“I know.” Judge wraps me in his arms, brushing his palm over the length of my back. “I know, sweetheart.”

7

Judge

A few days later, I’m stepping out of the shower when my phone rings. It’s Santiago. I wrap a towel around my hips and pick it up.

“Santiago.”

Silence on the other end.

“How is Ivy?” I ask.

“Stable. But no change. Nothing. She won’t wake up.”

I hear agony in my friend’s voice. Hear the torment of guilt and powerlessness.

“Nothing,” he says more quietly.

“It’s early yet. Her body has been under a great deal of stress. I’m sure—”

“Nothing is sure, Judge. Nothing.”

It’s despair now.

“Give her time.”

“My sister. I can’t come right now. I know it’s been a long time, but I can’t.”

“I told Mercedes what happened. She’s worried about you. About Ivy.”

He snorts.

“It’s true, Santiago. And she’ll understand if you can’t visit. She’s doing well. Be reassured in that.”

“Thank you. I need…” He trails off. I’ve never heard him so distracted. Never seen him so beside himself like he was the night I saw him at the hospital beside his comatose wife.

“You go take care of your wife now. I’ll take care of Mercedes. Call me if there’s any change.”

We disconnect and I set the phone aside to dry off. Abel ran his sister down. His pregnant sister. I think about my own family. My brother. Would he do the same to me? To Mercedes? To an extent he did. He hurt her to punish me. The only difference between Theron and Abel’s actions is that Abel hates his sister as much as he hates Santiago. I don’t think Mercedes matters much to Theron.

Is one of those things worse than the other?

I step out of the bathroom and am surprised to find Mercedes sitting on my bed dressed to ride texting someone on her new phone.

“Do you knock?” I ask, remembering her very question.

She wraps up what she’s typing out, smiles at whatever the response is probably from fucking Georgie, then deigns to look up at me.

“I did. You didn’t hear.”

“That so?” I walk past her, not missing how her eyes drop to the line of hair that disappears beneath the towel at my stomach. I grin. She’s not immune to me, no matter how much she wants to believe she is. I make my way to the closet.

“You took a long shower. What were you doing in there?”