* * *



What Kind of Person?

Raymond knocked on her door at 8:00 sharp the following morning.

“Come in, Raymond,” she called. But her voice sounded oddly distant and small.

He let himself in with the keys.

“Where are you?” he called, looking around the empty living room.

He hoped she was in the bathroom putting the finishing touches on her preparations for the morning.

“I’m in the bedroom,” she said. “You may come in.”

He walked to the doorway and stopped dead, looking inside.

She was still in bed.

Her hair was down, long and unbraided. She wore a high-collared nightgown. She lay holding the blankets up to her chest with both arthritic hands. Louise lay curled against her right hip, looking over her own shoulder blades at Raymond.

In the middle of his wave of disappointment, he found one bright little moment. He was happy that she had arrived home the night before with enough energy to put herself properly to bed.

“You’re not ready,” he said.