Page 46 of A Better World

Linda lost patience and rolled up her window, pulled ahead and around. She found the root of the bottleneck: two parents had come to a full stop and gotten out of their class Cs—solar-powered sedans without lithium batteries. She caught the tail end of a tirade: “The right of way!” the tall guy shouted. His neck veins bulged with rage. They were standing close with puffed chests.

There may have been buildup. Tells Linda hadn’t noticed. But like all violence, it seemed to happen out of nowhere. The short woman swung, her fist half-open like a claw, landing hard against the tall guy’s chin with aswaack!

The tall guy staggered, cradled his jaw with the heel of his hand, eyes meeting his assailant’s: “You can’t do that outside a festival!” he cried, incensed and on the verge of tears.

Outside a festival?

The woman was too charged up for words to land. She quivered like a fallen wire after a storm, rearing for another swing, this time witha real fist, metal rings and all. Linda wanted to insert herself somehow, to stop it. But also to run from it. Inconceivably, she did neither.

But then, the crossing guard drew her lips against her teeth and hissed:SSSSSSS!

Like thunder, the sound rolled. Through open windows all around, in the cars that were luxury A class and B class and C class, everyone hissed:SSSSSSS. Linda found herself hissing, too. It felt good. It felt likedoing something.

The sound seemed to remind the combatants of the time and place: eight in the morning, in front of the local school. Sheepish, the tall man retreated to his car. The woman dropped her fist.

Almost at once, the witnesses stopped hissing, including Linda.

She was still in a state of surprise, her heart beating fast, when that same mom with the obnoxious crayon kid tapped politely on her horn. A line had formed.

True to Daniella’s word, the hospital was busy, its typically empty parking lot completely full. Between driving around, looking for a place to park, and the fight in front of the school, she was five minutes late. She’d planned to check on the Parker family, but there wasn’t time.

Though the ER hadn’t admitted any true emergencies (gunshots, cardiac arrests), orderlies and nurses rushed to take vital signs and settle faint-feeling patients into beds and wheelchairs. Ringing devices in reception and triage played a jarring soundtrack.

Nine kids showed up before lunch. Most had nothing but phantom aches; Linda prescribed fluids and a return to school. Another needed a shot of one of the newer antibiotics. “Out of curiosity, can I ask why you didn’t take him to his pediatrician?” Linda asked the mother of the kid with strep.

“The line’s around the corner. I couldn’t get an appointment!” the mom answered.

Just before Linda’s shift ended, that same woman from Lust’s Bakery showed up, pushing that same stroller, screaming, sticky-handedbaby inside. The baby’s stomach hurt and the under-slept, messy-haired mom, Tania Janssen, was bawling. “It’s cancer!”

Linda felt the baby’s belly. The child was otherwise healthy and had no bruising or marks. But Tania was convinced this was cancer, so Linda ordered an abdominal CT and bloodwork, both of which came back clean.

Tania was not mollified. Wanting to right the wrong she’d committed with Gal, and pay better attention, Linda pulled up a chair. “Babies aren’t good at distinguishing discomfort from pain. They scream about both like it’s the end of the world. And if you don’t mind my saying, I can tell she’s been keeping you up nights. You’re exhausted.”

Tania burst into tears. “You don’t know. It could happen. She could get sick.”

“Anyone could. But she’s not sick now, Mrs. Janssen. Have the pharmacy print up some polyethylene glycol. If it gets worse, come back. I’m here for you.”

Tania looked at Linda like she was the dumbest woman on earth.

“What am I missing?” Linda asked.

“You’re new. You don’t know anything,” she said as she snapped her baby into the stroller.

“I have a medical degree and fifteen years of pediatrics under my belt. I know some things. What are you worried I’m missing?” Linda asked.

“Anything! You don’t know anything!” Tania huffed, new tears emerging from the corners of her eyes as she walked away.

When her shift ended, Linda offered to hang around for a few hours and help out, but the doc on call was the guy whose shift she’d taken, and he didn’t want her around. After that, she checked the Parker family’s status on the floor console. The good news: Katie and Sebbie Parker really were in step-down, which meant their injuries were minor. The attendant photos of them showed a pair of adorable kids with straight black hair and big brown eyes. Less great: Gal was in critical condition. Linda stood at the console looking at room numbers, considering visiting, when her device pinged with a text from Rachel Johnson, asking her to come over right away.

“I ordered krill. It smells, but everybody likes it. Are you in?” Rachel Johnson asked when she opened her door. She was still in pajamas, her hair pulled tight in a ponytail, her feet in slippers. A powder blue suitcase nested just inside the front door.

“Yes!” Linda was starved. She’d been running around the hospital all morning. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Hellz no! My trip to Vegas tonight got canceled. Too hot to land. Thank God. I’ve had at least a hundred flights this year. Ignore my dissolute condition. I’m taking a personal day because my ears haven’t stopped popping.”

They were standing inside an oak-inlaid center hall with a winding wooden staircase that went up three flights. Beams of light crossed, illuminating a red velvet parlor couch and a sunken sitting area to the right. Crayons and toys were scattered all over.

“I have a red velvet couch, too,” Linda said. “It’s a weird choice.”

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