"I'll tell him."
He crossed the hail-splattered patio to his father's room, resenting the chill. Fernando had ordered his bed moved—to avoid seeing the distorted landscape. He now faced the patio and Raul paused in the doorway, sensing his father's gaze.
"How is she?" he asked.
"I'm afraid she's worse."
"You're afraid, poor boy! Why don't you do something to help?"
"Velasco has gone to Guadalajara. He'll be back with new medication tomorrow."
"You'll let her die."
"Not if we can help it."
"I'm going up to her room."
"You couldn't make it up the stairway."