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My eyebrows arch. He’s never been mean to anyone? Wow.
“I’ve lost my temper, of course. I once slapped a woman because she was panicking so much about her sick child that I couldn’t do my job. I get mad at parents who neglect or endanger their children, children who hurt others. I broke a chair once after I failed to save someone’s life. But I find no point in being mean to others on purpose.”
He’s a saint. I didn’t know they still existed.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he asks me. “You’re looking at me like I am.”
I am?
“No. I…” I scratch my forehead as I avert my gaze. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m just… surprised. Not everyone can be kind.”
In fact, some people are the exact opposite. Cold. Heartless. They delight in the sufferings of others.
“Everyone can,” Antonio tells me. “It’s just a matter of choosing to be.”
A difficult choice, and yet he makes it sound so easy. I wonder how.
“Your parents must have been kind, too,” I theorize.
I regret my statement as soon as I’ve said it, remembering that Antonio said his parents were no longer around. I’m about to apologize but he speaks first.
“Mitch and Abby were good people.”
I give him a puzzled look. Mitch and Abby? He calls his parents by their first names? Well, I guess that’s better than the names I call my parents by.
I wait for him to ask about them, but he doesn’t. Come to think of it, he hasn’t asked me any questions about who I am, where I’m from or why I’m here, a fact that I’m grateful for.
I approach the window and look out. “I bet this town is full of good people.”
Antonio stands next to me. “They try to be.”
“Such a quiet town,” I observe out loud.
I can barely hear anything outside apart from the breeze. No cars. No loud music. No fighting.
“It is,” Antonio agrees. “That’s one of the things I love about it.”
I look at him. “You’ve probably lived here all your life, haven’t you?”
“Not all,” he answers.
No? Ah, he must have had to go away to attend medical school. I can’t imagine this town having one.
I study Antonio’s face. Wait a sec. He doesn’t look older than thirty. Shouldn’t he still be in medical school?
“Aren’t you a little young to be a doctor?” I ask him out loud.
“I went to medical school as soon as I could,” he answers. “Finished it quickly, too.”
He says that without a shred of arrogance, as if it’s nothing. And yet even I know what an impressive feat it is. Going through school quickly is impressive enough. Going through medical school in – What? Half the time? That’s amazing.
I might just be in the company of a genius.
“And you never thought of working at a hospital?” I ask him curiously.
Antonio shakes his head. “This town needs me.”
Of course that’s what he’d say. Half of me thinks he’s being too kind, which is maybe a little stupid. The other half understands him well. It must feel good to be needed.
“So you’re the only doctor here?” I ask.
He nods.
“What if there’s more than one person having a medical emergency?”
“There’s a hospital about forty minutes away,” Antonio explains. “St. Mary’s. If you step on the gas, you can get there in half the time.”
Twenty minutes? That’s still a long time.
“If it’s an emergency, we call the hospital and I do what I can to keep the patient alive until the ambulance arrives. I haven’t had a case of there being two emergencies at the same time, but if there is, I’ll just have to do my best to keep them both alive.”
He’s not a saint. He’s a superhero.
“Once, there were two babies that had to be delivered nearly at the same time,” Antonio goes on. “There was only supposed to be one, but the other woman’s water broke ahead of time. She wasn’t dilated so I had to deliver her baby via C-section while giving instructions to the other woman’s husband over the phone to help her give birth. Both women were taken to the hospital afterwards, but they both made it. Both their babies turned out fine, too.”
I nod. “That’s good.”
Antonio meets my gaze. “How did you give birth? Was it C-section or vaginal?”
Vaginal? Somehow, that word makes me blush.
I look away. “The… latter.”
That should mean fewer questions, right?
“How long were you in labor?” Antonio asks next.
Okay. Maybe not.
“Um…”
I try to remember what I’ve seen on TV about women giving birth, but all I can recall is images of them lying on hospital beds with their legs spread, screaming.
“About… three hours?”
Antonio’s eyebrows go up. “That’s quick.”
It is? Shit. Did I just mess up?
He glances at the bassinet. “I’m guessing Lara’s full term?”
I’m not even sure I know what that means. What do I do? Lie again?
