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care, of course, but splitting the medical and legal responsibilities seems more ethical to me,” Victor said.
    Victor’s consummate professionalism ended our table debate. Carmen and I exchanged reassured smiles. I’d picked up my fork to tuck into the plate of enchiladas, rice, and beans in front of me when a screech of microphone feedback jolted my attention toward the stage. The band stopped.
    Lucia stood on the small dance floor in front of the band, tapping the head of the mike. “Is this on?”
    The crowd went silent. A waiter darted to her side and blew on the mike. “Testing.”
    Lucia waved him aside then said, “Thank you all for coming to our anniversary party. Paco? Where are you? You’re being rude to our friends. Come up here and dance with me.”
    I started to get up, but Carmen held me back. “Let Victor handle this.”
    “There you are.” Lucia came toward our table, reaching for Victor’s hand. “Come, Paco, dance with me, my love.”
    “No, Lucia.” Victor rose. “I’m not Paco. I’m Victor. Give me the microphone. Please, sit down. You’re confused.”
    Lucia stepped back, blinking. She glanced back at Paco’s urn on the table behind her. Slowly first, and then with increasing momentum, she began to shake her head as if the realization of Paco’s death had slapped her in the face. Victor put his hand on her shoulder. She wrenched away.
    “Leave me alone. I have something to say.” Lucia clenched the microphone, addressing the room full of people. “You think you’re our friends? You came to tell me you’re sorry? It’s your fault Paco is gone.”
    Carmen, Nick, and I got out of our chairs. Lucia pushed each of us aside. “I want my say.”
    “Lucia, please, everyone here loved Paco,” I said.
    “Loved him?” She elbowed me away, turning to the crowd again. “You killed him. All of you. You murdered Paco the second you let the gangs run our streets. I’ll have my vengeance on you, starting now.”
    Lucia circled the restaurant with one hand on the microphone, the other to her throat. “A hex. A
brujeria
tie
on you, on the neighborhood. That’s you. And you. And you.” She jabbed her finger at a woman, a man, then another man. Startled adults hustled children toward the door. She continued, “All of you, your shops, your homes, your children, and your ancestors. I curse your destiny.” She went to the base of the stage and said to the mariachi, “Start the music so Paco and I can dance to their doom.”
    Carmen waved
no
at the musicians. Victor, Nick, and I blocked Lucia from the remaining crowd. She teetered, dropped the microphone, and then crumpled into Victor’s arms. He cradled her until Nick brought a chair.
    “Should I call an ambulance?” I said as Victor knelt by her side.
    “No. I can take care of her,” he said with a clipped tone. “She needs to go home. Where is Cruz?”
    “I’m here, Dr. Morales,” Cruz said.
    He glared at her. “Who gave her a microphone? Weren’t you watching her?”
    “I . . .” Cruz shook her head. “I didn’t know what she was going to do.”
    “Well wake up,” Victor said. “Help me get Lucia out to the car.”
    Victor and Cruz guided Lucia out of the restaurant. Nick picked up the urn with Paco’s ashes. Carmen and I followed them out.
    “Victor should be alone with Lucia so he can calm her down,” Carmen said. “I don’t have my car, and Tony had to go back to the clinic. Can you and Nick drive me home?”
    “Of course,” I said.
    When we reached the parking lot, Victor settled Lucia into the backseat of the hired town car. Cruz took the urn from Nick and then got in next to Lucia.
    Before Victor got into the front seat, Carmen stopped him. “Maybe you should stay with Lucia again tonight. Take tomorrow morning off. Tony and I can handle the clinic patients.”
    “No. Your stomach. The doctor warned you to take it easy,” Victor said.
    “Well, bull. I’m a doctor. I know how I feel. You don’t need