For the first time since this morning, Frankie is very tempted to slam the door shut—right in Rolando’s face.
Valentino
6:27 p.m.
Why walk toward your own death when you can drive?
Floyd is driving us down the FDR, a ten-minute journey between his house and my building. But there’s a catch: I’m alone in the backseat of the van as Orion sits shotgun. It’s a safety decision and one I chose to respect when I got in the car and accepted this generous offer.
Transportation is really tricky on an End Day.
Orion and I tried leaving for the subway, but his family wouldn’t allow us. There were too many risks between here and the station, and then the train ride itself presented its own dangers. I thought we could take a taxi, but his guardians didn’t trust any drivers, especially since just last week Floyd had to provide medical attention to a cabbie who was responsible for the accident. What if fate was cruel enough to put that man behind the wheel again with us in the backseat? Floyd volunteered to drive but refused to let Dayana, Dalma, and Dahlia get in the car too. He tried suggesting there wasn’t enough space for all of us, but it’s a van. Everyone could fit. I just know he doesn’t want to risk their lives. I’m sure he wishes Orion were in Dayana’s car with the girls, but the best he could do was suggest Orion sit up front with him to help navigate a freeway that has been a pretty straight shot.
I’m not upset. I want Orion close to the airbags. The best protection I have back here are comforters and bedding and pillows that Dayana has given me to leave behind for Scarlett. Now Scarlett won’t have to sleep under my clothes like I did with Orion.
I love that memory. The first time I shared a bed with a boy.
I reach over as best as my seat belt allows and hold on to Orion’s shoulder like it’s the edge of a cliff. He turns and kisses my knuckles before covering them with his hand.
The entire ride has been quiet. There’s already a level of care that goes into driving without factoring in a confirmed Decker in the backseat. I’m sure Floyd is nervous that this act of kindness he’s showing me can lead to everyone’s deaths. Orion is paying attention to his side-view mirror for any rogue cars that might spin out of control.
No matter what happens, I still can’t help but feel like I’m in a hearse, being driven to my funeral even though my heart is still beating.
Orion
6:30 p.m.
My phone rings, and for a second I feel like I can’t answer it, as if I’m the one driving the car and not someone sitting shotgun. Floyd’s got those steel nerves thankfully. I check my phone, and it’s not Dalma or Scarlett calling. It’s a number I don’t know.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I’m calling to speak with Orion Pagan. This is Dr. Emeterio from Lenox Hill.”
“Oh my god, hey! It’s me.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay, I’m really good, actually.”
“Does that mean Valentino is still alive?”
“Yeah, we’re together right now.” I look over my shoulder and tell Valentino that it’s Dr. Emeterio on the phone. “So what’s up?”
“Is it possible to speak with Valentino?”
“Totally.” I pass the phone back to Valentino.
I’m trying to figure out if Dr. Emeterio calling is a good thing or bad thing. I watch Valentino from the rearview mirror, hoping to get a spoiler of some sort. He’s just saying, “Yeah” and “No” and “Uh-huh” and then finally, “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see you soon.” That doesn’t tell me shit either, we were already planning on going back to the hospital.