patient in a gurney accompanied by two nurses, all on their way to the roof. His veins were visibly dark through his skin, and he was covered in sweat. From what I could make of their nervous banter, the patient was being med- flighted out to amputate his hand.
My last case of the day was precarious at best, but I didn’t want to have to call David up to relieve me. My girls were out of town with their father, and David had a pretty wife and two young sons to go home to. It didn’t make sense for me to leave on time and for him to stay late, but I had already logged four hours of overtime for the week, and that was generally frowned upon by the brass.
I walked past the large woman in the gurney, looking nervous and upset. Her hand was bandaged, but a large area was saturated with blood. I remembered her from the ER, and wondered where her family was. They all had been with her downstairs.
Angie, the circulation nurse, swished by, situating her surgical cap. It was covered in rough sketches of hot- pink lipsticks and purses. As if to validate her choice of head cover, she pulled out a tube of lip gloss and swiped it across her lips. She smiled at me. “I hear Chase has been asking about you.”
I looked down, instantly embarrassed. “Not you, too.” Was everyone so bored that they had nothing better to do than fantasize about my non-love life? Was I that pathetic that a prospect for me was so exciting?
She winked at me as she passed. “Call him, or I’m going to steal him from you.”
I smiled. “Promise?”
Angie rolled her eyes, but her expression immediately compressed. “Damn! Scarlet, I’m sorry, your mom is on line two.”
“My mom?”
“They transferred her call up a couple of minutes before you came in.”
I glanced at the phone, wondering what on earth she would be calling me at work about. We barely spoke at all, so it must have been important. Maybe about the girls. I nearly lunged for the phone.
“Hello?”
“Scarlet! Oh, thank God. Have you been watching the news?”
“A little. We’ve been slammed. From the few glimpses I’ve gotten, it looks bad. Did you see the reports of the panic at LAX? People were sick on some of the flights over. They think that’s how it traveled here.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Nothing ever happens in the middle of the country.”
“Why did you call, then?” I said, confused. “Are the girls okay?”
“The girls?” She made a noise with her throat. Even her breath could be condescending. “Why would I be calling about the girls? My kitchen floor is pulling up in the corner by the refrigerator, and I was hoping you could ask Andrew to come fix it.”
“He has the girls this weekend, Mother. I can’t really talk right now. I’m in surgery.”
“Yes, I know. Your life is so important.”
I glanced at Angie, seeing that she and the surgical tech were nearly finished. “I’ll ask him, but like I said, he has the girls.”
“He has the girls a lot. Have you been going to the bars every weekend, or what?”
“No.”
“So what else is more important than raising your children?”
“I have to go.”
“Sensitive subject. You’ve never liked to be told you’re doing something wrong.”
“It’s his weekend, Mother, like it is every other weekend.”
“Well. Why does his weekend have to be the weekend I need help?”
“I really have to go.”
“Did you at least send dresses with them so their daddy can take them to church? Since he’s the only one who seems to care to teach them about the Lord.”
“Good-bye, Mother.” I hung up the phone and sighed just as Dr. Pollard came in.
“Afternoon, all. This shouldn’t take long,” he said. He held his hands in front of him, fingers pointing up, waiting for Angie to put gloves on them. “But by the looks of it we’re all in for a long night, so I hope none of you had plans.”
“Is that true?” Ally, the scrub tech, asked from behind her mask. “About LAX?”
“It happened at Dulles, too,” Angie said.
I glanced at the clock, and then pulled my cell phone from the front pocket of my scrubs. I could be written up if someone felt like ratting me out for being on it, but an extra piece of paper in my file was worth it in this case. I pecked out the words
After a couple of minutes with no response, I dialed Andrew. It rang four times, then his voicemail took over.
I sighed. “It’s Scarlet. Please call me at the hospital. I’m in surgery, but call me anyway so we can coordinate. I’m coming there as soon as I get off work.”
Nathan
ANOTHER EIGHT-HOUR DAY THAT DIDN’T mean a damn thing. When I clocked out from the office, freedom should have been at the forefront of my mind, or should have at least brought a smile to my face, but it didn’t. Knowing I had just wasted another day of my life was depressing. Tragic, even. Stuck at a desk job for an electric co-op that made no difference in the world, day in and day out, and then going home to a wife who hated me made for a miserable existence.
Aubrey hadn’t always been a mean bitch. When we first got married, she had a sense of humor, she couldn’t wait until it was bedtime so we could lie together and kiss and touch. She would initiate a blowjob because she wanted to please me, not because it was my birthday.
Seven years ago, she changed. We had Zoe, and my role switched from desirable, adoring husband to a source of constant disappointment. Aubrey’s expectations of me were never met. If I tried to help, it was either too much, or it wasn’t done the right way. If I tried to stay out of her way, I was a lazy bastard.
Aubrey quit her job to stay home with Zoe, so mine was the only source of income. Suddenly that wasn’t enough, either. Because I didn’t make what Aubrey felt was enough money, she expected me to give her a “baby break” the second I walked in the door. I wasn’t allowed to talk to my wife. She would disappear into the den, sit at the computer, and talk to her Internet friends.
I’d entertain Zoe while emptying the dishwasher and prepping dinner. Asking for help was a sin, and interrupting the baby break just gave Aubrey one more reason to hate me, as if she didn’t have enough already.
Once Zoe started kindergarten, I hoped it would get better, that Aubrey would start back to work, and she would feel like her old self again. But she just couldn’t break free of her anger. She didn’t seem to want to.
Zoe had just a few weeks left in second grade. I would pick her up from school, and we would both hope Aubrey would turn away from the computer just long enough to notice we were home.
On a good day, she would.
Today, though, she wouldn’t. The Internet and radio had been abuzz since early morning with breaking news about an epidemic. A busy news day meant Aubrey’s ass would be stationed firmly against the stained, faded blue fabric of her office chair. She would be talking about it with strangers in forums, with friends and distant family on social networks, and commenting on news websites. Theories. Debates. Somewhere along the way it had become a part of our marriage, and I had been edged out.
I waited in my eight-year-old sedan, first in a line of cars parked behind the elementary school. Zoe didn’t like to be the last one picked up, so I made sure to go to her school right after work. Waiting forty minutes gave me enough time to decompress from work, and psych myself up for another busy night without help or acknowledgment from my wife.
The DJ’s tone was more serious than it had been, so I turned up the volume. He was using a word I hadn’t heard them use before:
In the back of my head, I knew what was happening. The morning anchor had reported the arrest of a researcher somewhere in Europe, and while my thoughts kept returning to how impossible it was, I knew.
