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“The surgery went well.”
She stands up and raises her arms, looking upward. “Oh, praise God. Can I see him?”
“Soon. The minute he’s in the recovery suite, a nurse will come get you, I’ll make sure of it.”
She wraps me in her arms, and I can feel her tears on my scrubs. “I don’t know how to thank you, Doctor. Especially with his father… my husband. It happened yesterday. After losing the love of my life, I can’t…”
She can barely get the words out. I can feel her shake as I hug her.
“I can tell how much you love them both.”
“I do. I do. You don’t know the love of a mother.” She smiles sadly. “Although you may know the love of a wife, if you’re so lucky.”
“No, not yet.”
“I hope you will be blessed with the kind of love I had for so long. Your mother must be very proud of you, like I am of my son.”
“I’m sure she is. And I’m sure Issa is just as proud of you. I wish you the best, Mrs. Ali.”
I feel a pang of mourning, wishing my mother could be proud of me here and not from above. I can hear her voice calling me Ricky. But only the people who were close to me as a kid called me that. That name died when they did, and I prefer to keep it that way. Detached. Clean.
So marriage especially is something I have no interest in. It’s hard to imagine loving someone like that. I don’t know if I’d want to, as pained as the widows I’ve seen look.
“I wish you the best, as well, Doctor.”
I go back to clean myself up and see some other patients until my shift is over, but I can’t get the faces of Issa and his mother out of my mind even when my shift ends. They’re why I founded World Clinic and why I work so hard to build more outposts in all parts of the world that need care. But I know there are so many more who don’t have access.
I feel guilty leaving the hospital, even though I’m leaving an hour after my scheduled time.
When I get to my apartment, I realize how famished I am. I heat up some leftover rice and chicken. All I want is to sit on the sofa and do nothing before I fall asleep.
While I’m sitting down to dinner, the phone rings. Shit, I should have turned this thing off. If someone really needs me for a medical emergency, there’s a pager. Anything else can wait.
I contemplate ignoring it, but I catch sight of the name of the caller. ‘Royal Palace, Solvaria.’
“Fuck.”
Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. I’m too tired to deal with anything related to my father right now. But the sense of duty overrides my exhaustion.
“Hello?” I answer. Cedrick, you idiot.
“Cedrick, it’s good to hear your voice.” The air of authority, strength, and entitlement is unmistakable, but my father’s voice has an unsettling edge to it.
“And always good to hear yours, Father.”
“Mmm. I appreciate your saying so.” I can feel the icy subtext. Since his stroke, he’s had a single-minded obsession with marrying us off, and it hasn’t exactly endeared him to us.
“What’s going on? Did you call just to catch up?”
“No, unfortunately. There’s been an emergency.”
I gasp. “Are you okay? Not another stroke?”
“No, no, it’s not me,” he answers with a smile in his voice. “It’s your niece. She’s very ill, with appendicitis. I’d like you to come back and take a look at her.”
“My niece? I know I’ve been off the grid for a few months, but this is news to me…”
“There’s not enough time to explain. I just want you to come. It’s Ishmael’s daughter, Isha. She’s seven.”
