The moment that Francisco wasn’t looking she dropped my arm, picked up her skirts, and just started for a door in the far corner. Micah followed her with a glance back at us. I nodded him onward and he caught up with Mercedes. She was moving pretty good in the dyed-to-match high heels.

   Nathaniel and I brought up the rear. I glanced back and found that Manny and Rosita had been joined by Connie and her new husband. The four of them had the dance floor to themselves while everyone beamed at them, happy to see thirty years of happiness alongside the beginning of more. It was a nice visual, but as usual when there was something nice, I was walking away from it to talk about things that would have spoiled the happiness behind me. At least now I wasn’t alone when I did it. Nathaniel and Micah were willing to leave the easy happy stuff behind to deal with the hard stuff that you had to do so other people could be safe and happy. Hell, the three of us spent a lot of our couple time discussing hard topics with the rest of the people we were involved with so we could keep being happy. Ignoring the hard things doesn’t make them go away. I was glad I had people in my life now who were willing to work at things.

   Mercedes led us to what looked like a break room, complete with vending machines, small tables and chairs, and even a couch against one wall. It was blissfully quiet. I hadn’t thought the reception was loud until we got away from the noise. My shoulders dropped and let me know I’d been hunching them a little, like I did when I was tense. I expected Mercedes to go to a table, so we could all sit, but she turned to us as soon as the door closed. I guess we were standing.

   She turned to Micah. “Tomas talked to you longer than he’s talked to any of us. He’s started with a counselor, but I don’t think he’s talking to her either.”

   “He might do better with a male counselor,” Nathaniel said.

   Mercedes looked at him; her eyes were solid brown, but it was a pale brown like milk chocolate Easter candy. I realized that my eyes were darker. I was all mixed heritage, but my mother’s nearly black eyes came true.

   “What difference would a male counselor make?” she asked.

   “He’s a thirteen-year-old boy,” Nathaniel said.

   “So?”

   “Tomas is just learning, or trying to become, the kind of man he’s going to be. While he’s trying to figure out what it means to be a man, he’s kidnapped, shot, and he couldn’t protect his sister,” Micah said.

   “Connie is our older sister; she’s always protected us,” Mercedes said.

   “But that was when Tomas was a kid; he’s not really a kid anymore,” Nathaniel said.

   She made a face and rolled her eyes. “He’s only thirteen, he is a kid.”

   “And that’s why he won’t talk to you,” Nathaniel said, “because to you he’s still your little brother, but inside his own head he’s trying to be more than that.”

   She frowned and studied Nathaniel’s so-serious face. “I don’t understand that, because he’ll always be my kid brother, but you’re right; he’s at the age where we all try to figure out what we’ll be as adults. You’re saying as his family we can’t see him clearly.”

   “Something like that.”

   “You think he’d do better with a male counselor, because he’s learning to be a man and suddenly everything that society tells him is manly just got taken away from him.”

   “Not away, but he’s hurt,” Nathaniel said.

   “How bad is the physical damage?” Micah asked.

   “What did Tomas tell you?”

   “That the doctors aren’t sure he’ll walk again.”

   “That’s not true, he will walk again.”

   “How about run?” I asked.

   Mercedes looked serious and then sad; it was not a good sign.

   “That bad?” I said.

   “He got shot in the stomach, but there seems to be nerve damage down one leg. It’s just bad luck that the bullet hit what it did. A one-in-a-million issue, the orthopedist said, but he also told Frankie and me in private that if the bullet had gone a few inches the other side he might have bled out and died before he got to the hospital, so it’s all so . . . Tomas’s whole future hung on a few millimeters inside his body, and what the bullet hit, or didn’t hit.”

   Her eyes got shiny with unshed tears, sparkling in the dramatic wedding eye shadow. She took a deep, shaking breath, visibly steadying herself. Her voice was almost even as she said, “They think if he does his physical therapy religiously, and adds even more weight lifting than he was doing for track, that he should recover enough to run.”

   “Recover enough to run like he did before?” I asked.

   She shrugged. “No doctor is going to say yes or no right now. There are too many variables. I’ve tried to explain it to Mama and Papa, but they want definite answers and it’s just not that easy.”

   It took me a second to realize that Mama and Papa were Manny and Rosita.

   “I understand the reasoning,” Micah said. “They can’t know for sure what will heal, and they can’t control how hard Tomas works at his physical therapy.”

   “He’s young, so that will help him heal, but he’s started the very beginnings of PT, and he’s not working at it like he should.”

   “He’s depressed,” Nathaniel said.

   “Yes, but if he doesn’t do his PT then it’s almost a guarantee that he won’t heal enough to do track again. Damn it, if he doesn’t put effort into recovering, he could end up crippled permanently.”

   “What will make the difference?” I asked.

   “Following doctor’s orders, being serious about PT, and in a few weeks if he does that Frankie and I will help him start adding weights and other exercises. This is the kind of thing we both wanted to do to help people. We, I, can help Tomas, if he’ll let me.” The tears started trickling down her cheeks now.

   I glanced at Micah, and then Nathaniel. One looked at me, and the other one made a small motion. I sighed and hugged Mercedes, letting her fold herself down so I could hold her while she cried even though I was inches shorter. Why was it always the girl who was supposed to hold people when they cried? Shouldn’t whoever was best at it, regardless of gender, do it? But I patted her back and made comforting noises, not sure if it did a damn bit of good, but sometimes it’s the best you can do, or the best I can do.

   “Have you tried introducing him to someone who’s recovered from a similar injury?” Micah asked.

   It made Mercedes stand up straight and wipe at her eyes. She wiped too hard and smeared her eye makeup. I’d tell her before she went back to the reception. “We’ve got some patients who are pro athletes. It’s not the same kind of injuries, but Tomas loves sports, and hearing about how hard they’re working to recover might help him work harder at PT. That’s a great idea, Micah, thank you.”