Page 5 of Keeping It Professional

The driver flinched back, and it struck me how small she was, how brittle and birdlike, her eyes wide with fright. Her white hair was loose and whipping all round her face, and it hit me right then, I’d been wrong on the bus. This call wasn’t my moment, or my chance to prove myself. It wasn’t about me, not at all. It was about this frail woman who’d started her day, got up, got dressed, and made toast or pancakes. She’d got inher car and headed wherever, to pick up some milk. To see her grandkids. Instead, she was here, scared, maybe hurt, Miles looming over her waving three fingers.

“My glasses,” she said. “Have you seen my glasses?”

Miles frowned. Lowered his hand. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

“What day of the week?”

“That’s right, what day?”

She furrowed her brows. “I was picking up Maisie…”

“Yeah, but what day is it?”

“Hold on,” I said. “I’m Sophie, hello. Do you need to call Maisie?”

Miles shot me a black look. The driver perked up.

“I’m Phyllis,” she said. She managed a smile. “And Maisie’s my dog. She’s been at the vet’s, broke her poor paw.”

“What kind of dog is she?”

Miles cleared his throat. “Uh, Reeves? You want to handle that crowd?”

I checked, but the witnesses were still where I’d left them, under the awning, rubbernecking the scene.

“She’s a Yorkie,” said Phyllis. “Fits right in my purse.” She stroked her purse like she wished Maisie was in it, a wet little nose pushing into her hand. It made my heart hurt for her, and I slapped on a big smile.

“I love Yorkies. So sweet. And they’re so smart, as well.”

Miles stepped on my foot, not hard, but with purpose. “Go on,” he said. “Find out what they saw.”

“Won’t the police do that?”

The look Miles gave me then could’ve melted through granite. “It’s useful for us to know how fast she was going. If she said anything. If she seemed confused.”

I wanted to argue. Couldn’t he see she was scared? What she needed was air, and the chance to calm down. Not a faceful of fingers and flashing lights. But the camera woman was panning our way, and the last thing we needed was her scaring Phyllis.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Just think about Maisie.”

Miles exhaled hard. I took the hint and backed off. He started right in again, questioning Phyllis, but this time, at least, she managed to answer. I tried to keep tabs as I dealt with the crowd, but they’d got bored and bold, and I couldn’t hear past them. The camera woman kept thrusting it out, pointing it now at Miles, now at me. I managed to glean that Phyllis had braked. She’d rammed the stand in slow motion, barely a bump. She’d seemed scared, not confused, and not badly hurt.

“It’s black ice,” said the man I’d put in charge of the crowd. “I’ll tell the cops that. We all will. We saw.”

“She won’t have to pay, will she? For hitting the snack stand?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I asked some more questions, then I talked to the cops when they made the scene. Miles came to get me once I’d answered their questions.

“We’re done here,” he said.

I glanced at Phyllis, surprised. “We’re not taking her in?”

“She’s lucid, not injured, and she wants to go get her dog. Her daughter’s coming to pick her up.” He jerked his head at the ambulance. “You coming, or what?”

I followed, shellshocked, cold in my sweater. The whole call felt like it’d lasted ten seconds, though my watch said we’d been on-scene half an hour. When I tried to sort through it, it came back in flashes, the crowd pressing in. Miles shielding Phyllis. Boxing me out when I tried to help. That woman’s selfie stick, her phone in my face. My head spun, and I shivered. Had I done right? I’d kept the crowd back, tried to calm Phyllis. Stood in front of the camera as much as I could.

Miles jumped in the driver’s seat. “Never do that again.” He slammed the door hard. I jerked in my seat.

“Do what?”

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