Page 6 of Keeping It Professional

“What do you think?” His face was all thunder, then he spotted the camera. “Shit. She’s still filming. You couldn’t stop that?”

“I didn’t think I was allowed to. It’s legal, right?”

Miles gunned the engine. He hissed through his teeth. “So what if it’s legal? It’s disrespectful as hell. You think sweet old Phyllis wants to go viral? You should’ve stood up for her, if not for yourself. And that isn’t even what I’m talking about.” He took the corner too fast and I swayed into the door. “Youcannotbutt in when I’m examining a patient, unless it’s to point out something urgent I’ve missed. Like the bus burning behind me, or a wound gushing blood.”

I winced. “Slow down.”

“Slow down, are you serious? I’m doing twenty.” He rolled his eyes, but slowed down heading back to our post. “I have a wholechecklist I need to get through. Iknowyou know that. You’re fresh out of training. You distract, interrupt me, you know what that does?”

“You were scaring her.” I was shivering harder, my teeth trying to chatter, but I couldn’t let Miles see and think I was scared. I wasn’t scared, at least not of him. And, fine, if he wanted me to stand up to someone?—

“That’s not the point. I was doing my job. And I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you, so maybe for your first day, your first call at least?—”

“I thought if she was calm, she’d answer your questions.”

“She was answering anyway. You got in the way.” Miles braked, killed the engine, and flopped back in his seat. “What you don’t get is, most patients are stressed. The questions we ask are designed around that. They don’tneedto be calm to say how many fingers, or tell me what day it is, or who’s president. What you did today could mask real confusion, signs of dementia, or a concussion.”

“Two seconds of small talk could mask a concussion?”

“Maybe. We do things the way we do for a reason. And that woman filming, what about her? If you came in with your chit-chat and I missed a step, and she caught it on camera and it went viral? Do you have any idea the damage you’d do? We go by the book and we go by our training, not by,oh, no, that lady looks scared.” His voice spiked up an octave, mocking my own. I felt myself flush and bit my cheek to calm down. I could’ve argued Ihadused my training, the part about how to keep scared patients calm. But now wasn’t the time, with Miles on full honk, venting his stress the only way he knew how.

“If you want to hold hands, try being a nurse. Or a home care assistant. Lots of hand-holding there.”

I gritted my teeth, holding back by a thread. Miles wouldn’t hear me if I pushed back now. Better let him be right till he’d worked off some steam, then circle back later when his mood was good. If he even had good moods, which was up for debate.

“All right,” I said. “No more chit-chat.”

Miles looked for a moment like he might carry on, like his rant had a life beyond my screwups. But then he sighed, and he seemed to deflate. The sharp glint of anger went out of his eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s your first day. But how about you remember I’ve been at this a while? If I tell you to do something, I have a good reason.”

“Sure. I’ll remember.” I deflated, myself. Milesdidhave a point: it was my first day. And Phyllis might well have been fine on her own. Just, in the moment, it had all felt so urgent, so necessary I put her at ease.

“Let’s do our reports,” Miles said. “You should write up every call as soon as you can, before the details fly out of your head.” He pulled out a sheet and I did the same, and as I wrote, my trembling died down. Set down on paper, the call felt… routine. I’d clashed with Miles, but the rest had gone fine. I’d followed the steps from crowd control training, establish authority. Create a clear space. Move any witnesses to a safe location. It all had stuck with me, scared as I’d been.

Miles frowned over his clipboard. “What’s with the smile?”

I shook my head and wiped the grin off my face. Miles had quit yelling, but I doubted he’d like the truth: my first call hadbeen bumpy, but it had proved I could do this. I could handle the pressure of lives in my hands. My training had stuck with me, and I hadn’t freaked out, even knowing I was flying with no safety net. No trainer to catch me if I missed a step. I’d risen to the challenge, and I’d rise to Miles too.

I’d make this work for me, no matter what.

CHAPTER 3

MILES

Iwas pleasantly buzzed when Brian showed up, late and red-faced with snow in his hair. He grabbed the stool next to mine and peered up at the TV.

“Hey. What’s the score?”

I smiled. “Game’s just starting.”

“You wouldn’t believe the traffic out there. Oh, hey—” He waved for the barkeep. “I’ll have my usual. And one for him.”

The barkeep drew Brian’s pilsner, and a pale ale for me. Brian took a long swig and let out anahh.I chuckled.

“Long day?”

“The longest. Or, no. Work wasn’t bad. Nothing but hernias, a nice, easy board. But then I get off, and I hit the worst traffic, and this moron in front of me is honking his horn. And I don’t meanonehonk to vent his frustration. Every time we’d inch forward, he’d do it again — I mean a long honk.Ba-aa-aa-aaaaaa.”

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