to a group of men standing at the side of the tarmac. She held up four fingers, and the men rushed toward the helicopter, carrying four litters between them.
Rebecca heard Adam groan, probably picturing four more patients swelling the ranks inside the tents.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’m calling Maya.”
“What?” Rebecca asked, stunned. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“She won’t come,” Rebecca said. “She shouldn’t come. I don’t think she’s recovered from the miscarriage yet, Adam. Emotionally, I mean. I talked with her the other night, and she’s still a mess. And that incident in the restaurant was really—”
“She needs a project,” he said. “She needs to get outside of herself.”
Rebecca felt a small spark of panic she couldn’t quite get a handle on. An ages-old need to protect her sister, maybe? Maya didn’t belong in the airport. She needed things neat and orderly. She’d be a wreck.
But she knew there was something else behind her panic besides wanting to protect Maya: she’d liked sharing this day with Adam. Sharing the experience. They were two high-octane doctors who could throw themselves into the fray. Maya, on the other hand, would hold everyone back. She’d be highmaintenance, sapping some of Adam’s energy from his work and getting in the way.
Was that it? Was that really the source of her trepidation?
It was true that Maya would be high maintenance. She’d need some hand-holding. Yet there was still something more, and if Rebecca was being honest with herself, she knew what it was: DIDA was her world. It was where she shined. She didn’t want to have to share that world with her sister. Ever.
“It’s a bad idea, Adam,” she said. “Can you imagine how she would have reacted if she’d been on our helicopter when that guy said we were being shot at?”
Adam gnawed his lip, and she knew she’d hit him with a dose of reality.
He finished his bottle of water, leaning his head back to get every last drop. “You’re probably right,” he said, his attention again on the injured kids who were now being carried across the tarmac. He rubbed his neck, then gave her a smile, the crow’s feet like tender wounds at the corners of his eyes.
“Back to the tents,” he said.
13
Maya
“Y OU MUST BE A VERY POPULAR GIRL , H ALEY ,” I SAID AS I walked into the examining room, where my fourth patient of the afternoon sat with her mother.
Haley, whose pixyish haircut and delicate Asian features made her look younger than her ten years, seemed mystified.
“How did you know?” She sat on the examining table, her arm in a cast.
“Well, not every patient I see has about—” I pretended to count the names scribbled on the cast “—a hundred signatures on her cast.”
Haley laughed.
“It’s made it bearable,” her mother said. She wore her own cast on her lower leg, and her crutches rested against the counter. They’d been in a car accident in the spring and were both lucky to be in my office at all.
“Mom didn’t want anybody to write on her cast,” Haley said. “Not even me.”
I had a memory of my own broken arm. It was actually Rebecca ’s memory, not mine, because I’d only been two at the time and couldn’t recall exactly what happened. I’d fallen off a swing and broken my humerus. My arm was in a cast, and Daddy took to carrying me everywhere. Finally Rebecca, who was six at the time, yelled at him over dinner one night, “She broke her arm, not her leg!” It was a memory I couldn’t recall, and yet I treasured it. I loved picturing my father carrying me around. Loving me that much.
I made small talk with Haley and her mom as I checked the girl’s hand for swelling and numbness. “Are you still having much pain?” I asked.
“Hardly any,” she said. She was a stoic kid. She hadn’t even complained the first time I saw her in the hospital, despite the fact that her radial head had snapped from the bone. She was also
Rebecca heard Adam groan, probably picturing four more patients swelling the ranks inside the tents.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’m calling Maya.”
“What?” Rebecca asked, stunned. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“She won’t come,” Rebecca said. “She shouldn’t come. I don’t think she’s recovered from the miscarriage yet, Adam. Emotionally, I mean. I talked with her the other night, and she’s still a mess. And that incident in the restaurant was really—”
“She needs a project,” he said. “She needs to get outside of herself.”
Rebecca felt a small spark of panic she couldn’t quite get a handle on. An ages-old need to protect her sister, maybe? Maya didn’t belong in the airport. She needed things neat and orderly. She’d be a wreck.
But she knew there was something else behind her panic besides wanting to protect Maya: she’d liked sharing this day with Adam. Sharing the experience. They were two high-octane doctors who could throw themselves into the fray. Maya, on the other hand, would hold everyone back. She’d be highmaintenance, sapping some of Adam’s energy from his work and getting in the way.
Was that it? Was that really the source of her trepidation?
It was true that Maya would be high maintenance. She’d need some hand-holding. Yet there was still something more, and if Rebecca was being honest with herself, she knew what it was: DIDA was her world. It was where she shined. She didn’t want to have to share that world with her sister. Ever.
“It’s a bad idea, Adam,” she said. “Can you imagine how she would have reacted if she’d been on our helicopter when that guy said we were being shot at?”
Adam gnawed his lip, and she knew she’d hit him with a dose of reality.
He finished his bottle of water, leaning his head back to get every last drop. “You’re probably right,” he said, his attention again on the injured kids who were now being carried across the tarmac. He rubbed his neck, then gave her a smile, the crow’s feet like tender wounds at the corners of his eyes.
“Back to the tents,” he said.
13
Maya
“Y OU MUST BE A VERY POPULAR GIRL , H ALEY ,” I SAID AS I walked into the examining room, where my fourth patient of the afternoon sat with her mother.
Haley, whose pixyish haircut and delicate Asian features made her look younger than her ten years, seemed mystified.
“How did you know?” She sat on the examining table, her arm in a cast.
“Well, not every patient I see has about—” I pretended to count the names scribbled on the cast “—a hundred signatures on her cast.”
Haley laughed.
“It’s made it bearable,” her mother said. She wore her own cast on her lower leg, and her crutches rested against the counter. They’d been in a car accident in the spring and were both lucky to be in my office at all.
“Mom didn’t want anybody to write on her cast,” Haley said. “Not even me.”
I had a memory of my own broken arm. It was actually Rebecca ’s memory, not mine, because I’d only been two at the time and couldn’t recall exactly what happened. I’d fallen off a swing and broken my humerus. My arm was in a cast, and Daddy took to carrying me everywhere. Finally Rebecca, who was six at the time, yelled at him over dinner one night, “She broke her arm, not her leg!” It was a memory I couldn’t recall, and yet I treasured it. I loved picturing my father carrying me around. Loving me that much.
I made small talk with Haley and her mom as I checked the girl’s hand for swelling and numbness. “Are you still having much pain?” I asked.
“Hardly any,” she said. She was a stoic kid. She hadn’t even complained the first time I saw her in the hospital, despite the fact that her radial head had snapped from the bone. She was also
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