Borderline [On hold for major revision]

Chapter 23: The Good Doctor

Chapter 23

The next morning it was a car that approached the little shack instead of a horse. Hector was in the driver’s seat, but as he waved and got out I noticed someone else was in the passenger side. I was curious about who it was, but the early morning sun reflected harshly off of the window and I couldn’t quite see their face.

            “I brought you some help today,” Hector said by way of greeting. “She is a doctor from ECRMC. I have known her mother, a nurse at the hospital, for many years, and she convinced her to come help.”

            As the doctor began to step out of the car, I realized that I’d met her before.

            No way.

            “Pía?”

            “Cal?”

            Okay, she remembered me. That was a plus. And she was just as surprised as I was. Good to know.

            “You two have met?” Hector asked.

            It took me a minute before I could get over my shock and answer his question. “Uh…yeah. I went to the hospital to check on someone a week or so ago, and her mom convinced me to see her for my injuries.”

            “Did you get the medication I prescribed you?” she asked.

            “Um, no…”

            “Why not?”

            “I guess I just forgot, what with being a fugitive and all.”

            “You were supposed to get it right aw—”

            “Maybe,” Hector interrupted, “we should discuss this inside?”

            “Oh, right. Come on in, guys.” I stepped back to the door and held it open while they walked in. “Either of you hungry?”

            “I’m a bit,” Pía said. “What do you have?”

            “Honestly, I’m not really sure. Hold on.”

Last night I had woken up sometime in the middle of the night with the feeling that there was someone nearby. I opened the front door to find a cardboard box sitting on the porch with a paper taped to it that only had the words “Tuck” and “Food” on it. I looked around and couldn’t find who left it, though the feeling that I wasn’t alone lingered. In the end I shrugged and went inside with the box—I figured if someone was kind enough to walk that far on foot to help me out deserved for me to mind their privacy and wish to remain anonymous. Since it was the middle of the night I was too tired to cut open the box and see what was in it, but now I took out a knife from the limited kitchenware that was supplied with the shelter and sliced the shipping tape open.

I lifted the flaps and sorted through the box’s contents, which I had to admit were lacking in variety. Inside were bags of corn in nearly every shape and form conceivable to the human mind, but all corn just the same. Crushed corn, powdered corn, corn juice, sliced corn, and just plain corn. Finally, when I got to the bottom of the box, I found a single potato.

How diverse of them.  

“Uh…how do you feel about corn?” I asked.

“It’s my second-favorite vegetable.”

“I think it’s technically a grain,” I said as I dug around through the cabinets for a container. Most of the shelves were almost completely empty, but I finally found one with a decent metal pot. I filled it with water and set it on the stove, but when I turned the knobs nothing happened. “Hector, does this place have electricity?”