Gloria knows there’s no point in fighting, nor do they have anything to hide. She lifts Pazito’s chin with her finger. He’s staring at her with terror in his eyes.

“They’re going to lock me up,” Pazito says.

“They just want to talk,” Gloria says. As a parent, it’s her job to protect her child. That has always meant shielding him from all his fears, whether it was the monsters under his bed or now the nightmarish reality he could be living. “Be honest, Pazito. Do not lie.”

“I won’t, Mom.”

Instead of beating herself up some more about all the different things Gloria believes she could’ve done to not be here tonight, she pulls her son in a quick but tight hug. They can only move forward, and if all goes well, they’ll be able to figure it out together. And if Gloria can find the space in her head and heart, she’ll be able to invite Rolando in. That’s not a decision to be made lightly, especially given her last big impulsive decision resulted in the death of her husband, a husband she doesn’t expect she’ll ever find herself mourning. But who knows. Grief is strange, and it can make you miss someone who was never good for you.

Pazito drags his feet alongside the officer, looking over his shoulder the entire way.

Gloria holds it together until her son vanishes into a room for questioning, and the moment the door shuts, she sobs.

“He’s going to be okay,” Rolando says.

Instead of blaming him for encouraging her to follow her heart, she believes him.

There are dark times ahead, but she’s choosing to focus on the horizon, on when the sun will rise and cast light everywhere that’s needed nourishing, and Gloria Medina will continue to grow and grow and grow.

August 3, 2010

Orion

2:04 p.m.

Death-Cast didn’t call last night or the night before.

I’m starting to believe the surgery was a success.

That I’m going to live.

The tube has finally been pulled from my throat, and I’m able to breathe on my own. The IV lines will be removed later. These machines monitoring me will be used on someone else. I think tonight is the night when I’ll be good enough to transfer from intensive care to another ward for specialized cardiac attention. If all goes well there, I could be home soon. It’s hard to wrap my head around how much of my life has been spent admitted to hospitals and how once I’m out this time, it could be the last for a while. Probably not forever, but my odds are mad better than ever before.