'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'
She looked over the chart. Once, twice: her eyes glazing over.
The chaos at the admit desk, the disorienting coming and going of staff and potential patients, the busy cacophony of warring voices: she was unfazed by it all. Instead, it was the cling and clatter of voices in her mind that was deafening her.
Of course she had sensed his brokenness—but mostly in hindsight had she known how much worse it was than he had let on. And, she thought, she had let herself not see it.
Dr Chen—
She didn't know why she worried so much. Although the war-torn country would try him and put him in danger, her real fears weren't concerned with his physical safety. No, she mused, his greatest enemy had always been his mind. Her greatest concern, thus, was in what state he would come back to them. To her. Undeniably changed, but irreversibly shattered?
Dr. Chen—
She knew that, at the core, his trip was philanthropic in pursuit. He cared. From their early days in med school, as much as she had hated to admit it to herself back then, what set him apart wasn't his uncanny gift for medicine. He cared. John Truman Carter was the cliché, she thought with an interior laugh. He wanted to help people. Ironically, he had managed to become as non-cliché as he possibly could.
But despite the noble motives, she still knew that he was running away.
'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'
From everything and everyone, he had run away. And she had let him.
Dr. Chen!
Jing-Mei turned around to see a reddening Jerry, his arms weighed down by piles of phone books.
Can you—can you answer the phone? he asked breathlessly.
Her eyes widening with surprise, she looked at the phone that was ringing noisily beside her. How long it had been ringing, she could only guess. She dropped the chart and pounced on the phone while clearing her throat.
County General, ER.
She was greeted by distant breathing and static: the sounds seemed to reach her from a long way off, covered in a dream-like muffle.
she asked louder.
She heard the echo of her voice and there was a slight delay before a faraway, but distinct voice reached her ear.
His voice was unsure, she could feel the weariness in it. Mute with surprise, she only managed a faint, generic Everything alright?
There was a meek laugh at the other end of the line. Always practical.
She slowly recovered her senses and smiled. He couldn't see her, but she knew he'd feel it.
She could hear him scrambling to find the words, meddling with clanking instruments at the same time. Listen, I really can't stay long and this is important. There was a timid pause before he asked, Is Abby there?
Jing-Mei nodded to herself, and whispered, Yeah. I'll get her.
Before she could press the hold button, however, his voice called her again.
She fell silent, waiting.
It's nice— he started brokenly. Hearing your voice.
And she smiled, suddenly the worry lifting from her. You too.
She pressed down the hold button, letting out a gulp of air. She hadn't realized, but she had held her breath during much of their exchange.
Who is it? Jerry pressed, his arms now free from the paper bricks.
She stared at the phone, the black arrow blinking wildly. Tell Abby John's on line two.
Abby. Tell her Carter's on line two, she repeated calmly.
With a slight furrow of the eyebrows, Jerry gave her one last glance before quickly disappearing toward one of the exam rooms.
'It's not Rio, but it's not here.'
But I'm here, she thought. Always.
She watched the grey phone lying lifelessly on the desk: the arrow suddenly stopped blinking, sign that Abby had picked up.