We stayed in ER for a couple of hours and left only after Xavier confirmed that Jorge would be fine. Surgery to remove bullet fragments from Jorge’s leg went well.
The silence between us weighed on me. As we walked to the parking lot, I asked, “Xavier is this what you do?” No response. “Seriously, silent treatment? It won’t work, if you know anything about me.”
Xavier opened the car door for me. “Look I read your file,” Xavier started as I sat and buckled my seatbelt. “Only kid. Dad was an alcoholic, worked selling shoes at a department store, mother sold Avon at home, had Tupperware parties. They die in a car crash, and you get about fifty thousand dollars in insurance money, not enough to save their house because they took out a second mortgage to finance your law school education. You
