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“Thanks for the coffee.” Damian set the spatula down and took a sip of the large, undoubtedly lukewarm or cold black liquid. He closed his eyes and then quickly spat it out. “I will never complain about you stopping before every shift, but if you value our partnership, please bring it to me before you check the rig.”
Kent laughed. “I wish they’d get delivery.” If RoccoBean delivered, Kent could have his favorite coffee any time of the day, whenever he wanted.
“No, you don’t,” Reeva Kingsland, one of their other paramedics, said. “If they delivered, you’d have no reason to stop and enjoy their coffee.”
“Is that some twisted version of ‘If you build it, he will come’?” Damian asked Reeva, who shook her head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Reeva said to Damian.
“Field of Dreams?”
Reeva shook her head.
“Baseball?”
She shook her head again, and Kent laughed. “Sometimes, words are just words. Don’t look too deeply into things,” Kent said. “Reeva’s right. I get it. When you have too much of a good thing, it becomes something you take for granted. Besides, I enjoy stopping in there before every shift. This morning, they had slices of banana bread, and it was delicious.”
“Oh, so you’re not hungry for what I’m cooking?” Damian set his hands on his hips and glared at Kent until he couldn’t seem to hold his expression any longer and snorted with laughter. “I’m sorry. I can’t even stay mad at you because you bring me liquid gold.” He picked up his paper cup and took another drink. “The best, even if it’s not as hot as I’d like it, and the lack of warmth caught me off guard.”
This shift, Reeva was to set the table, or at least put enough plates and silverware out for people to use, and because Kent was already in the kitchen, he helped her. When Damian yelled that breakfast was ready, the cacophony of thundering footsteps came from all over the building. Mumbled thanks, scraping chairs, and chatter filled the kitchen space. Most of the crew ate at the table, while some took their plates to the lounge, where they watched the morning news.
After breakfast, Damian and Kent hopped into their rig and set off for the Financial District of San Francisco, their assigned coverage area. When they arrived at the station, they went in and shot the shit with firefighters until their first call of the day came in. It wasn’t too long ago when paramedics and firefighters were in the same house. After the new construction of the Ambulance Deployment Facility, however, medics had their own house.
By the time they sat down to eat lunch, Kent and Damian’s radio sounded. Everyone went silent so they could hear the call. As soon as the dispatcher called their rig number, Damian and Kent stood and left their lunch on the table. The others would wrap it up and put it in the refrigerator for them.
“Unit 81, possible stroke, female, thirty-seven, Bay Bank,” the dispatcher said over the radio. “Patient is prone, and the guard has escorted everyone out of the building. Patient collapsed against the wall.”
Kent and Damian rushed to their truck. Damian climbed behind the wheel and turned on the lights and sirens, while Kent went to the passenger side. Kent reached for the dashboard radio. “Unit 81 en route.” Thankfully, they were already near the bank and would be there quickly.
“I was just there yesterday,” Kent said as they turned the corner. He feared he already knew what they were going to walk in and find.
“They’re small and personable,” Damian added. “I’ve banked with them for years.”
They pulled up to the front, and Kent radioed dispatch to let them know they’d arrived on the scene. He was thankful to the San Francisco PD parked along the curb. Damian grabbed his clipboard and started the necessary paperwork while Kent went to the back of the bus and pulled the stretcher and his medical bag out. They walked into the bank, and the manager led them to the patient.
“She’s over here,” the manager said.
“What’s her name?” Damian asked.
“Palmer Sinclair. She’s my branch manager.”
Kent’s heart sank, and his fast walk turned into a run as he headed toward Palmer. The surrounding crowd parted as he and Damian approached. Kent took his medical bag and squatted down next to her, while Damian started taking her vitals.
“Hey, Palmer. It’s Kent,” he said, his voice cracking as he conducted his visual assessment. He liked her and enjoyed coming in to see her. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She tried to raise her hand to touch her head, but Damian asked her to hold still. He placed a c-collar around her neck and then monitored her blood pressure and oxygen levels.
“N-no,” she stammered.
Kent looked at Damian and watched him make a note of Palmer’s motor skills.
