Maria said.“I had to…ask Santiago something.”“Well, come on. You look like you’re about to keel over.”She was right. The air had been knocked out of my lungs. It was an effort to move my feet down the hall.“There, now stay in bed. You were really sick. Delirium. Fever, chills, thrashing about. Really something to see. I only wish I caught it on tape,” she joked, trying to make me smile.I couldn’t even muster the strength to roll my eyes.“Seriously, Santiago wanted to take you to the hospital. I knew you wouldn’t want to go, unless it was absolutely necessary. Besides, we had a Plan B.”It was hard to hang onto the thread of the conversation. I was weak. My heart ached.“He thought you picked up a bad germ on the plane or something,” she went on. “By law he couldn’t draw your blood without consent. At the hospital, yes. Here at home, not so much.” She lifted her arm to show me the band-aid. “Plan B—draw mine. You and I have been eating the same foods, doing the same things.
