Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“I don’t know what’s worse,” the nurse sitting next to Marisol in the nurse’s station said before taking a bite of his homemade sandwich. “When we’re so busy I don’t have time to eat”—he checked his watch—“or when I’ve gone through all my food an hour into my shift.”
Marisol nodded, but she was barely listening. Her second night in the ER was so quiet it was amplifying all the racing thoughts in her head. She found the pendant under her scrubs and pressed it to her chest.
The metal was warm from her body heat, but the worn surface was still comforting. If she closed her eyes, she could see the day her grandmother had given it to her. For the first time in Marisol’s life, she saw her grandmother take off the pendant. She clipped it around Marisol’s neck on the morning of her twelfth birthday. It had been her grandmother’s most prized possession, a gift she’d received from her own mother. A scrap of silver and gold handed down for countless generations.
It was only as an adult that Marisol had wondered why her grandmother hadn’t gifted it to her own daughter—Marisol’s mother. But they almost never talked about her.
Maybe her mother hadn’t wanted the family heirloom. Maybe she had thrown it back in her grandmother’s face, just like she’d tossed Marisol at her as soon as she was born then disappeared.
Marisol’s mind drifted to her grandmother’s kitchen table. How she missed that place and the person she’d loved most in the world.
In her favorite memory, the sun streamed in through the enormous window above the sink, illuminating her grandmother’s small frame from behind. She’d been using a spoon to scoop the gel out of an aloe leaf. In a wooden mortar, she’d already mixed fragrant herbs and honey.
People came from everywhere for her grandmother’s home remedies. A curandera like every woman in her family had been, her grandmother had a cure for everything.
Marisol pushed to the edges of her memory. Tried to remember what her grandmother had said about their family. There was a great-aunt who’d delivered every baby in her small village outside of Santiago. The woman had been a midwife well into her nineties and never lost a single woman or child on her kitchen table. According to her grandmother, families traveled from all over the island for her care.
But midwives and nurses and folk healers had been around forever. That wasn’t remarkable. It didn’t make them… witches. That was absurd.
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” her coworker asked, snapping Marisol out of her thoughts. “Don’t worry, it happens to me all the time. Not usually this early in my shift.” He smiled. “But it takes my body forever to get used to working nights. Want some jerky?”
“As tempting as sodium nitrate sounds”—she winked—“I’m still a vegetarian.”
He chuckled. “It’s turkey. That’s basically a veggie.”
Jiggling the computer mouse, Marisol tried to get back to work. She was checking the status on radiology scans she was waiting for when a question formed on her lips before she could stop it. A question that had followed her home and made sleep impossible.
She turned to her coworker. “Hey, how many patients have you lost?”
He looked up from his phone. “Like today? This week? Or this month?”
Marisol leaned back in her chair.
“Sorry, hun.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. “Did you have a tough loss yesterday? Was it a kid?” His face paled. “Those fucking haunt me.”
She couldn’t respond. She’d never known what it was like to lose a patient. To pound on their chest with CPR, unable to restart a heart. To be covered in their blood after they no longer needed it. She’d never looked as grieved as her coworker did while accessing some memory—one that was obviously vivid and painful.
Stomach clenched, Marisol found herself on her feet before deciding to stand. “I’m going to do rounds.”
“Move around. That’s a good idea,” he agreed.
Marisol wasn’t thinking about her unnamed patient. Wasn’t intending to go to her room when she started out of the nurse’s station. There were too many questions building in her chest.
But there was only one burning the roof of her mouth. How ? How could a patient who didn’t know her own name know something about Marisol that Marisol hadn’t realized?
Yanking back the curtain, Marisol found her there. Dark hair wavy against the pillow, wild like ancient seas. Seeing beyond the hospital gown, Marisol remembered the woman who’d been unconscious. Her expensive clothes and dramatic makeup hidden under all that blood.
When her patient turned her head to look at her, Marisol felt the weight of her gaze on every inch of her body.
Trembling in a way she couldn’t conceal, muscles twitching and pulse racing, Marisol gave oxygen to the flurry in her chest. “What do you mean about witches?” Her heart skipped a beat before she managed, “And who the hell are you?”
Dark eyes brightening, the woman in the bed stirred. “What took you so long?”