I ignore the panic. Careless mistakes are more costly than the seconds it takes to center myself. I open my eyes and jab him in the thigh. I press down steadily on the plunger and count.
“It’s not working,” the woman cries.
I remove the empty needle and set it down next to me. I take his wrist and check his pulse.
“Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not working. His heart rate is getting faster and stronger.”
“That’s good, right?” Aimee asks. She watches me, waiting for my command. A crowd has gathered from the cottage. I have an audience.
“Give him some space. He needs oxygen,” I say with authority.
His eyes begin to flutter. I lean down to explain that he’s had an allergic reaction, I’ve administered epinephrine, and he’s going to be all right. His fingers tighten around my wrist.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper.
We move through the house to the front while we wait for the ambulance to arrive, and I give his wife some information. “Expect the ER doctors to give him Benadryl, Pepcid, and an IV of steroids. That’s the anaphylactic-shock cocktail.”
I make the EMTs take note of the time the patient received epinephrine and tell his wife they’re going to have to monitor him for four to six hours. When the ambulance pulls away, the cottage crew erupts in applause. I’m embarrassed, more for them than for me. This is my job.
Aimee and I return to our place on the walk, but this time we agree to head back toward the astrology house.
“Farah, you gave that man life,” Aimee says. “Right here. Gave him life.”
“I stopped his body from going into full anaphylactic shock.”
“And what happens if someone goes into full anaphylactic shock?”
I skip over the technical medical analysis to the drama she wants.
“They can die,” I say.
“But he didn’t. Because you gave him life.”
“Saved his life, maybe.”
“That’s hot.”
I blush then, my neck red and burning with shame.
“Stop,” I say to Aimee, but I’m also talking to myself. She’s using the word hot like Paris Hilton in the 2000s. She’s not saying I’m appealing to her. Or is she? There’s a twinkle in her eye that I cannot deny.
“Wanna have some lunch on the back deck?” Aimee asks.
“I snuck in some Veuve,” I say.
Aimee wraps her arm around me and puts her head on my shoulder. “Goat cheese salads and champagne. That’s why I love you,” she says.
I smile, no longer mortified by the way I read into everything she says. I can choose to have fun with it, especially while the fantasy lives in my mind.
Rini said the transit is coming to its end, that the energy will shift. A door will close. It occurs to me that the practice of astrology foretells something acting upon us. That’s a foreign concept for me as a doctor who plays God. But maybe here, unlike in a delivery room, I don’t have to do anything. Perhaps my future with Aimee has already been set in motion and all I need to do is wait for it to play out.
Or at the very least I should have the confidence to believe that when the opportunity arises, I’ll spring to action without a moment’s hesitation. Just like I did today, like I do every day. I’ve put too much weight on matters of love versus matters of work. The truth is I am who I am. I’m a person who knows how to take action when the moment arrives.
AIMEE
Farah and I finish lunch and our bottle of champagne on the deck and head inside to check on the busted itinerary. Ted, Rick, and Eden are sipping cocktails in the living room. Adam and Margot appear, Margot with her arms crossed over her chest, Adam with a beer in hand.
“Farah saved someone’s life an hour ago,” I say, feeling warm and floaty from the champagne.
Ted and Rick each lob a question at Farah for more details. Instead of the big reactions I had expected, Adam remains quiet, and Margot looks uneasy, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Eden drains her cocktail in silence. A dark mood hangs in the air, and it sets me on edge.
“That was after the two of you ruined the Sun Worship,” I say. Neither Margot nor Eden acknowledges that I’m speaking to them.
“What are you talking about?” Adam asks.
“Margot and Eden walked out without a word to us or Rini.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, let alone you,” Eden says.
I shake my head with disappointment. So rude.
“You should apologize,” I say.
Rini emerges from her study then.
“Can I have everyone’s attention to discuss the changes to the schedule?” she asks. “It’s two p.m. now, and we’re well into the time for the compatibility reading for Farah and Joe, but Joe is not here yet. I could have swapped their slot with Margot and Ted, but they went yesterday. Adam and Aimee, are you ready to go today?”
“I’ll pass,” Adam says.
