Right Now

The Doubt

This time when they arrive at the hospital, Christopher remembers exactly where to go. He speeds along the corridors, past rooms that hold entire stories, each one like glimpses of scenes from different movies; an older man in an empty room, a young woman with a couple by her side, a crying woman before a vacant bed.

They're like that to these strangers, Buck thinks. To these other patients and visitors, he and Christopher are just another act in a movie they haven't seen. He wonders what they look like from the outside.

Eddie's room feels smaller than before. Unlike yesterday when they had the room to themselves, when Buck was able to imagine them in a little bubble of their own, today Eddie has no shortage of company.

Isabel sits to Eddie's left, her head bowed forward, hands clasped around a rosary. Just behind her shoulder is Pepa, a guardian angel standing watch, stoic and strong.

On the other side of the bed, Helena and Ramon watch their son with vacant stares. Buck thinks they should cry-- he wants them to cry-- but he also knows that grief comes in many forms and it's not his job to police how someone reacts. He just wants them to show some sort of emotion, half the emotion they'd shown trying to take Christopher from him.

They look up as Christopher stops at the door, eyes darkening when they land on Buck. He recalls telling them "get out of my fucking house" and feels his ears turn red. Fidgeting, he places a hand on Christopher's shoulder, using the kid as both a comfort and a shield.

"Cariño," Isabel says softly, drawing Buck's gaze away to a much gentler welcome. Her eyes are red and puffy and he immediately feels guilty for not reaching out to her sooner. She swats at Pepa's arm until she helps her to her feet, then takes a few steps forward, leaning to press a kiss to the top of Christopher's head. "Shouldn't you be in school?" she asks, teasing, though there's a pointedness to her words that Buck knows isn't aimed at him.

"How's he doing?" Buck asks, steering the conversation in any direction but the one it's headed. He tries not to look at Eddie, helpless and still on the bed, so the question is directed at Pepa. "Any changes?"

"They say the swelling has gone down," Pepa tells him, still holding her mother's weight. She casts a reassuring glance at Christopher, a smile on her lips. "That's a good thing."

If he's being honest, Buck was hoping for more and also expecting less, so it's progress he's willing to take.

"I'm going to the cafeteria," Isabel suddenly announces. "Have to stretch these legs, and I might as well get coffee out of it. Buck, be a dear." She slips her arm through his.

"Mama," Ramon says with an aborted step forward. "I can help."

"Stay with Edmundo," she says, waving a hand at him dismissively. "Buck can help me."

Buck nods. He just got here. He doesn't want to leave Eddie, and he certainly doesn't want to leave Christopher, but Pepa is already leading the boy to a chair and Isabel is tugging Buck away.

Sometimes Buck forgets how small Isabel is. Her head barely even reaches his elbow, though she always seems bigger. There's this aura about her, emanating strength and certainty, an inch of every life experience making her tower over every room she occupies.

They bustle along back down the hallway in a companionable silence toward the elevators, but they don't make it quite that far before Isabel sighs, a little featherlight breath, and pulls Buck to a stop.

"Abuela?" he asks, concern coloring his voice. "Are you okay? Do you need to rest?"

She hums softly, not really an answer, and offers up a weary smile. "These old hips aren't what they used to be."