We take a seat at her small dining table, and she places her forearms on the worn wood, leveling me with her signature stare.
“Alright, sweetness. Let’s get into it.”
I chuckle at how straightforward she is.
“I noticed Lola was in pain yesterday, and then tonight on the bull…” I trail off, unsure of what else to say.
She smacks her forehead dramatically. “Oh, god! You noticed that too!” she nearly shouts, uncovering her face as her big eyes meet mine. “Gosh, she’s worrying the hell out of me. I knew her condition would get worse as time went on without treatment, but I didn’t know how fast!”
My stomach drops to my toes as I struggle to put the puzzle together, eventually working it out. I’m unable to clear the shock written clear as day on my face.
Mayte smacks her hand over her mouth when she realizes what she’s done. “You didn’t know,” she breathes out quietly.
I shake my head. “I didn’t, but now that I do, I’d appreciate it if you explained.”
I lean forward onto my forearms, settling in for what I’m sure is about to be one long explanation.
Twenty minutes later, I’m fully caught up on Lola’s rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis, her lack of treatment the last few years thanks to her lack of health insurance, and, of course, the bastard she almost married, who used her diagnosis against her as a manipulation tactic.
“So,” she says, slouching in her seat, “what are we gonna do about this?”
I close my eyes, rattling any semblance of an idea around in my mind, and come up short. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna figure it out.”
She nods slowly, her messy bun bobbing with the motion. “Just let me know how I can help,” she tells me.
“Will do. Now, go on and get to bed with that sweet little dumpling. I’ve taken up too much of your time tonight already.”
I stand, heading to the door. Before I step out, she surprises me, wrapping me up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to either of my cheeks. “Thanks for caring, Ryder. Goodnight.”
I tip my chin at her, heading out onto the porch. “Always will. Night.”
Chapter Thirteen
LENGUA SUELTA
SUNDAY, APRIL 27
My head poundsas I sit at the dining table, my elbows sticking to the clear plasticMamikeeps over the white lace tablecloth as I ice my swollen knuckles.
As usual, everything hurts, though today is worse than my new baseline.
Struggling with my grip last night had strained my already-sore joints, and falling flat on my back only made matters worse.
There’s a knock at the door, and when I answer it, just like yesterday, I find Ryder standing on my porch.
Except this time, he’s got a bouquet of white roses.
He thrusts them into my arms and lets himself inside. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he says, taking a seat at the table. Where the hell are my parents when I need them? “You may not’ve been ready to talk about it yesterday, but I sure hope you are now.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say, feigning indifference as I take a seat across from him.
His eyes narrow before landing on the bags of ice sitting on the table. “You sure about that?”
“I am,” I huff out. “It’s none of your business, Ryder. I can take care of myself. I have for a long time now.”
His eyes soften as he takes in my annoyed expression. “I’m not telling you what to do, but I want to help,” he says, the words coming out like a plea. “I spoke with Mayte…” Those words hang in the air between us, threatening to shatter the stillness. Once sacred, quiet, and peaceful, now nowhere seems free of the thoughts threatening to strangle me at every turn.
He scratches the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a beat.
