5. Sofia
5
SOFIA
T he fireworks finally stopped. Booms became more infrequent, sporadic late into the night, and then they ceased.
Alboradas was over. The first Colombian festivity was finished, and the rest of December would follow with all the joy and excitement our country’s beloved holiday brought.
Not me.
This night—or the results of it—were far from over for me. I’d brought a stranger, a wounded and unconscious doctor, home.
And from my clinical opinion, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
A deep sigh heaved out of me, blowing the errant strands of my hair from my face, only for them to fall right back into my vision. I saw him—Diego, according to the medical ID tag attached to his doctor coat.
Diego S. The missing surname surprised me because it was usually the first initial on credentials and ID fobs at the hospital. Then again, some visiting faculty and specialty practitioners had a different system for nomenclature that was based on where they came from.
Diego S?
S. Diego?
I had no way of guessing. It didn’t seem likely that I’d have any way of knowing after asking him, either, because he seemed out of it.
Through the messy waves of my hair that wouldn’t behave, I eyed him sleeping on the couch. His wide, hard chest rose and fell with each cycle of respiration, so I knew he was breathing well. Once I’d gotten him in here, I’d checked his vitals the best I could. With the tools I had from my nursing program, like my stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, I could attest that he seemed stable. His blood pressure, pulse, oxygen count, and reflexes were fine. His lungs and abdomen sounded clear, too.
My experience with treating patients with concussions was another matter altogether. I hadn’t. Ever. I’d never been assigned anyone with a traumatic head injury like this, not to the point they’d blacked out and remained in and out of consciousness.
Worry assailed me.
Should I have taken him to the hospital?
What if he’s suffering from more than what I can handle here?
Will I be complicit in his death?
Wouldn’t it be better to have his head scanned?
It seemed far too late to stress about what I should or should not have done. He was here now, and if I were to backtrack and deliver him to the hospital I’d found him outside of, unconscious, I would risk far too many questions and earn way too much attention for my actions.
If his brain is bleeding, I can’t help him.
If he has further damage that requires surgery, he’s out of luck.
The slight hope that I clung to was that someone would be looking for him, and I would hear about that through the grapevine. Se?ora Vasquez was a notorious gossip. She’d leak out a rumor about a doctor gone missing. Even though I avoided setting foot on the hospital grounds, I followed its latest news online and on social media when I had enough money to pay for the internet access. Otherwise, I would have to get on my phone at the clinic and piggyback on their Wi-Fi to investigate.
Diego, or whatever his name was, was a doctor. Someone would be seeking him out and noticing him missing. Even if he was only here in Colombia for a short duration, perhaps as a researcher who’d come for a couple of months, someone would be able to tell he wasn’t where he should be expected.
Once someone inquired about him, I would be able to direct him to better care.
Just so long as it’s not the Cartel looking for him to finish him.
I had no business even getting involved, especially like this. I was no lone heroine, saving lives and thwarting the Cartel’s agenda of violence. I was, however, someone who couldn’t walk away from someone in pain or danger.
“Mama?”
I jerked a little, blinking quickly as I lifted my face toward my son. Ramon sat on the other side of the room, peering at me with far too much worry etched on his sweet face than any six-year-old should ever show.
“Hmm?”
“It looks like you’re falling asleep sitting up.”
I almost smiled. It sure wouldn’t be the first time. Life as a single mother was tough and tiring. Life as a full-time clinic nurse with a habit of working through mandatory overtime hours was tougher yet. But this unpredictable environment we lived in, where the Cartels could sweep through, change the law as they saw fit, and leave whatever carnage they wanted to dispose of in their wake, it was an exhausting way to live.
“It’s been a long day.”
He nodded. “And a long night with all the fireworks.”
“I’m glad Se?ora Vasquez could take you to that square for them.”
“Yeah. It was great!” His happy face slid into a slow frown.
The December celebrations would’ve been fun, but what he found when he came home wasn’t. Se?ora Vasquez returned with Juan and Ramon right after I had successfully moved the man inside the house. As soon as I was done checking his vitals, I hustled to clean up all the blood that had been left in my car, even the drops that had fallen on the cracked sidewalk up to the building.
I’d never brought a man into our home. I’d never brought anyone—period. Walking in and seeing a beaten and unconscious man on the couch would’ve thrown him off. To Ramon’s credit, he was calm and unafraid, trusting me to know what I was doing.
Truthfully, I had no clue what I was doing. I had no idea what I was thinking when I saw the doctor and decided to save him. In hindsight, I realized I hadn’t thought it through at all. I’d operated on instinct, this natural need to nurture and help.
If Ramon truly knew how bad the Cartel was, he’d change his tune. I was risking too much if the Cartel would want this man finished off for good.
I’d told my son the little I knew, that I’d found the doctor hurt and was worried about whoever had hurt him coming back to finish what they’d started if they saw he was alive.
Stressing the need to keep things on the down low, though, I made sure that Ramon would not tell anyone about what I’d done or who we had in our house. He didn’t have too many friends for me to panic about his being a blabbermouth. And I, or someone I trusted, would always be with him to know if he was chatting about the mysterious unconscious man I’d brought home.
Most importantly, though, Ramon understood that he had to stay away from this stranger until I gave him the okay. Until this man woke up and gave me a clue whether he could be dangerous, Ramon needed to keep his distance, despite how curious he might be.
It was why he sat on the other side of the room, almost as if I were buffering him from the stranger.
“Mama, go lie down. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I was so proud, so grateful he was such a good little Samaritan like I was. It came as no shock that I was role modeling through my career and everyday actions, that he already knew it was right to help those in need. His trying to help others and pretend he was a medical officer was cute but not right for this situation.
I couldn’t let my innocent six-year-old son watch over an unconscious stranger. What kind of a mother would that make me? Careless and risky.
“No, baby. You can’t just” —a wide yawn cracked open my mouth further, halting whatever I was going to finish saying— “I can’t let you be out here and watching out for any changes without me.” If this man woke up and saw Ramon all alone, I had no clue what could happen. Whether he could be violent. Whether he’d try to steal away my son.
Another yawn escaped me, longer and wider than the last.
“Then you sleep in the chair,” he suggested. “Sleep out here near me while I look over him. I’ll take first watch.”
First watch? I was mildly amused and intrigued, wondering where he’d picked up that phrase from. Likely a movie he’d seen with Juan at the Vasquez house.
“You’ll fall asleep sitting in that chair, Mama,” he said again.
I hated that he had to be this mature, that he was already this perceptive and concerned about what others needed. He shouldn’t have this burden of growing up too fast, of taking on responsibilities and worries as though he were an adult. His childhood should be full of wonder and fun, of learning and exploring, within reason and my sight, not volunteering to be a first watch .
Now wasn’t the time to flog myself with bitter self-reflection that I was failing him, being only a single mother and not providing him with a father or a fuller family to count on. Sometimes, the idea of it being just the two of us was a sweet one. Just me and him against the world. Right now, in this moment, I hated how helpless we were.
“Then…” I nodded, struggling to open my eyes fully as the drowsiness hit me. “Then I’ll fall asleep sitting in this chair.”
I did, drifting almost instantly to sleep. Despite the anxiety of having a man in my house, I didn’t feel completely vulnerable. With a head wound like that, bleeding and hard enough to knock him out, I couldn’t be sure he’d wake up at all. Having to get rid of a dead body in the house wasn’t something I’d thought far ahead about yet, and I wouldn’t.
In the sweet bliss of sleep, no dreams visited me. That was how tired my body and mind were.
All too soon, though, Ramon alerted me. I could’ve used another few hours of rest to feel recharged, but that wasn’t happening.
“Mama.” He whispered it as he tugged my sleeve, now standing on the other side of my chair instead of being seated near the wall. “Mama. He’s stirring. The doctor is waking up.”
Blinking my eyes open, I registered the instant uptick of my pulse. My heart hammered fast as a sudden spike of adrenaline immediately roused me from sleep.
From the couch, the tall, muscular man shifted slightly. Low groans left his lips. Although he didn’t open his eyes, movement was obvious behind the closed lids.
“What…”
I shot to my feet, hurrying toward him and getting my stethoscope off from where it hung on my neck. Dressed in my scrubs from work, since I hadn’t had the chance to change, I took comfort in the way he’d be able to recognize me as a healthcare figure with my uniform.
“It’s all right.”
My voice was the catalyst to wake him completely. As his brow furrowed, he opened his eyes to reveal the richest brown pools of uncertainty I’d ever peered into. He turned slightly in my direction, but when he winced, I put my hand on the side of his head and stopped him from moving. He wasn’t paralyzed, moving his fingers and feet slightly in his rest. But that didn’t mean he might not have suffered a neck or spinal injury.
“It’s all right,” I repeated as sternly yet softly as I could. Ignoring the confusion on his face as he stared at me, I checked his heart and lungs, still aware that his vitals must be monitored.
“I’m Sofia,” I said, in case he hadn’t heard me before when I told him on the car ride. He’d groaned on the way here, and I wondered if he was waking fully. “I’m a nurse, and I will help you.”
“I…” The creases in his brow deepened as he studied the room.
“You’re safe here,” I added, in case he was scoping out my living room out of fear he’d be attacked again. “You can recover here.”
“Where…?” He blinked, scowling. “No. Who ?” Locking his uneasy gaze on me, he licked his lips and exhaled a long breath. “Who am I?”
Oh, fuck.
I’d never had experience caring for a patient with a concussion or a traumatic head injury, but I knew amnesia could be a concern.
“You…” I reared back on my haunches. “You don’t know who you are?”
“No.” He stared at me like I could explain.
“You don’t remember your name?”
“I don’t remember much of anything.” Again, he studied the room. “I don’t know what happened or who I am.”
Schooling my features into this blank, neutral expression, I fought to hide my reaction. He couldn’t recall anything. Not his name. Not how he’d gotten hurt.
Nothing.
And I couldn’t stop the worry that his amnesia could be another danger, another threat.
An additional peril I could really do without.