“Hey Tony!” Antonella came rushing in.

“Si, Señor?”

“I need my pills.”

“Si Señor,” she responded obediently and scurried off to the medicine cabinet.

“Jesus christ almighty,” he yelled. “You want my heart to stop or something?”

She didn’t answer, she just returned to where her boss sat, watching an old ted koppel interview he had on one of his many tapes, pills and a glass of water in hand. He took both roughly, downed the pills and put the glass of water on the little table next to him and glued his eyes to the TV once more.

Antonella had been working for Mr. Peterson for about four months, she knew the way he liked things cleaned, she memorized his bodega order even though she really did not know what it was, and she was getting better about when he needed his medication.

The only reason Mr. Peterson liked Antonella was because she didn’t talk much, they had a good and quiet relationship and that’s all he needed. And the only reason Mr. Peterson's daughter hired Antonella was because she was the only one who would take the job and this was cheaper than a nursing home.

-----

“Buenos días Señor,” Antonella greeted as she walked through door, groceries piled high in their brown bags.

“Señor Peterson?” she yelled. No answer. She checked the kitchen where she found nothing, his bedroom with only an unmade bed, but no Mr. Peterson, she was getting scared now. He always left a note for her with things to do on the inside of the front door if he went out but there was no note and there was no grumpy man for her to care for. Finally she walked into the bathroom where that man, not grumpy but pale and unconscious lay on the floor.

She rushed over to him yelling his name and attempting to shake him awake, nothing was working though. She ran to the phone and called 911, all she could really say was the address, and “old man fallen, help” but they got the message.

-----

“Look she cooks for me, cleans for me, can I just tell her I’m not dead?” She could hear him yell. That must have been the nicest thing she ever heard him say. Gen, Mr. Peterson’s daughter, came out and gave her the go ahead. When she walked in she knew she would see Mr. Peterson sick but this was heartbreaking.

“Hey Tony.” he said, his voice gravelly. She gave him a small wave and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Well kid, I’ve been better.” She nodded not fully understanding.

“Where Gen?”

“Where’s Gen? I told her to go back to work. I’m fine Tony, really.”

“No,” she said. “Not fine, I will stay.”

“If you say so,” he shrugged and turned on the TV. The one thing he liked. He stopped on the George Lopez sitcom.

“I like this,” Antonella said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Very funny. And spanish I know.”

“Ah. What’s that thing he always says mean? Loco or something.”

“Ta loca, is esta loca, like you are crazy,” she explained.

He nodded and returned his eyes to the TV. They didn’t talk for a while, just the occasional nurse and sometimes Antonella laughing at the show.

“Señor?” she finally asked.

“Frank,” he said gruffly.

“Hm?”

“You found me passed out on the bathroom floor kid, I think we’re close enough now that you can just call me frank.”

“Frank,” she smiled, “why Tony?”

“Why Tony? Like why do I call you Tony?”

She nodded.

“It’s short for Antonella!” he said, and she smiled even bigger, he knew her name and now she knew his.

“Yes, Frank.”

-----

Frank Peterson died only a month after that.

“He was old,” his daughter said, “It couldn’t be helped.”

She was the only one to break down and cry at his funeral but she was also the only one in his will, getting the house and what money he had she moved on from there, she was able to go to college where she learned English and knew the ins and outs better than most if anything, and the first thing she did was watch all his old tapes.