Chapter 4 #2
"That uniform suits you," Mia says. "It's…" She appears to think it over, though she really isn't. She knows exactly what she wants to say, and the pause is just meant to make her target nervous—only with Erin, it doesn't work. "…sexy," the singer finishes.
"It's a pretty tacky uniform," Erin says, settling back against her seat.
"Do you always wear your hair up?"
"When I'm working, yeah."
"That's a shame we didn't meet some other time. I'm sure it looks even better down."
Erin ignores her, wraps her fingers around Mia's wrist, and takes her pulse.
"Good news or bad?" Mia asks, watching the doctor's fingers against her skin.
"Low, but given what you've been through that's normal. Don't worry about it."
Mia narrows her eyes, searching for the button she usually uses to get under the skin of people she wants to unsettle—and failing to find it with this doctor.
"You have nice hands."
Erin ignores her again.
"You'll probably be spending the night at the hospital," she says, jotting something down on Mia's intake form.
"I don't want to spend the night at the hospital," the singer protests.
"Nobody usually does, but it's what's best for you."
"Don't you want to know what I'd prefer?" she asks, genuinely thrown.
Erin almost laughs. She'll admit the girl is persistent, and she has no doubt her moves work, because she barely has to try to get attention.
For a moment Erin actually lets herself picture what would happen if she decided to play along, and the shiver that runs down her spine is sharp enough to travel all the way to the tips of her ears.
"As my patient, everything about you interests me," Erin replies. "As a person, honestly? Not really."
Mia goes completely still for a moment, head tilted just slightly, watching the doctor with something close to surprise, as if this is the first time her moves haven't landed on the first try.
She doesn't look offended—to Erin, that seems worse, because Mia is looking at her the way someone looks at a game they've just discovered they can't win and have immediately decided to make their next challenge.
"Fair enough, Dr. Dooley," she says finally, and goes back to staring at the ceiling of the ambulance while she starts answering Erin's questions about her daily routine—whether she eats well, gets enough rest, whether she's under a lot of stress.
At first Mia resists, but she finds herself being honest with every question that comes out of the doctor's mouth.
"Drugs?" Erin asks.
Mia drops her eyes from the ceiling and looks at her.
"The occasional joint. You can ask Noah if you don't believe me."
"Why wouldn't I believe you?"
The singer stares at her for a second, thrown, then shrugs.
The hospital they arrive at is the same one where Erin works.
It's not the closest one to Madison Square Garden, but it's the closest that MediSupport has a contract with, and since the patient wasn't critical, that's the protocol.
Erin's grateful for it because she knows almost everyone on the ER staff.
Mia's gurney enters through a separate entrance given the patient's public profile, but that doesn't mean she's getting any special treatment.
"Dooley," Hassan says when he sees her, surprised. "Didn't know you were working tonight."
Erin points to the company logo on her polo shirt and shrugs.
"Event coverage, man," she says as Barry keeps pushing the gurney.
"Got it." He smiles. "What've you got for me?"
"Patient is Mia Wilder, twenty-six. Syncopal episode mid-performance. Bradycardic pulse on arrival, regained consciousness with a post-syncope panic attack."
Hassan glances at Mia and does his best to keep a straight face, even though his fourteen-year-old twins are going to lose their minds when they find out he was the attending for their favorite singer.
Barry and an orderly wheel Mia into an ER bay while Hassan and Erin hang back in the hall, Noah a couple of steps behind them.
"History? What do you know?" Hassan asks.
"Four or five similar episodes in the past few months. Diagnosed by her entourage as dehydration." Hassan's mouth drops open.
"Who diagnosed her?"
"Doesn't matter." Erin would rather not think about it. "The presentation is consistent with recurrent vasovagal syncope. Fits her situation: constant stress, caloric deficit, chronic sleep deprivation. Impossible schedules, pushed to the limit."
Hassan nods.
"Got it. I'll order a blood panel, ECG, twenty-four-hour Holter, and a tilt table test if everything else comes back clean."
"Good."
Hassan heads into the bay, and Erin stays in the hallway a moment longer while Noah watches her out of the corner of his eye. She moves the toe of her right boot back and forth, studying her shoes, waiting for the adrenaline from the evening to start bleeding off.
"Is it serious? Be straight with me."
Noah's voice reaches her as if through glass, but when Erin looks up he's right in front of her, wearing the same worried expression he had back at the venue.
"No," she says, pressing her lips together. "But it's not something that's going to be fixed with a glass of water either."
He looks at her, and for a moment she has the feeling she's looking at a lost fifteen-year-old, even though his face puts him closer to thirty than twenty.
"Assuming it's what I think it is, the short-term fix is pretty basic. Three meals a day at regular times—not whatever she can grab between sound checks. Constant hydration, eight hours of sleep, and taking some of the pressure off," Erin says.
"And what is it you think it is?"
"Let them run the tests first, but I promise you it's not serious."
"Okay." Noah nods, thinking it over, then lifts his puppy-dog eyes to give Erin a small smile. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Of course."
He's about to head toward the bay when he turns back around.
"You know, Doctor? That's the first time in a long time I've met someone who looks at Mia and doesn't see Mia Wilder—just my friend. It was something."
Erin looks at him, not quite sure how to respond to that, but Noah doesn't seem to need a response. He just wanted her to know. He walks away smiling.
"Ready to head out?" Barry asks, appearing with two coffees in hand.
Erin takes hers and looks for a moment toward the bay where Mia is. She thinks about whether it would be appropriate to go in and say goodbye, and if so, whether she actually should.
"Yeah, I'm exhausted," she says, and holds Barry's coffee while he wheels the gurney back out to the ambulance.
Barry drives her to her apartment before returning the vehicle, and during the five blocks they cross through the city, Erin doesn't open her mouth once. She just lived the kind of story anyone would be dying to tell, but the closest thing to a friend Erin has is Barry, so there's no one to call.
A knot of anxiety tightens in her chest, because loneliness can be very hard to sit with—but then she sees Mia's blue eyes when she woke up, that terror in her expression, her hands shaking as the panic took over, and the knot twists deeper in her chest, as if in some way she'd felt connected to the singer.
"Get some rest, Dooley. You look like you need it," Barry says as he pulls up in front of her building.
"Thanks, Barry. You too."
He winks at her, and Erin closes the ambulance door behind her as she steps out.