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It was almost enough for me to forget that Mr. Mets had assumed I wasn’t a doctor, apparently because of my voice. “I accept,” I finally managed.
Mr. Mets laughed. “You should look over the job details first.”
“Sure, right.”
“I just wanted to let you know the good news now, and to expect an email from HR early next week. Do you have any questions?”
I had the sense that I should, but my usually noisy brain had overloaded with the static of this surreal news. “No—I—thank you—thank you.”
Mr. Mets ended the call with a chuckle, and I was left staring at my phone until the screen went dark. When I looked up, Dr. Donaldson was gazing at me in mild curiosity, as if I hadn’t made a spectacle of myself. “I got the job at NIH,” I finally said.
“Well done.” Dr. Donaldson’s approval could have been praise for finishing the crossword puzzle. As if his personal letter of recommendation hadn’t been instrumental in getting this job. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly very aware that I might be drawing attention to myself, I scanned the airport lounge. Our flight home to Philadelphia was supposed to start boarding any minute, but the flight information wasn’t up on the screen next to our gate. I checked the boarding pass on my phone again. Terminal 3, Gate E7, as it clearly stated, still said the next flight to depart was headed to Houston, not Philadelphia.
The buzz from the phone call was already starting to fade, replaced with unease. “This isn’t right.”
“What’s that?” Dr. Donaldson had already gotten sucked into a journal again.
He was also basically brilliant, so before I could open my mouth to explain, he saw the problem. “We should be getting ready to board by now.”
“I’ll check.” I found the nearest bank of LCD screens listing departing flights. Several earlier flights to Philly had been cancelled—that didn’t bode well.
Then I found ours: on time. Then I saw the location: Terminal 3, Gate F6.
I couldn’t help a groan before I rushed back to tell Dr. Donaldson and collect my carry-on and backpack. “Did you hear an announcement?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Maybe he wasn’t the best person to ask. Once he got focused on an infectious disease, he could be lost to the world. Or maybe it had come while I was on the phone.
I mentally kicked myself—and then I did it verbally. “I’m sorry; I should have heard something.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” Dr. Donaldson had that same air of the authority of objective truth, but the only objectively true thing here was that I could have done better. I should have.
Nobody was perfect, sure, but I hadn’t made it this far in my career or my life by striving for anything less than the absolute best.
We hurried down the concourse back the way we’d come when we’d arrived precisely on time, thank you very much. As we passed the security checkpoint before the F gates, however, I saw something that made me slow: a lone, wide-eyed grandma, looking lost and scared and stranded in her wheelchair. The TSA workers didn’t seem to notice her, and there were no airport workers around, either. The families leaving the checkpoint didn’t glance her direction, and she also wasn’t watching the passengers like she was with anyone.
Was she alone?
We were already cutting it close... but how could I not help her? I turned back and approached her. “Hi, ma’am, can I help you?”
“Oh, I’m certain someone will be along any minute, dear. Thank you.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her worried eyes.
“Are you sure?” I’d heard horror stories from friends and patients alike about airports that never came to fetch wheelchair users until it was too late to make their flight.
“Yes, yes.” She waved me away.
I started to turn to catch up to Dr. Donaldson, who still hadn’t noticed I’d stopped—but in my peripheral vision, I saw this grandma wipe a tear.
“I’m sure it will only take me a minute to help you. Can I see your boarding pass?”
She held out the slip of paper, her hand shaking with an essential tremor. She needed to get to F14—and her flight left five minutes before ours.
It couldn’t take that long to get her where she needed to go. “Please let me help. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”
“Well, all right.”
