Chapter 4

4

Simon toppled face-first into his beloved pillow without bothering to pull back the blanket. After a few half-hearted kicks, his shoes fell to the floor with dull thumps, and he moaned with the carnal pleasure of that first horizontal moment in bed after so long away.

His brain raced, offering up random thoughts it considered important after so long in use. Class in eight hours. Gotta do the reading for it. Test next week. Avocados on the counter from the farmer’s market. Might have already gone bad. The full, pink lips of Patient Twelve. Tuition due Tuesday. Find out how much the late fee is.More med school pamphlets in the mail.

Sleep lulled him into the fog of early dreams, where the walls of his bedroom blended into hospital rooms and pine trees from the forest currently on fire. In his mind’s eye, he watched his annoying Patient Twelve from the night before dancing through a moonlit field full of white flowers, black hair flowing around her, and green eyes shining in the darkness.

The repetitive dinging of chimes with buzzing punched through the image.

He turned his head in the other direction and groaned. “No.”

Despite his demand, his phone obstinately continued ringing. He felt for it, knocking some gauze, several unused rubber gloves, his clock, scissors, and a penlight to the floor. An ominous rolling noise brought his hand to the floor to skim over the wood. “Please don’t roll into the floor crack like the other one,” he begged as the jingling tone covered any audible clue to the penlight’s fate. With a grunt, he found his stupid phone and unlocked it.

“Mm?” he managed into the receiver.

“ Hai shui ne? ” An angry woman’s voice filled his ear. “ Ni zuo tian zen me bu hui dian hua? ”

Simon stifled a second groan. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Don’t ‘hi Grandma’ me, young man. Are you still in bed? It’s almost eight. You should be up by now.”

Simon rolled over and rubbed his face. “I was up, Grandma. All night.” He yawned. “This is the first chance I’ve had to sleep since?—”

“And what were you doing instead of calling me?” Her comments steamrolled right over his half of the conversation. She’d clearly practiced ahead of time, and Simon started counting to ten for patience. One, two ? —

“When you make a promise, you should keep it, not be out with friends.”

Three . “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. Most of the people from the fire came to our hospital, and they called me back for a second shift.”

“Don’t complain to me now about not getting enough sleep. If you’d stayed in school full time to become a doctor, you wouldn’t have to listen to other people.”

Simon’s temper spiked, and he ground his teeth. “I didn’t switch to part-time because I got bored, Grandma. I did it because you and Grandpa stopped paying my tuition when you heard what I actually want to do with my life.”

“Nursing is not a respectable career. You’re just lazy. That’s why you don’t speak Chinese. You refuse to honor your parents properly. If they were here right now, they’d be ashamed.”

“They’re the reason I don’t speak Chinese!” Simon bolted upright, instantly regretting the energy expenditure. He flopped right back down, burying his head in his pillow. “Mom and Dad were proud of me when they were alive, and they’d be proud of me now.” He hated how small his voice came out, how easily he reverted to sounding like his ten-year-old self whenever they had this argument.

He touched the jade pendant hanging around his neck. From the ridges under his fingers, he could tell the side inscribed with the characters for his mother’s name faced up and he traced them as he fought back tears.

He’d sacrificed so much for his dream of getting his nursing degree. His time and energy, his family. Working in the emergency room, being the first person patients interacted with and the one who genuinely cared for them from start to finish, called to him. To have the freedom to join any practice, any business. He’d never trade those for his grandparents’ financial support.

But what if he should be doing more? Would working as a doctor enable him to save more patients, keep more families intact?

“You’re wasting your potential, Dudu. You were meant to be a doctor.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“And why not? Your mother gave you that nickname. You were such a chubby baby when?—”

“I’m not either of those things anymore.”

A long-suffering sigh came through the line. “Fine. Whatever you say, Kai Wei Qi.”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut. Years of programming to respect his elders without question helped him leash his anger. He flipped his talisman to the other side to trace the characters etched there for his father’s name. “Why are you calling, Grandma?”

“To find out why you didn’t call last night.”

“Now you know. I’m going to sleep. I’ll call you when I have time. Bye, Grandma.” He moved the phone away from his ear.

“And when will that be?”

He sighed and brought it back. “I don’t know. My shifts at the hospital are all over the place with the fire, and I have class later.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Better than promising something and taking it back.” Simon knew that was low-hanging fruit, but he couldn’t help it. Fortunately, she brushed right past his comment.

“I’ll expect your call tonight. Eight o’clock.”

Simon didn’t answer. There was nothing to say when his grandmother made up her mind. And as much as he hated to admit it, he knew he’d be calling her, even if he was at work.

“I’m hanging up, Grandma. Ai ni .”

“I love you, too, Dudu. Don’t forget. Eight tonight.”

Simon hung up without responding and chucked his phone across the room. Which was only five feet. But still. If anyone called now, he’d hopefully be far too passed out to hear it. He rolled over and snuggled into his pillow. So soft. Like a hug for his head. His eyes drifted closed.

Your parents would be ashamed of you.

No more hug. More like a bed of nails now.

His grandmother’s words cut through the haze of fatigue and into his heart like a knife-point, lodging in the seat of the doubts he fought every day.

Would they be ashamed?

He’d only been ten at the time of the accident. Maybe sixteen years later, they’d have expected more from him than they had from ten-year-old Simon. He tried to recall their interactions with his then-teenage sisters and failed. But even if he could remember, would it matter? Or would his parents have wanted different things for their only son?

He buried his face in his pillow, reaching for the slumber he’d been on the verge of when his grandmother had called. It promised rejuvenation and enticing dreams. Like Patient Twelve’s skin glowing in the moonlight…

Simon growled, picturing her mischievous green eyes, soft skin, and kissable lips. His body hardened, and he rolled to his back to avoid poking a hole through his mattress. Remember how stubborn she was. Think things that will actually help you sleep. Dealing with her was probably about as miserable as dealing with his grandmother.

Simon shuddered. Horrible analogy. Don’t ever compare those two again.

Crowded out of his own bed by the women swimming in his head, Simon grumbled and gave up on sleep. His desk guilted him, the book he still needed to read for class open and mocking.

He flopped into his wooden chair and stroked his English ivy plant, the constant source of green and light in his little apartment. A few tendrils curled over his copies of The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Medicine and Advanced Pharmacotherapeutics .

Instead, he opened the center drawer where one leather-bound book lay, its spine worn and pale with use. The first page—the only page he’d ever read—hit him like a breath of wintry air, refreshing and frosty.

His parents’ smiling faces beamed at him from the page, standing against the backdrop of the playground where they used to play. Sandwiched between them, a small boy missing his two front teeth grinned with the innocent joy of a childhood not yet shattered.

Ready or not, here I come, Dudu!

Simon could still hear his mother’s voice, full of laughter, calling his name as though it were her favorite word in the world. He could still smell his father and the scent of woodwork and aftershave that clung to him.

One day, he would open the lid on the chest his father made for him and breathe in the smell again, remembering the feel of his dad’s hug as he held Simon and whispered his nickname.

No one else had the right to use it, least of all his grandmother, who tainted everything she touched. She’d certainly tried to be a caring parental figure, but she always wound up tripping over her own judgment and disapproval.

He swallowed the painful lump of emotion and tucked his thoughts carefully away with the scrapbook in his drawer.

He slid the tome of a textbook closer, brushing aside English ivy leaves. His test next week would be insurmountable if he didn’t start preparing for it now. Pathophysiology and Sequelae, Chapter 8: Inherent Immunity: Wound Repair, Inflammation, and Immune System Networks.

Are you Simon? Hey buddy, I’m Nurse Emily. Can I sit with you?

Sometimes he heard Nurse Emily’s voice when he was studying, reminding him why he wanted this job, this life. He’d not seen her since that day, might not ever see her again. But his memory of her kept him company while he studied, just as she had all those years ago, talking with him about everything from comic books to the best flavors of bubble gum until his grandparents returned to collect him.

When he remembered that day, Simon felt as if he would sacrifice anything to be a Nurse Emily, to sit with patients and their families, to explain ‘internal bleeding’ in terms a ten-year- old could understand.Her wire frame glasses hadn’t hidden the kindness in her bright green eyes.

No. She had brown eyes. Patient Twelve’s were green.

He refocused on the chapter in front of him, as if by staring at its illustrations he could force Patient Twelve from his mind. But in each picture and diagram, he saw her again, arching one elegant brow as though asking him if this was really what he wanted to be doing.

Or if he’d rather be doing her.

Forty-five minutes later and no closer to getting past mucous membranes , Simon slammed the book closed and gave up in favor of a hot shower. He was just coming out when his phone rang again with a number he didn’t recognize.

“Simon Kai?” a male voice said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Lucas Wash with Rescue Blades. Dr. Thorne gave me your number. I’ve got a helicopter search and rescue team heading out at seven tonight without any nurses. Any chance you’d be willing to join?”

You’re just lazy.

Simon clenched the phone in his fist. This would silence the disappointed echo of his grandmother’s voice in his head.

“Definitely.”