The Lies We Told. Diane Chamberlain
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“Who’s the princess?” he asked. His face was open and boyish, and Rebecca was getting a kick out of seeing him so out of his element.
“She’s talking about Maya,” she said. “Dot thinks anyone who doesn’t work for DIDA is soft.”
“Maya’s not soft,” Adam said. Rebecca liked hearing him come to Maya’s defense, even though they both knew that Maya was as soft as mashed potatoes.
“We need her here.” Dorothea patted the pockets of her uniform jacket, as if checking her supplies. “We’ve got a mountain of kids with mountains of problems, and we have no pediatrician. Not one. And as you can see—” she motioned in the general direction of the tarmac, although they couldn’t possibly see it from the office “—the people keep pouring in.”
“Maya can’t do it,” Adam said.
“She knows that,” Rebecca said. “She’s just being a pain in the butt.”
“There’s a difference between can’t and won’t” Dorothea suddenly clapped her hands together. “Okay!” she said. “Let’s get to work.” She opened the office door and marched out, and Rebecca watched Adam stare after her, openmouthed.
“Wow,” he said. “I had no idea what a bitch she is. ”
“Really?” Rebecca stood up from the desk. “I thought that was common knowledge.” They left the office and made their way through the sea of tired, anxious people, following the signs leading toward the baggage-claim area. She felt uncomfortable that she’d put Dorothea down.
“Dot’s not really a bitch, Adam,” she said as they crossed the central lobby, where broad green beams formed a crisscross pattern beneath the high open ceiling. “It’s hard for her to believe that not everyone feels as passionately about disaster work as she does. She can make people do what they don’t want to do. That’s why DIDA is a success. Why it works.”
“Right,” he said. “I get it.”
They passed beneath a replica of the Wright brothers’ plane. Beyond that, Rebecca saw the canvas tent walls. An extremely young guy in a gold DMAT uniform rushed toward them as they neared the tent.
“Adam and Rebecca?” he asked.
They nodded and Rebecca thought he was going to hug them, he looked so pleased.
“Fantastic!” he said. “I’m Steve. ”
“Hey, Steve.” Adam reached out to shake his hand. “How’re you holdin’ up?”
“Haven’t slit my wrists yet,” Steve said, “though I’ve considered it. Let me get you oriented real quick because there’s no time to waste.” He started walking toward the tent walls, and they fell into step on either side of him. “We’re basically out of control, but we’re improving,” he said. “We’ve got nurses and PAs doing triage out on the tarmac as soon as people get off the choppers. And here’s the scoop on the tents. Tent One there.” He pointed to the tent farthest from them. “That’s for the walking wounded. Sprains, cuts, minor respiratory problems.” He nodded toward the tent in front of them. “Tent Two is urgent care. We’ve had a couple of women in early labor. Compound fractures.” He shook his head. “Saw three of them already this morning. People don’t belong on roofs.”
“I thought this was the baggage-claim area.” Adam turned in a circle, searching for the carousels.
“Inside the tents,” Rebecca said.
“Right,” Steve said. “They don’t design airports to house evacuees.” He led them to the other end of the lobby, pointing to the door leading to a stairwell. “Do not go down to the basement,” he warned. “The addicts took it over with the first wave of evacuees and things aren’t pretty down there.”
And will only get worse as they run out of drugs, Rebecca thought.
“Where are the pharmaceuticals being kept?” Adam asked, clearly thinking the same thing.
“What little we have is in one of the rental car offices,” Steve said. They’d reached the area by the ticket counters, where two more tents had been set up. “Here’s the third tent,” he said. “The E. R. of the operation. Cardiac arrest. Seizures. Active labor. That sort of thing. We have no supplies, by the way. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.”
“And the fourth tent?” Adam asked.
Rebecca knew what the fourth tent was for, but she let Steve tell him.
“The expectants,” he said. “The ones who would die no matter what. Palliative care in that one. Letting the families be with them, if there are any family members around.”
Adam nodded. “Mostly elderly,” he said.
“Right,” Steve said. “A lot of them are from one of the small hospitals that had to be evacuated. Then we’ve been getting a lot … way too many … from nursing homes. Sadder than hell.” He looked from Adam to Rebecca and back again. “You brother and sister?” he asked.
“What?” Adam laughed.
“You look alike,” Steve said.
Rebecca and Adam exchanged a glance. Rebecca took in Adam’s dark eyes. Brown hair. She supposed they did look alike, especially in their DIDA uniforms. She tossed an arm around Adam’s shoulders, breathing in the scent of soap and aftershave, knowing it would be her last whiff of a well-groomed man for quite a while. “He’s my darlin’ brother-in-law,” she said to Steve, “but thanks for the compliment.”
“Hey!” Adam grinned. “That’s my line.”
“Well, whatever,” Steve said, and she could tell he had no time to joke around. He pointed toward the ticket counters. “You can put your gear over there. I’ve got to get back to the concourse.”
Steve took off down the hallway, and Rebecca and Adam dumped their duffel bags behind the ticket counters. Rebecca watched Adam fill his lungs as if he knew he wouldn’t have another chance to catch his breath for the next two weeks.
“Welcome to DIDA, bro,” she said, and they headed for the tents.
Rebecca spent most of the day with the patients needing urgent care, while Adam worked in the emergency tent. Dorothea had been right about the children. They were everywhere. Asthma attacks were rampant. Broken bones. Fevers. Wounds that were already oozing and infected. Rebecca didn’t know how Maya worked with kids all day. It was the one area where Maya was tougher than she was. “I’m just used to it,” Maya would say, as if it was no big deal.
As Rebecca’s fifth patient was brought to her, she already felt her frustration rising. The screaming five-year-old boy had broken at least a dozen bones in a fall from a tree onto the roof of a car. He should have been airlifted directly to a hospital, not stuffed into a helicopter with dozens of other people. Yet she knew there’d been no time to triage the evacuees as they were scooped up by the choppers. It was up to them to separate the sickest, the most gravely injured, from the others who could be treated here in the terminal. Those in the worst shape, like this little boy, would be airlifted inland. Yet as he screamed during Rebecca’s examination, she couldn’t help but wonder if Maya would be handling him differently. In her head, she heard one of her sister’s favorite refrains: Children are not simply miniature adults when it comes to medicine.
She saw Adam from time to time during the day when he’d transport one of his emergency patients to her tent. They weren’t able to exchange more than a few rushed words with each other, always about a patient’s condition and treatment, yet she felt connected to him. She was so glad he was there. She hoped the work hooked him and that he’d want to do his two weeks next year as well.
Around dusk, she finally took a break. She jogged down the long hallway to the concourse, dodging evacuees, relieved to be out of the tent and moving her muscles. In the concourse, she headed