Page 27 of A Better World

“Riiight?” Linda asked, her wine kicking in, her East Coast coming out. She was glad when everyone laughed, even Anouk. Rachel saluted with her wineglass.

“You’d think they could fly, at least,” Daniella said. “The birds, I mean. Not the citizenry.”

“—New meaning to the wordshitstorm,” Rachel said.

“—It’s everywhere,” Linda said. “The dayworkers must clean the stuff constantly.”

“Stop!” Anouk said, but without much annoyance. “The caladrius is a regal creature.”

“—Fine,” Rachel said. “But nobody needs to freeze like Jesus Christ is on the cross when one of them wanders in front of a car. The Festivals could use some sprucing, too. Less competitions and weird rituals, more booze.”

“I’ve agreed to that! I told you, this Beltane thing excites Keith too much. I want him to rest. You have my vote!” Anouk said.

“—Rachel’s making some changes once Anouk’s dad retires. Well, she will if she gets Lloyd’s CEO position. Lloyd’s set to take over as chairman. But Parson will remain honorary leader, and Anouk will always be first lady around here,” Daniella said, this last part clearly for Anouk’s benefit.

“Ifbeing the operative word. Lots of people want to be CEO,” Rachel said. “Now that we’ve bored you with nothing you care about, would you like to hear about the clinic—?”

“—Right!” Daniella interrupted. “We should tell you about that. Jack Lust said you’re at the hospital. Do you like it?”

Linda imagined Jack leafing through her résumé, felt a funny crawl down her spine and then around, into her gut:exsanguinator. “I do! Dr. Chernin only has openings for one half-shift a week. I’d like more work but there aren’t spots.”

“Chernin,” Rachel mumbled. “A tower of Jell-O.”

Linda raised an eyebrow; Daniella redirected: “Forget that job. Kids here don’t get sick. You’re better off with us. You’ll have something to do.”

“A few get sick,” Anouk corrected, “but it’s usually outsider children carrying epigenetic trauma. The rest of us live until our telomeres are gone, usually into the triple digits.” She looked to Linda, seeming to expect agreement from the scientist of the house.

“Sure,” Linda said, and she knew she should stop there, but the wine had loosened her tongue. “Just because environmental damage is heritable doesn’t mean outsiders are an inferior species. I mean, have you ever readThe Time Machine? It’s possible that damage, though undesirable in the short term, promotes resilience over generations.”

Anouk clapped her hands together. “A scholar! I knew it! I’ve been in a wasteland with these two philistines. Linda, youmuststudy with me.”

“What’s a philistine? It sounds like a horse,” Daniella said, and Linda silently agreed with Anouk; Daniella was playing dumb. But it was funny.

“It’s a person who eats trash,” Rachel said.

“What?” Anouk asked, aghast.

“That sounds right,” Daniella joked.

“Did you want to interview me now?” Linda asked.

Everybody laughed, even Linda. This was going much better than she’d expected.

“Don’t think of this like a job interview. We’re desperate for a doctor, and we’ve only got three candidates. Jack already called in your references. Dr. Fielding of the Kings Children’s Clinic says ‘hello’ and ‘come home,’ by the way. But don’t go home. You’re the front-runner. The other two are in their eighties, and they’ll be part time if they do it at all. You’d basically have to flip a table to mess up. It’s really just a question of whether this is a fit, for you and for us. So I guess we’lljust dive in. Linda, why did you become a doctor? What makes you interested in pediatric medicine?”

A question, at last. Linda had prepared something trite. Instead of that safe story, the truth spilled out. “You all know Glamp, don’t you?”

Everyone but Anouk nodded, so Linda explained. “It’s a drug that was marketed to poor, rural communities when I was growing up. It was made of papaverine and pure THC. Those are the active ingredients in opium and marijuana. They said it wasn’t addictive. But it was. Worse than fentanyl. They didn’t just sell it at pharmacies; they sold it at supermarkets. They recommended it for babies with colic. They called it a health supplement, which was how they avoided FDA regulation. I don’t know who the manufacturers paid off. They obviously paid somebody.

“My parents were academics. They were nervous people, you know? Always worried, freaking out practically, about global warming and equality and stupid crap they saw in the streams. They used to get each other so worked up, and I remember thinking:Why not just worry about dinner? I’m hungry and I’d like dinner.

“It made them vulnerable. They took Glamp for anxiety. And then they couldn’t stop… I was protected in a lot of ways. I had a roof. I had a community where people knew me.”

She looked around, worried again. No matter how freely they talked, these were sheltered women. Maybe they couldn’t handle this. But she’d been alone for months. With the spotty signal, she didn’t get to talk on her device with old friends. She didn’t get to decompress Monday mornings with Dr. Fielding, either. Her feelings had built up. They needed a place to go.

“This is heavy, and I don’t mean to be heavy,” she continued. “But I want you to understand that my decision to be a doctor wasn’t arbitrary. Medicine isn’t lucrative. I could have gone into pharmacology or data analysis like my husband. I became a doctor because of everything I saw when my town fell apart. Glamp hurt so many people. I wanted to help them. I’ve only ever worked in clinics. I thought this break from that, since I moved here, would be a relief. Like I said, I’ve seen a lot, and it was often a burden. But I miss the work. I don’t likebeing idle. I don’t like spending a whole day at some rich hospital just to oversee the application of a butterfly bandage—no offense to PV intended. I want my kids here. I want them at the rich-people hospital and the rich-people everything. But it’s a big world outside this Bell Jar. Aside from family, medicine is my purpose, and I want to help that world. If you have an opening, I hope you’ll try me out.”

Everyone was quiet. Linda worried. “I’m not always so serious. I’m not a killjoy.”

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