Page 164 of Pride High 2: Orange

The hospital finally came into view, a massive two-winged building several stories high. How was she supposed to find her father without being able to ask which room he was in? She had never thought about that when imagining this scenario. Silvia considered the countless windows as she walked across the parking lot and hoped to see room lights flashing on and off in a secret signal to her. She wasn’t any wiser when entering the building. She intentionally avoided making eye contact with anyone, choosing the farthest wall as her focal point and heading toward it as if she had somewhere to be and knew how to get there.

She wasn’t the only visitor, even at such a late hour. When she paused next to a directory to consult it, she overheard two people waiting for an elevator discussing their grandfather’s broken hip. They didn’t seem to be in a state of panic, so he probably wasn’t in the emergency room or intensive care. Her father wouldn’t be either, unless something had gone terribly wrong, so she followed them into the elevator when it arrived.

Silvia trailed them when they got off again and kept walking when they stopped to talk to someone. She had to be closer to finding him. Probably. There were so many twists and turns, and this was only one floor of a single wing. On occasion she would pass large desks in open areas manned by nurses responsible for the patients in the surrounding hallways. All she could do without appearing suspicious was glance into each room along the way. Silvia saw children instead of adults, most of them asleep, so she kept walking.

She was consulting another directory when someone finally noticed her.

“Need help finding where you’re going?”

She turned around and saw a chubby young woman wearing pale blue scrubs and a friendly smile.

“Yes,” Silvia said as her mind raced. “My grandma broke her ankle today, but I can’t seem to find her. Maybe I got off on the wrong floor?”

“Oh! I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”

“I know, but I promised her I’d pop in as soon as I got off work. Just to say good night and to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, I promise.”

The nurse smiled. “What’s her room number?”

Silvia pretended to think about it before putting on an embarrassed expression. “I honestly can’t remember. Late shifts at the diner are killing me.”

“I feel your pain,” the nurse said in commiserating tones. “Tell you what, if you go down that hall and turn right, you can ask the nurses there. From what you’ve described, it would be the right ward.”

“Thank you,” Silvia said.

She walked in the indicated direction and slowed when reaching more of the patient rooms. Half a dozen doors were on either side of the hall before it gave way to an open area and—judging from the light and activity—another nurses’ station. Silvia moved closer to the wall so should could peek into the first room. All she saw was dividing curtains and the ends of two beds. Great. She’d have to go inside if she wanted to see who slept there.

Silvia was working up the nerve when she noticed the patient names outside the door. Both of them were feminine. That helped! Her dad would probably be listed as John Doe, unless he gave them a fake name. She cursed herself for not having established a pseudonym for him to use and for her to recognize. Silvia moved to the next door, and the next, before crossing to the other side of the hall and working her way back. Of all the masculine names, only one was Hispanic: Javier Solis! Her father’s favorite singer! Who had died back in the sixties, if she wasn’t mistaken.

The light dimmed ahead, like someone was moving toward the hall from the nurses’ station, so she ducked inside the room and pressed herself against the nearest wall. Silvia held her breath while listening to footsteps as they neared. Whoever it was continued down the hall without stopping. With excessive caution, she crept deeper into the room. The man in the first bed was too skinny to be her father. But when she reached the next one…

The patient was sleeping on his back. One of his legs was wrapped in a cast and resting on a pillow. The light from the nearby window illuminated hair that she normally only saw that messy in the morning and a potbelly that was just the right size. Emboldened, Silvia moved along the dividing curtain and nearly cried out when she could finally see her father’s face.

She was already fighting back tears when kneeling next to Miguel. He didn’t belong here. She had lived in the same trailer for as long as she could remember, but it was her parents who made it feel like home. She was used to seeing her dad sitting on the couch while watching TV, or making breakfast on a Sunday morning, or working in the garden out back during the summer. He looked strangely vulnerable and out of place in a room full of muted colors and wheeled furniture. Silvia wanted to get him out of there. Immediately.

She was already doubting that would be possible. Miguel’s face was pale, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. What if more was wrong with him than just a broken leg?

Silvia placed a finger to his lips, whispering“Be quiet”in Spanish. Miguel’s eyes shot open, alert and then affectionate as he recognized her. He grabbed her hand, moved it away, and squeezed. “Silvia!”

“Shhh!” She swallowed against her tears and asked,“Are you okay?”

“You’ll be very proud of me,”Miguel whispered.“I haven’t told the doctors anything useful. I made up a name and address, just like you said I should. Do you know which one I used?”He opened his mouth and began to sing.

Silvia yanked her hand away and used it to cover his mouth, which he laughed softly against. She noticed how unfocused his eyes were and carefully moved her hand up to this forehead, where the bandage was.

“What happened?”she asked.

“It’s only a bump,”he assured her.“Otherwise they would have put a cast on my head.”He snickered at his own joke, which seemed odd considering the circumstances. Unless…

“Did they give you medicine for the pain?”

He nodded.“I feel fine now. Should we make a run for it?”

She glanced down at his leg.

“I might need a wheelchair,”Miguel admitted.

It wasn’t a bad idea. He wasn’t hooked up to an IV. If she could get him out of here…