Page 12 of Miguel

“On my way.” He hung up and, without saying a word to me or even giving Zeke a goodbye, he whirled and stormed away to his SUV and drove away like the very devil was on his heels.

I just blinked at the spot he’d vacated wondering what in the heck all that was about.

And I prayed everything was okay.

“Hey, Lorena, you got a minute?”

It was lunchtime, and I looked up from my tupperware of fideos and smiled at Abi, the school counselor. She was taking the seat across from mine, setting her own lunch in front of her.

“Of course!”

“So, Karina and I evaluated your student. Ezequiel?”

I nodded. Karina was the school nurse. I’d spoken to the counselor earlier, asking her to take Zeke into her office so she could give me a second opinion regarding my suspicions.

“We believe you’re right. Of course, we won’t know until he’s taken to a pediatrician for a more extensive evaluation, but we think he is Deaf–or Hard of Hearing.”

I sighed, setting my fork down on the table. “I thought that might be the case.” I’d never had a student who was Hard of Hearing or Deaf, but living with Desiree had given me a whole bucket of knowledge I would have otherwise been ignorant to before. I recognized the signs in him. The confused, frustrated stares, the way he only reacted to sharp blaring from outside the school or startling noises, though not when spoken to directly...

“It’s strange that his family hasn’t noticed it.” There was judgment in her voice, and I felt a protective instinct rise up in me.

“I’m not privy to their situation,” I said in a berating tone. “But I think he recently came to live with his father. I don’t know what happened to his mother, but it’s better to be understanding and bring our knowledge to his attention and not judge.”

Abi bit her lip in chagrin. “Yes, of course. We should tell Señor Lopez to get Ezequiel checked right away.”

Nodding, I picked up my fork again, letting my mind drift. Once Señor Lopez got Zeke the proper care he needed, I knew Zeke would blossom in school. I could help him as much as I could, but it was always up to the parents to go the extra mile for their children. Whether he needed a hearing aid or was completely Deaf, he needed the proper tools to prosper in class and in life.

Today after school, I would pull Señor Lopez aside and talk to him. But it explained so much. I didn’t think Zeke had ever gotten taught much about being Deaf. He didn’t react to any signs I used, so maybe he’d gradually been losing his hearing over the years. If his guardians had been neglectful, they wouldn’t have noticed or taken him to the doctor or a specialist.

I couldn’t imagine Señor Lopez being neglectful, though. Of course, I didn’tknowthe man beyond my own insane desire for him. He’d been at school for a day, and so far he hadn’t made the best impression as a father when it came to picking him up on time. But I did see the protectiveness in his eyes, and that made the difference. It was in the eyes; I could gauge a person’s truth. He cared about Zeke. Wanted him to prosper.

I had no doubt that once I brought the situation to his attention, he would do what was needed for his son.

Late.

Again.

Why was I so surprised?

This time, instead of feeling angry at the fact that Señor Lopez wasn’t here on time and had let thirty minutes pass, I felt tired. There had to be a reason. I thought back to this morning and the very cryptic phone call he’d received in front of me.

It wouldn’t do good to let Zeke wait another hour for his father to pick him up, so I grasped my student’s tiny hand in mine and went inside the school and to the office.

Laura was still there, usually the last one to leave. She saw me and Zeke and frowned. “Still not here?”

“Nope. Could you give me his emergency number so I can call Señor Lopez? I’d like to make sure everything is okay.”

Laura sighed but did as I asked, pulling out Zeke’s file and pushing a paper in my direction with his father’s number. I quickly pulled the cellphone from my pocket and dialed, turning slightly away from Laura for a semblance of privacy.

Whatever it was, Señor Lopez had better have a damn good reason for being late again.

The line rang a couple of times before he picked up, his voice gruff and angry on the other end. “Migue.”

“Señor Lopez, hi. This is Maestra Lorena Flores.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Yeah?”

Was he serious? I tried to muster the patience for his flippant reply. “Well, I’m calling because it’s late. Everyone else has gone home and Zeke is waiting for you.”

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