Page 58 of Savage Saint

Yes.” A low hiss. Annoyed. “He wants the phone.”

There’s rustling, a threat made to kick him, then my father’s voice comes through the line. They’re talking over each other to each other, and I smile when she says no and he demands the speaker option.

“Genesis?”

A smile pulls at my lips despite the note still clutched in my hand. “Bendicion, Dad.”

“Que Dios te bendiga,” he says, giving the blessing every Dominican parent gives their child. May God bless you.

Moreover, those words settle me. Not completely, but enough that I stop imagining every possible reason the hospital failed to protect me. To notify my parents.

“How’s it going? You been busy?”

“We got the new Wi-Fi in…” there’s a touch of grumpiness in that “…but the damn thing refuses to work.”

“Already? Didn’t someone from the company come set it up?”

“For what? I can plug things in myself.”

I rub my forehead while, in the background, my mother giggles. “Ask her. Quit stalling, Domingo.”

“I’m making your favorite day after tomorrow. Un sancochito with everything, and I’ll throw in a boozy arroz con leche to sweeten the pot.”

“Are you bribing me with food?”

“Yes.” No shame.

“What time?”

“After two is more than fine?” he says, then pauses to hear whatever Mom is whispering. “Oh, and yeah…I’m going to need you to look at the printer.”

“What’s wrong with the printer? I got you a new one a few weeks ago.”

“He touched it! Said it needed tweaking!” Mom shouts, and this time it’s Dad who curses. It’s low and grumpy, and my mother’s laughter gets louder. So loud, he walks away.

“Ignore her. I didn’t do anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I swear.”

“Sure. I’m sure the printer just hates you for no good reason.”

“That’s what your mother said, too. You two are just mean.”

“Love you too, Dad.” I laugh, but he’s not listening to me. My mom followed him, and they’re bickering playfully back and forth while I sit there smiling until my fingers twitch and the note makes a crinkling sound.

I read it again.

See you soon, little Pocket Doc.

Soon when?

Why the nickname?

Did he really come into my apartment, put me to bed, strip my phone of its protection, leave me a short note like some kind of considerate criminal, then walk out without so much as a thank you?

That last thought irks me more than I want to admit.