Love y Lucha

Part 8

"He called me first," Doña Ester explained as she followed Rita into the ICU. "I said, how long have you been lying on the ground, Juanito? You need to call an ambulance. But he said he wouldn't go unless I drove him."

Rita knew the cost was what had prompted her father to avoid calling an ambulance.

"They think it was a heart attack," Ester continued before they entered the room.

Hospital machinery whirred and aspirated around Rita's father as his vitals beeped listlessly on a monitor. He looked at Rita like he had just woken up from a nap on the couch.

"Dad, you could have died," she said. "Next time, call an ambulance."

"I felt fine," he contested.

"Obviously not if you wanted to go to the hospital."

"For just in case," he said.

Rita sighed. "This is crazy. You're doing everything you're supposed to be doing for your health except for when it comes to the business. You're getting too stressed out."

"It's not that," her father said.

"Then what were you doing? Screwing?"

"Ay, Rita!"

"What? I know you're seeing Doña Ester." Rita turned to look at the woman who was now shrinking guiltily into the corner. "And that's fine. I just wish you weren't such a hypocrite."

"Doña Ester has rented a space for the past twenty years," her father said. "She's proven her longevity."

"Well at least now you have someone to take care of you," Rita said. "Listen, I'm going it alone on the business. I'm jumping in headfirst and I don't want any help. I want you to go home after you're done here. Don't step a foot on the grounds until you're better." She turned her gaze to Ester, asking earnestly, "Please."

Ester offered her an understanding smile. "Of course, mija."

Paco had opted to wait in the car while Rita went into the hospital. At some point, he decided to close his eyes, and despite being worried about how Rita was dealing with things, he managed to doze off, only waking at a tap on the passenger's side window. Removing the pulled over hood of his sweatshirt from his eyes, he saw she had returned to the car.

As she climbed into the car beside him, he saw her eyes now had a wary clarity to them in spite of the rest of her face showing visible exhaustion.

"Likely heart attack," she said. "And he's doing the tamale lady."

"Wow," Paco said. "Good deal."

Rita frowned, turning herself around in her seat to look at him. "What?"

"I mean, the second part. He's getting it and he's getting tamales," Paco stopped himself, even if the situation was an enviable universal truth. "Sorry."

"Yeah," Rita said. "My dad is getting more action than I am."

Paco gave a laugh, filtering out his urge to tell her he could help with that. Instead he reached for her hand, taking it in his. "Yeah, that was wrong how tonight ended."

She leaned forward, meeting his lips with hers and encircling her arms around his neck to clutch the collar and shoulder of his sweatshirt. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her forward as much as the tiny car would allow, before pulling his mouth away from her.

"This wouldn't be much better," he murmured, motioning to their surroundings. The hospital parking garage, the Civic, the ailing father upstairs that burned worry into Rita's desperate face.