Riya was still processing the fact that the girl was looking at her like she was some kind of hero when the surgeon came out.
“Mr. Desai?”
Her father turned. “Yes. That’s me.”
The young surgeon’s smile was fatigued but genuine. “Your wife is out of surgery. She did very well and is just coming out of anesthesia now. I’ll send someone out when you can see her. She’ll need to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, then rehab for a week or two. But she’s going to be fine.”
“Thank you,” her father responded.
The doctor did a double take as he noticed Riya. “Riya Desai? This isn’t... Was it your mother I just saw?”
Riya nodded. “Hey, Doc. She’s my mom.” She remembered him being the surgeon for more than one of the cases she’d brought in on the bus. Anytime they had spoken, it was for the transfer of a patient. She didn’t think he’d remember her.
“Haven’t seen you bringing anyone in lately. You still working?”
“Actually, I’m firefighting now.” She couldn’t help the proud smile that fell across her face.
“Seriously? Very impressive.” His gaze lingered on her.
“Thanks.” She found herself flushing a bit under his scrutiny.
“Well, good to see you, Riya.” He shook her hand, lingering maybe a bit longer than necessary. He looked at her father. “You should be very proud. She’s one of the best paramedics I’ve seen. And I’m sure she’s an amazing firefighter.”
Her father furrowed his brow but nodded. Riya couldn’t even be sure that he heard the compliment. Her phone buzzed. Text from Roshni.Sorry. I tried to stop her.Riya started to text her back when the door to the waiting room crashed open.
“Okay. Don’t worry. I am here. How is my sister?” Riya’s aunt, Varsha Masi, was no more than five feet tall and maybe one hundred and ten pounds, but she dominated a room like no one else. She barreled into the waiting room, her arms filled with not one or two butthreebrown shopping bags that Riya knew held enough snacks and food to feed an army. And forget that it was late at night: for sure there was a thermos (or two) of piping hot chai.
“Why is everyone staring?” she called as she bustled into the room. “Take the bags,” she said to Dhillon. Then, “Riya, take out chai for everyone.” Varsha Masi made a beeline for Riya’s father, pulling him into a hug, assuring him that all would be well.
Dhillon grabbed the bags and caught Riya’s eye with a smirk. Riya shook her head and shrugged. “Thank God. I could use some chai.”
eight
DHILLON
“Can you work Tuesday and Thursday evenings throughout the summer?” Dhillon asked Hetal as they sat at his makeshift desk, working on the schedule. He needed to hire another person in the fall when she would be in school full-time, but right now, he was just trying to get some coverage.
“Yes. My class meets from eight till noon.” Her thumbs flew as she entered the days into her phone.
“Hey!” Shelly popped her head into the office. “Got that new one for you, Hetal. The one you spoke with on the phone?”
Hetal looked up from her cell. “Oh, right.”
Dhillon donned his white coat over his scrubs and followed both women up to the front to meet their next patient, a very anxious pit bull mix. The owner struggled to hold her dog as he barked and lunged in their direction.
Hetal’s face lit up as she walked around to the front of the desk and knelt on the floor. “Well, who do we have here?” she asked in a high-pitched, singsongy voice.
Dhillon grinned and watched his sister work. She may think she didn’t want to be a vet, but she was a natural. He was going to have to let her figure that out for herself. He and Shelly exchanged looks of pride.
“That’s our girl, Doc,” she whispered.
Hetal looked up at the owner. “Ms. Harris, let the leash go just a bit.” Her voice was even and calm.
Ms. Harris’s eyes popped open wide. “You should know that she has bitten someone in the past.”
Hetal nodded. “I remember from our phone conversation.” Hetal reached in her pockets for treats. “She’s been diagnosed with separation anxiety by your behavioral specialist, correct?”
Ms. Harris nodded.
