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Mateo strode forward determinedly, stooping down to speak to the teenage girl being rolled in by her parents. The tall man had broad shoulders and strong hands. Mateo guessed that he was a laborer of some kind. For all his strapping height, he wore an air of helplessness like a cloak.
The mother sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. The teenager sat stiffly in the wheelchair, as if her parents weren’t even there.
“Hello, Judy,” he said. She avoided his eyes, looking right past him. Mateo kept on talking anyway, afraid that if he stopped, the mother’s sobbing would eat away at his mind. For a man who worked with bawling family members, he should be immune to the cries of mothers in the hospital by now.
“She says she fell down the stairs,” the father said, his
