Chapter 62 CHAPTER 63

Chapter 62 CHAPTER 63

Ángela called at four in the morning.
Julieta answered on the first ring because she had spent the last month sleeping with the phone tucked beneath her cheek. Marta appeared in the bedroom doorway before Julieta had even said hello, because Marta, too, knew what a phone ringing at four in the morning meant.
“Ana.”
“Juli, listen to me and breathe. The doctor spoke with Ernesto and me again yesterday. Vladimir hasn’t gotten worse, but he hasn’t improved either, and that’s becoming a problem in itself. They ran more tests. He said we’re no longer in the acute phase. That the window for him to respond well isn’t infinite. That the longer he stays like this, the worse the prognosis will be if he wakes up.”
“How much longer?”
“He didn’t give me a number, Juli. People like that never give numbers. But his face did. I’m telling you because I promised myself I would, not because I want you making any decisions you shouldn’t.”
Julieta sat up in bed. The hallway light filtered through the crack beneath the door. Marta remained motionless in the doorway.
“Ana.”
“Yes?”
“I’m coming.”
“Juli.”
“I’m coming.”
“Sister.”
“No, Ana, now you listen to me. I’ve spent a month getting your messages at eleven, at two, at five. Still the same. A month. And now you’re telling me the doctor gave you a look. I’m not staying here waiting another month for that look to get worse. If he’s going to go, he’s not going to go without knowing. And if he’s going to wake up, he’s not going to wake up to an empty room.”
“Andrés is still out there, Juli.”
“I know.”
“If you’re seen in that hospital, Andrés will know within two hours.”
“I know.”
“You’re six months pregnant.”
“I know, Ana. I know everything. I spent a whole month thinking about it. And I made the decision a little while ago. I’m not calling so you can change my mind. I’m calling so you know, because you promised not to leave me in the dark, and I promise you the same. I’m going.”
Silence on the other end.
“When?”
“As soon as possible. Marta will find the flights.”
“I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“No. Don’t move from there. If Ernesto sees you leaving to pick someone up, he’ll start connecting dots. I’ll take a taxi straight to the hospital. I’ll call you from the taxi.”
“Juli.”
“Yes?”
“Take care of yourself for both of us.”
She hung up.

Marta found her a flight for nine in the morning. Two layovers. An aisle seat near the restroom because at that stage of pregnancy Julieta couldn’t stay seated for two straight hours. She packed her suitcase without asking what to bring. She included a heavy coat even though the weather was warm, because hospitals are cold places, and waiting rooms colder still.
“Marta, you don’t have to come.”
“I’m coming.”
“Marta.”
“Miss, I’m coming. I’m not putting you on that plane alone.”
Julieta didn’t argue anymore. When an older woman who cooks for you and knows how to keep silent decides to accompany you, you say thank you and get into the taxi.

The flight was slow.
Julieta didn’t sleep.
She didn’t read.
She didn’t talk.
She stared at the seat in front of her, one hand resting on her belly, speaking silently to Lucio, rehearsing things she would say to a man who might not even hear her.
Vladimir, it’s me. I came back. Wake up.
She rehearsed them, changed them, rehearsed them again, and halfway through the first leg she realized none of them worked, because you don’t rehearse conversations with a man in a coma. You arrive and say whatever you can.
During the first layover, she threw up.
It wasn’t the nerves.
It wasn’t the pregnancy.
It was both mixed together.
Marta took her to the restroom, held her forehead, pressed a damp cloth against the back of her neck, handed her water.
“Breathe, miss. Count to five. Again. Again.”
When they came out, Julieta’s face was gray and her legs felt weak, and for a moment she thought she wouldn’t make it through the second flight.
“Marta.”
“Yes?”
“What if I don’t get there in time?”
“You’ll get there.”
“What if I get there and he’s already gone?”
“If you get there and he’s gone, you still got there. That’s all. Don’t think about it anymore. Walk.”
They walked to the next gate.
They boarded the second plane.

They landed shortly after noon.
Julieta stepped off carrying a fatigue that had nothing to do with flying. Her ankles were swollen like balloons, her back felt useless, and she had a thirst water couldn’t quench.
Marta carried both suitcases.
They took the first taxi in line.
“Where to, ma’am?”
“Santa Clara Clinic. Intensive care.”
The driver glanced at her in the mirror, noticed her belly, asked no questions, and drove.
On the way, Julieta called Ángela.
“I’m in the taxi. Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll wait for you at the ICU entrance.”
“No. Fourth floor. Reception desk. I’ll come up. Don’t wait outside. Anyone could see you.”
“Juli.”
“Fourth floor, Ana. Please.”
“All right. Fourth floor. Ernesto’s upstairs. He set up in a conference room nearby. If I need help, I’ll call him. Do you want him there?”
“Keep him close. But let me go in first. Alone.”
“All right.”

The taxi stopped in front of the hospital.
Marta got out first and offered her a hand. Julieta climbed out as best she could. Marta grabbed both suitcases.
They crossed the automatic doors, the lobby, the elevator.
Fourth floor.
The hallway smelled of disinfectant.
There was an empty waiting room on one side, a closed automatic door at the far end, and a reception desk with a nurse behind it.
Julieta walked to the desk.
Marta remained three steps behind with the luggage.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Vladimir Rossi.”
The nurse looked up.
A woman in her fifties. Glasses. The face of someone working a long shift.
She looked at Julieta’s face first.
Then at her belly.
Then back at her face.
“Family?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
Julieta hesitated for half a second.
The new name was useless here.
The old one wasn’t.
“Julieta Carrasco.”
The nurse typed.
Looked at the screen.
Scrolled down.
Scrolled back up.
Frowned.
“You’re not listed among the authorized visitors, miss.”
“I’m the patient’s partner.”
“I need immediate family or someone on the approved list, miss.”
“Look, I lived with him. I’m the mother of his other daughter, for all practical purposes. I’m—”
“Miss, lower your voice, please.”
“I’m not yelling. I’m explaining.”
“There’s no need to explain. You need to be on the list. Do you have written authorization from an immediate family member?”
“Call the immediate family member. He’s on this very floor. Ernesto Rossi. Same last name. I can spell it for you if you want. R-O-S-S-I. Pick up the phone.”
“That’s not how things work, miss.”
“Yes, it is, because I’m not asking for anything unreasonable. I’m asking you to call a man who is thirty meters away from you.”
“Miss.”
“I’ve spent four hours on a plane. I’ve spent a month in another country. I’m six months pregnant. The father of the baby I’m carrying is on the other side of that automatic door hooked up to a machine, and all I’m asking is for you to pick up the phone and dial an extension. I’m not asking you to cure him. Pick up the phone.”
“Miss, I’m going to ask you to sit in the waiting room, or I’ll have to call security.”
Julieta placed both hands on the counter.
Her left hand trembled slightly.
Her right did not.
She pressed it against the Formica as though it were the last solid thing holding her upright.
“Call security if you want. Call the head of security. Call the attorney general for all I care. But I am not sitting in that waiting room, ma’am. I just crossed the country with a child inside me to get through that door, and I am going through that door today. The only thing you get to decide is whether I go through because of a phone call from you or because of a scene.”
The nurse picked up the phone.
For two seconds Julieta’s heart climbed into her throat because she thought the woman was calling Ernesto.
She wasn’t.
“Security? Yes, fourth floor, ICU. I have an agitated visitor refusing to follow protocol. Could someone come up? Thank you.”
She hung up.
Looked at Julieta with the flat calm that comes from uniforms and long shifts.
“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to wait for security in the waiting room. If you refuse, I’ll be obligated to—”
“To what?” Julieta cut in. “Push me yourself? Go ahead. Try pushing a pregnant woman in this hallway and I swear this hospital will have a new owner by this afternoon.”
“Miss.”
“Call Ernesto Rossi’s extension. That’s the last thing I’m asking.”
“Miss, I already told you I can’t—”
Marta, who had remained silent three steps behind with the luggage, stepped forward.
“Child.”
Julieta didn’t look at her.
“Child, look at me.”
This time she did.
Marta gently took hold of her elbow.
Spoke softly, low enough that the nurse would hear only part of it.
“Breathe. Lucio’s moving, and this isn’t good for him. Breathe and sit down over there for two minutes. Two. I’ll go get Mr. Ernesto. I know where he is—your sister told me. The conference room on this floor, right? I’ll bring him. You sit. Two minutes. Don’t give this woman the satisfaction of calling another guard.”
Julieta opened her mouth to argue.
Closed it.
Placed her free hand over her belly.
Marta was right.
Lucio was moving too much.
For thirty seconds he had been telling her in his own language that none of this was good for him.
She let go of the counter.
Walked to the waiting room.
Sat down in a plastic chair.
Leaned back.
Closed her eyes for a second.
Marta set the suitcases beside her chair.
“Two minutes, miss.”
“Marta.”
“Yes?”
“Bring him fast.”
“I will.”
Marta disappeared down the side hallway with the determined stride of an older woman who doesn’t run but always gets where she’s going.

Julieta remained seated in the fourth-floor intensive care waiting room, one hand resting on her belly, staring at the closed automatic door at the end of the hallway.
Behind that door was the only person in the world she had traveled three thousand kilometers to see.
And that afternoon, after a month of planes and forehead pressed against seatbacks and promises made to a baby who couldn’t answer her, a woman with glasses behind a reception desk was keeping her from reaching him.
And she began to cry.
Not out of drama.
Out of exhaustion.
Out of anger.
Out of being thirty meters and one automatic door away from him and still unable to cross the distance.
Waiting for Marta to come back with Ernesto.