Waiting. We’ve been waiting for thirty minutes. A nuisance, maybe, if I were out in the world on an errand or anticipating someone’s arrival. But here, in the antechamber, poised on the threshold of the most important thing I will ever do with my life, or the grandest failure of my life, those thirty minutes have stretched into the last thirty years of my life. It must be worse for the person on the other side of the antechamber door, the patient waiting for us to save his life.
The two cozied up on the bench seat of the red convertible, parked on a bluff that overlooked the glittering city below.
“Thanks for letting me drive her,” Raul said.
Maya grinned and reached out to pat the dashboard. “My baby’s a boy.”