Small and pale, Angus sat motionless on the table. Calico and Prudence helped hold him steady as they told the doctor about the zoo trip the day before.
“And what of meals,” the doctor asked, looking from one adult to another.
Between the four adults, each of whom had spent time with the boy, everything seemed covered. The doctor took notes, barely looking at any of them.
When Calico got to the point of mentioning the elephant ear wrapper she’d found in Angus’s windbreaker, the doctor looked up sharply a moment before resuming her writing. “But he hasn’t had a fever in more than two years, so something else is going on, too,” Calico reiterated. “Even if the elephant ear is causing some different issues.”
Romeo moved closer to his son. Sweat matted the little boy’s hair now, and a sheen of it covered his little face.
Just the thought of having to admit his son to the hospital again made his insides roil.
Romeo looked into his son’s eyes – usually innocent, yet wise beyond his years. Now, Angus’s eyes couldn’t even focus on him.
Seriously? An elephant ear? After all the talks they’d had with him about how important it was to eat only what they gave him, or bought for him?
“I’m sure his treat tasted good,” the woman in front of them said as she scribbled one more thing into her notes. “and I can empathize with the fever,” she said, pausing once more. “I’m going to need Angus to be really brave now, because I’m going to need to do a few tests, alright?”
The glazed look in Angus’s eyes didn’t change, which terrified Romeo all the more. Usually, the boy would complain for a few moments about it and them comply. The last three or four times, he just told them to go ahead.
It was sad to think his son had gotten so used to medical tests that they didn’t faze him anymore.
The doctor handed Calico a sheet of paper. “The instructions are on here. I’ll have Othello send in the lab tech, and I’m going to need most of you to clear out of here. Why so many people came in with the boy is beyond me, but,” she said. “I suggest that just the parents stay,” she continue, looking pointedly between Calico and Romeo.
The woman’s icy blue-green eyes reminded him of a cold mountain stream. When their eyes locked, he nodded but remained silent, rolling the paper cup between his hands.
“I’ll have one of the techs escort your friends back out to the waiting area,” she said, more an order than a suggestion.
Romeo glanced to Kaleo and Prudence, and they stood.
“We’ll come find you as soon as we can,” he told them apologetically. “And thank you so much for coming; your support means everything to us,” he told them as they moved to leave with the others.
Before they quite made it out the door, Romeo glanced from Angus to Prudence again and halted them in their tracks. “Wait,” he said quietly. “As hard as this is, I…” He paused.
“I’ll go to the waiting room with you so Prudence can stay with Angus and Calico,” Romeo finally said, trying not to break down into tears himself. “I know he’d want… I think he’d want all four of us here, but… I think if the women are here, then he’ll…”
Out of words, he shrugged.
He just knew that the longer it took them to decide who would stay and who would go, the longer they would have to wait to find out if his son was in jeopardy. The last three times, he had gone into the jerking motions of seizures before the ambulance showed up.
Handing his tea to Kaleo, Romeo picked up Angus and gave him a kiss on his drenched forehead. “I’ll be right outside, son,” he assured the little boy.
As he set Angus down, Romeo watched as the boy’s eyes started to roll back, and he shouted, grasping him closer before moving him toward the table again.
The doctor called for Othello as Angus’ body began to shake. “And hurry, it’s a seizure,” she called a second time.
Within moments, he, Kaleo, and the doctor were holding Angus’ limbs and head down on the table. He could hear Calico and Prudence praying, and heard the door open. Othello, needle in hand, came in and gently slid the medicine into the closest vein he could find: one in the top of Angus’s right foot.
Five minutes later, with Angus’s body calming down, Dr. Wilkinson pulled the adults aside, leaving the still, silent boy with Othello.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to admit him,” she said, “and I’m going to call to consult with his regular doctor.” She looked down at her pink gold watch and sighed. “It might only be five seventeen, and he might not be happy about it, but this is more serious than I know how to deal with on my own,” she informed them, looking into each pair of eyes, but concentrating on Calico’s.
Romeo had a million questions, but apparently they’d have to wait.
“Can we stay with him,” he asked.
“Either you or your wife can stay by his side. I’m afraid the rest of you will need to wait in the lobby, at least I consult with Dr. Milhaus. He lives close by. He may decide to come in and evaluate Angus himself,,” she told him. “And if so, it would take him about a half hour to get here from the decision point.”
“But you said earlier-”
“That was before the seizure,” she said, cutting him off. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make. Decide between yourselves, and when I’m done, the rest of you will be escorted out to the lobby,” the woman said briskly. “We don’t have time to argue, and we don’t have time to lose.”
Nodding, Romeo looked into the teary eyes of his wife. “You stay,” he told her.
“Are you sure,” she asked, hope and despair fighting for the right to be her final facial expression.
He nodded.
“We can find our way out,” he told the doctor decidedly. “We’ve done this before.”
And with that, he watched his wife head back to their son’s room. The doctor, apparently satisfied, watched the rest of them walk toward the waiting room. Romeo could feel her eyes on his back as he opened the door for Prudence.
Kaleo gave him a reassuring nod as he passed through the doorway next, and then, they were filling Amos in on what had occurred. Looking at the clock behind the media center, Romeo sighed.
This was going to be a long day, and the only thing he could do that was worthwhile was pray; pray, and keep the Villanuevas in the loop about what was happening.
Prudence excused herself just as he pulled his phone out to call Robert and Ursula.
Romeo’s thoughts flitted to the woman’s son, Matteo, and his heart went out to her as he told the phone to place the call without holoscreen. Kaleo clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder as Amos got up to follow his wife’s lead.
“How is he,” he heard Ursula ask before the phone could ring a second time.
“Well, they’re going to admit him” he began.
With a sigh and a prayer, he filled her in as quickly as possible.
What are we going to do, Lord, he asked when he’d hung up. What if it’s too late?
He dared to look Kaleo in the eye as he took another sip of his tea.
“Let’s pray,” the man said, taking the cup from Romeo’s hands and setting it aside, along with his coffee.
Not caring what others who entered the building might think, Romeo accepted the older man’s extended hand, and listened as Kaleo pleaded with the God of Heaven for the life of his son. And when they were finished, Amos and Prudence were in the seats on the matching couch next to them, praying alongside.
“Thank you,” he said, simply, unsure what other words to say.
“What are brothers in Christ for,” the man told him. “It is a privilege.”
Twenty Nine
Wood Village, Oregon… July 24, 2025
Quentin Quimby gave himself a once-over in the mirror, moving his head from side to side.
The black eye wasn’t too bad, but why his cousin had struck him to begin with was beyond him.
Now, Arthur was out of a job, and he’d have t
o find another quickly. They’d both violated parole, technically, but so far, there hadn’t been any officer come to take him away.
It’d be a shame if he didn’t get to go to Israel simply because his cousin came out of nowhere and flown into a rage at him. He would have walked away had he seen the man coming.
“If it didn’ be fo’ this trip, I jus’ sen’ him on back to prison,” Quentin muttered to nobody in particular as he tied his work apron on, aware his serving shift would start any time. “But I hadta ‘cept goin’ to Israel, an’ I ‘preciate the time out the country, but man, does this bite.”
As he reached for the door, the sounds of customers and, more faintly, the farm animals his employers named the café after, met his ears.
“Quentin, are you in there,” his boss, Noah Torrance asked from the other side of the door. “If that’s you, we need to talk.”
A panic set in, and he closed his eyes for a few moments. Nausea bubbled up, and he forced himself to ignore it.
He was doing all he could to change his life for the better, and if that meant hard communications sometimes – even with Noah or Carolinia Torrance or their kids – then so be it.
Realizing that his fists were balled, he opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths before opening the door. “What do you need,” he said by way of greeting.
“Come walk with me,” his boss said, tilting his greying blonde head toward the front door. “I just got a call from Mrs. Stuart.”
Quentin’s heart rushed within him as he followed Noah, his head down to avoid showing too many people his black eye.
What could Paloma have had to say? Was there some sort of problem?
Once they were outside, the pair turned east, toward Troutdale and then south at the first light before either spoke.
“So, tell me about the fight with your cousin,” Noah finally said, pausing to look over the fence at his horses in the field. “Apparently your son called her, very concerned.”
Lovan.
Of course.
But was he truly concerned, or just ratting on him?
Why did I even go tellin’ him what happen? Ain’ gonna be nothin’ hepful comin’ now, I bet, Quentin thought as he tried to figure out what to reply. Jesus, gimme words, will Ya?
“Did he?”
“He did.”
“Well, jus’…” How could he put it? “Arthur done somehow foun’ out I be goin’ to Israel,” he began. “Freaked on me big time.”
Quentin watched as one of the Torrances fourteen horses – this one, red, white, and black, like he was painted - moved closer to the fence line, and took a step back. Them things sure are beautiful, but I ain’t gettin’ dat close, he thought.
Already, two nearly-white horses with pale splotches on their hindquarters were at the fence, but still several feet from where he stood. With a small whinny, one of them moved toward the painted-looking horse, and toward Quentin and Noah.
His boss put a hand in his pocket and withdrew a small plastic baggie full of oats from it. In silence, the two men’s eyes met, and suddenly, Quentin had the bag in his hand.
“You need to let the fear go,” Noah told him, his dark grey eyes watching him. “Your fear of not being good enough; your fear of Arthur and what he – or anyone else – thinks; your fear of these horses,” he said.
He nodded at the baggie in Quentin’s hand. “Not once have I seen you as much as talking to the horses, let along feeding or petting them. They won’t bite, and through the fence, they can’t hurt you.”
Quentin’s heart crashed quickly against his ribcage as he tried to think of what to do.
What to say.
He didn’t want to be here; didn’t want these oats in his hand; didn’t want Arthur to have power over him anymore.
Didn’t want fear to rule over him like the tyrant that it really was.
But how could he get past it? He’d overcome fears in prison, but this was different. This was an animal several times his weight in front of him, and others were walking closer as he and Noah stood there talking.
“This is Princess,” Noah said, pointing to the white-patched horse in front of him. “And that’s Apache,” he said, pointing to the red, white, and black one. “Behind him, there, coming towards us are Raine, Jesse, Methuselah, and Roan. That there,” he continued, pointing to the other white-patched horse, who had now turned toward them from the grass it had been snurfling down, “is Duchess… Princess’s twin.”
Quentin’s head began to swim as he watched the approaching horses; as their sounds, usually quiet, became more evident to him. He looked down at the oats in his hand, then over to Noah, who nodded at him with a smile.
“What do I do,” he asked finally.
“Too many horses, too few oats here,” Noah acknowledged. “Figured only one or two would come and say hello. How about you and I go see the ponies in the barn? Only three in there, and a lot smaller. You can help me feed them some hay, and then give them some oats to go with it.”
Quentin shrugged his shoulders as Noah turned back toward the café. He had two choices: follow and learn, in spite of his fear, or refuse and stand here feeling the fear and letting it win.
Taking a deep breath, Quentin closed his eyes a few seconds to steady himself, and then he blinked a few times, following his boss.
Within ten minutes, they were at the pony barn. As promised, there were only three ponies: a dark chocolate brown one with white front feet, a white one with a blonde mane, and one that was a smaller version of the painted-looking horse.
Noah led him to the hay bales up in the loft, and together, they retrieved two good-sized bales, as well as a partial bag of oats.
“I’ll set the extra out for the other horses,” his boss explained when Quentin raised an eyebrow at him.
Carefully making his way back down the ladder, oats under his arm, he nearly jumped when Noah tossed the bales over the side into the pen.
Once he and Noah were both at the edge of the pen, Quentin began to shake.
What was he going to do?
How could he allow a little pony – true, they’re not newborns, but they’re not full-sized horses, either – frighten him? And how was it that he got himself into this predicament?
“So, just open the bag and grab a handful at a time. They’ll fight for it some, since they’re young, but you should be fine,” Noah told him, looking up into his eyes.
With the three and a half inch difference in height, sometimes Quentin had a difficult time recalling that he had to respect the man as his boss, but thankfully, not once had he forgotten in the man’s presence.
With a shaking hand, Quentin did as he was told, wondering briefly if he were still going to be paid for the time he was out here. After all, he should have started fifteen, twenty minutes before.
“These are Daisy, Cocoa, and Teapot,” Noah told him.
“Teapot?”
The man smiled. “My oldest granddaughter named him. See that white spot on his leg?” He pointed, squatting down, and Quentin did likewise.
On Teapot’s front left leg was a large round spot with a line coming off the side of it.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “I see it.”
“That’s why he’s called Teapot. My granddaughter is seven, very imaginative, and loves her grandmother’s teapot collection.” Noah chuckled and stood back to full height, and with a sigh, Quentin followed suit once more, then finally held out the hand he realized was still holding grain.
He inched his way toward the edge of the pen, looked into Teapot’s eyes, and smiled.
I ain’t gotta be afraid o’ no pony name Teapot, he told himself, moving his hand toward the young horse.
Daisy and Cocoa moved in closer, and for a moment, Quentin froze. Several deep breaths later, his hand was over the edge of the pen and he could feel the whiskers of Teapot and Cocoa on his skin, making him want to jump back.
He forced himself to stand still; to breathe. They ate from his larg
e hand and in seconds, the oats was gone. Five more times, he went through this process before his heartbeat began to slow to normal. All three ponies had eaten from his hand, and none had bit him.
He looked down at Noah’s eyes for a moment, only to feel a slight nip at his thumb, causing him to jolt backward.
“One them things done bit me,” he said louder than he’d intended.
The ponies seemed nervous now, like he was; he could sense it.
“They thought there was more food than you had. It wasn’t intentional; it was an accident,” Noah told him, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Try again. I’m going to take the hay out to the other horses and then head back to the café, but I want you to finish hand-feeding these three until that bit in the bag is gone,” he said, surprising Quentin.
His eyes flew open.
Alone, with these horses?
“You’ll be alright. Just keep breathing, and let the fear subside. And remember… fear is never real. It just feels that way. It can’t hurt you unless you allow it to,” Noah told him, turning away.
With a sigh and another deep breath, Quentin nodded.
I can do dis, he told himself. Jesus, hep me do dis. I can do it, but only if You got my back.
He waited for Noah to move the bales outside so the ponies had less distraction, and then focused on Cocoa’s eyes.
“Alright,” he said. “You three and me, we can do dis.”
Twenty minutes later, bag empty, he smiled.
In spite of how his day began; in spite of the call to come to the pizza parlor, and his confrontation with Arthur, Quentin had done it: he’d overcome one fear.
And with the understanding that he’d done that, he knew that God would help him with other fears, if he would allow Him to.
Rolling the empty bag up, he tucked it underneath his left armpit and headed back to the café. Once he tossed the bag and cleaned up, he finished his shift out the way he normally did: by waiting tables.
Thirty
Vancouver, Washington… July 27, 2025
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 103
