After one bite, though, Marcelina reached out and—her eyes downcast—whisked the bowls away, passing them back to the women. She said something to them, then turned to me.
"Eating too much would be as rude as not eating at all."
That was a cultural norm I didn't remember, and I suspected she'd just changed her mind about the wisdom of my eating local food.
I smiled at the women and used some of my so-so Spanish to offer them thanks.
"Muchas gracias." I nodded toward the bowls. "Esta es muy delicioso."
They beamed as though they understood me. Who could say? But they'd been intensely interested in watching me eat, even more than Marcelina.
Work on her. Now.
"Marcelina." I turned to her, only vaguely noticing she hadn't had a bite. "Do you understand why Dr. Goddard moved me down to the operating room yesterday? There in the clinic? What did he tell you?"
"He said it was for special tests." Her voice was gentle through the gloom. "You were very . . . sleepy. You must have been very, very tired. But he told me something in your blood work was unusual, so he had me bring you down for a pelvic exam. I gave you a sedative"—she was pointing at the Band-Aid still on my arm—"the way we always do. But then he said you were fine."
"Do you realize he did things to my body I didn't agree to?" I studied her trusting Mayan face and tried to get a sense of how much she knew about what was going on. That was when I first became sure of an increasing disquiet in her eyes, as she kept glancing away. Why was she so uncomfortable talking about Alex Goddard? "And I think he did some of those same things to Sarah."