“What’s a Deltoids gig?”
“The Deltoids is band some students at your school are in. Pre-med guys. Guys and girls,” he says.
I frown, wondering how Landon knows things about Alpine University that I don’t.
Then we’re in the ER, and there is so much screaming. Prinz—Levi Prinz, our fellow first-year—is right in front of us, along with Eilert. I notice that her face looks extra tense before she gestures us into a nook of the large room and briskly informs us, “We’re looking at two siblings here, both just arriving: two-year-old and three-year-old with facial trauma and possible cervical fractures. Father tried to injure them while mom looked on. Dad is coming in on a stretcher, shot by one of the responding officers, who’s also coming in. Prinz, assist me on the father’s gunshot. Jones and Rutherford, you’ll triage and work CTs on the boys, in bays four and five.” Her voice fades out as I start moving toward the area she mentioned, Landon at my side. I don’t know how I know to look at him—I guess I sense something—but when I do, I find his eyes unblinking, his face a shade too pale.
We reach the bays, partitioned off by sheets, and I realize that’s where the wailing is come from. Of course it is. Landon’s lips press tight and he gives me a brief, stoic look before we push the curtains back and there they are: two tiny bodies on big stretchers, both kids red-faced and wailing while nurses and EMTs, one DPD officer and two attendings, rush around them.
The next two hours blink by. Afterward, I find myself back up in a restroom on floor three, and I don’t even remember walking back up. It’s eleven-thirty and I feel numb. Numb and exhausted.
As it turns out, both kids were basically okay, and I expect them to make full recoveries—physically. Emotionally…my stomach still feels wobbly thinking of it.
When, a half hour later, a couple of us finish for the night about the same time, Prinz suggests we hit The Fourteener. “Don’t know about you fine folks, but I could use a drink.”
Everyone agrees, and we call a Lyft with the plan to drink our woes away. The ones of us on schedule for tomorrow will guzzle some Powerade and pop a few NSAIDs, then Lyft back when it’s time to be here.
Three
Landon
We can’t safely fit into the Lyft, a beat-up white Maxima with a bearded driver and a pot aroma, but no one seems to mind.
“Guys first,” someone says, and I get in the front seat in anticipation of their plan. In the back, Prinz and a guy that I don’t know end up becoming cushions for Audrey and Evie, while the other girl, a third-year resident named Holland, squeezes into the middle.
“This is safe.” Someone—Audrey—gives a throaty laugh.
“It’s not like we’re neurosurgeons or anything,” Holland says. “We’re totally expendable.”
And of course, she means we’re not—implying that a tragedy involving us would mean more than your average tragedy…which is one of the few things I hate about this job.
I stare blindly at the street and think about the last few hours. Not think, exactly. My senses replay scenes, their sights and smells and sounds, on a screen that disappears when I blink, half asleep. When I open my eyes, the car is parked along the curb in front of the bar. I frown as my door opens.
It’s Evie.
“C’mon, sleepy.” She holds her hand out, and I can’t remember if I’m dreaming. Is this real life? I’m a resident, and so is Evie. She just called me “sleepy.” I don’t take her hand. Because I can’t. I see the hurt on her face for a second. Then she makes her face look impassive.
I feel desperate as we walk into the bar. I think of leaving. Audrey bumps my back. I turn, and she smiles. “Sorry, cowboy.”
Cowboy orders a Raging Bull, because he doesn’t want to look too drunk. Sometimes that happens when he hasn’t slept. I can’t see what Evie orders. She’s a few stools down. We get a booth, and it looks like a screwdriver.
“I support that,” says Audrey, who’s on the other side of her. “A little Vitamin C.”
Evie smiles and takes a sip.
Audrey and the other girl, the ego-driven third year, pull us all through conversation. Second drinks are had, and third. By then, my shoulders feel a little looser, and I’m not hearing that kid’s cries. I almost can’t remember holding his hand on the way to CT—or if I can, I don’t care as much. Does that make me a monster: that I wish I could forget him?
Prinz keeps looking at Evie. I don’t blame him, but I wish he’d fucking stop. Maybe I should go home now. I’m so drunk, I think I could sleep. No work for me tomorrow. Why did I come to Denver? I could have stayed at Hopkins because the program there is well regarded, but this one is more expansive. More OR time here. More Evie here.
I finish my drink and talk to Prinz about a case he has in the NCCU. The conversation goes on, while the others discuss sports.
Somewhere in there, someone starts to talk about the brothers from the ER.
“The father… Did you see him? What a sick fuck.” Ego girl.
“How could a parent do that?” Audrey asks. “The evolutionary instinct is to protect your offspring. And the mother. What the hell? She should go to prison, too, for doing nothing.”
I put some money on the table as Prinz says, “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have children. There’s responsibility that comes with that.” I stand up slowly. “Little kids aren’t even hard to care for,” he continues. “I have nieces, and they’re wonderful. I could raise them and still intern if I had to.”
Evie stands, then. She casts her gaze at me, then tries to blank her face out as she says, lightly, “I think I’m going to run home for a shower, guys.”
I can tell she’s upset by her tone. I glance at the others, but no one seems tipped off.
I add, “Same. Tapping out.”
The group says goodbye to both of us, and people move for Evie to exit the booth. She makes for the front door. My body leans that way, but I decide to go out back. I’m drunk, but I’m not fucking stupid. In my imagination, Evie’s long glance my way was intentional. She knew I wouldn’t like to hear a discussion about parental responsibility. In my imagination, Evie gives a shit. In my imagination.
I go out the alley door and walk out toward the sidewalk before stopping in the shadows, pulling out my phone and ordering a Lyft. The app says the car won’t be here for another seven minutes. I lean against the alley’s wall and shut my eyes.
The sound of footsteps makes me open them. My gaze drags left, in the direction of the sound, and I see Evie’s figure at the mouth of the alley. For just a second, warmth spears through me. Then I hear a small sob.
Her shoulders pump as she tries to get a handle on herself, letting out a few choked sounds while she holds up her phone.
I’m moving toward her before I stop to think, but when I do, I make myself freeze. Evie leans against the corner of the alley, her face in her hands. Then she steps into the shadows and crouches down, putting her head against her knees.