"Héctor..." Ismael's voice scraped out of his throat. A smirk played across his parched lips when he stared at the bishop's ashen face. None of them knew he'd clung to every word they'd said for the past seven days.
After being unconscious for over a month, the priest had woken up a week ago but kept it a secret. Until now.
"Compa?" Abe looked unnerved. "Honey, get the doctor."
Marta backed up several steps, never taking her eyes off her friend until she headed down the hall.
"You're awake..." The strange tension in the bishop's tone didn't go unnoticed. It was clear he wanted to pull his arm free of Ismael's grip while still trying to keep his composure.
Ironic, isn't it? The priest clenched his hand tighter, savoring Héctor's dismay. Now you are the one who's paralyzed.
"The Lord has worked through you, Your Excellency," Ismael said. "You woke me up. It's a miracle."
"A miracle?" The bishop finally wriggled out of his grasp, drawing himself up to look taller than he was. Half-closing his eyes, he turned to Abraham. "Is this a joke? You told me he was in a coma."
"I was." Ismael bowed his head, not only to appear submissive but to prevent his face from betraying him. "I came back to life because of you. As I said, it's a miracle."
He wasn't lying.
If I hadn't moved, he would have sent me to that nursing home, he thought. That's the last thing I want. But this also means it's bye-bye to the sweet freedom of immobility.
"Right." The bishop nodded. "We'll see what our doctors say about that at the Home for Sick and—"
"No, please!" The priest continued to emote desperation as best as he could. "Don't send me there."
"I don't have time for this," López complained. "You are to stay with the Daughters of Charity. They will look after you every day and night."
"Ismael had not made a sound in weeks," Abraham said. He stood in the doorway, keeping the Bishop from leaving. His breathing was irregular, his forehead beaded with sweat; he seemed willing to do anything. "You come, he wakes up, and now you won't hear him?"
The bishop had no choice but to meet the priest's pleading eyes.
"What do you want?"
"Can I stay with Marta and Abe? At least for a while? Please? Let kindness be part of your miracle." Ismael picked up the envelope with transfer papers next to him. "Imagine what they'll say: protected by the chief of police and saved by the head of the diocese... faith and justice in communion! A new dawn begins for San Isidro. If something can mend San Isidro's old wounds, surely it is this."
The priest kept on insisting until the bishop had the envelope back in his hands. If I inflate his ego enough, with the promise that his miracle will be on everyone's lips, he will have to let me stay at Abraham's.
That was all the time Ismael needed to set his plan in motion.
"Fine." The bishop tore the envelope into bits. "But don't forget that even the tiniest mistake of a small man can tarnish a miracle. And if this miracle is tarnished..."
"Have a little faith, Héctor," said Ismael as Marta returned with the doctor. "There's nothing I can do. I am less than nothing."