I am tired my dear,
Mrs. Rodriguez said, her voice weary. "But I'm doing my best to take care of him."
"Let me see if I can help," Mary said, stepping inside the small apartment. The air was thick with the scent of menthol and sickness. Miguel was lying on the couch, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over.
"Hola, Miguelito," Mary said, her voice gentle. "How are you feeling?"
Miguel groaned in response, his small body shivering.
Mary knelt beside him and placed a hand on his forehead. He was burning up. "Have you given him any medicine, Mrs. Rodriguez?"
"Yes, querida," Mrs. Rodriguez said. "But it doesn't seem to be helping much."
Mary thought for a moment. "I have some fever-reducing medication at my apartment," she said. "I'll go get it. And I'll also make some more soup. That
