Free Red Light by J. D. Glass

an apolo—” I tried to say, but Nina cut me off immediately.
    “You owe me nothing, Tori—just be the best EMT you can be, okay?” She smiled and hugged me, a real hug, to let me know we were okay. I shouldn’t have been surprised, because that was Nina; she forgave me, and as far as she was concerned, it was over. That particular trait wasn’t something I’d mastered yet, but maybe, someday, I would. I didn’t think I was that generous-hearted, though.
    “Do you like your room?” she asked as we walked down the hall together. She put an arm around my waist as we stood in the doorway and stared inside.
    “It’s great,” I answered, and squeezed her to me lightly—I hadn’t forgotten what Samantha had told me, and I wanted to be very careful.
    “I’m glad. This is your home, Tori, for as long as you want.”
    Stunned, I faced her. “Nina, I’ll pay you back, that’s just…I mean, you can’t—the baby—”
    Her eyes glowed with what I knew now was not only her own good nature, but also the joy of the not-so-secret she carried as she held me tightly.
    “You’re family, Tor,” she said, “and that’s forever.”
    I was slow to return the embrace, because as much as I knew that somewhere in my head she was right, something in the way she said it told me it might actually be true.
    “Thanks,” I said finally, “thanks a lot.”

    *

    Sometimes I studied in the library/studio—and when Samantha read in a corner or played out her chops while Nina was working at her desk, either deaf to the world with a set of headphones and arranging tracks, or sketching out yet another cover concept, I remembered when I was a kid: Nina used to paint, and she’d even sit me on her lap so I could “paint” with her.
    I asked her once why she stopped, because in my child’s mind’s eye she’d been so talented, but she smiled and shook her head.
    “Goya, El Greco, and Guernica ,” was her only answer.
    When I shook my head because I didn’t know what she meant, she told me to take a break from blood for a moment and lent me an art text.
    I got it—but I still thought she had talent, and I said so.
    She smiled and hugged me in thanks.

    *

    Time was getting tighter going into the finals and state exam, and two weeks before that most important test, we had to go on our ambulance rotations. We’d not only get some real field experience, but we’d also receive grades on how well we handled it. We had to pass the rotations because if we failed, we couldn’t progress to the exam. Bob had made sure to emphasize this point: pass the rotation or return to the beginning.
    We had a choice of hospitals and times and would do a total of four eight-hour shifts. Mine were at night because I worked and attended other classes during the day, so I was assigned to University Hospital, North Site. I’d spend a day assisting in the emergency room, another on the bus, the next back in the emergency room, and the last night on the ambulance again. There were EMTs in the emergency room as well as on the bus, and Bob wanted to make sure we were exposed to both—just in case.
    I stopped at the uniform and medical supply store; we’d also been instructed to wear the typical white uniform shirt and black uniform pants. After I spent more money than I expected and more time than I wanted to have one of the clerks measure my pants so they could be hemmed—otherwise I would have to roll them, which just looked terrible—I was ready to rock and roll: white shirt, black pants, work boots, and utility belt complete with all of the required tools. I had a cheapo stethoscope slung around my neck. It wasn’t a Sprague, which I really wanted, but at least it worked, and it was a neat aqua blue.
    I showed up at the emergency room promptly at seven p.m. and was directed to the nurses’ station. Once there, I introduced myself to a harried nurse.
    “Go get some coffee, um, Scott, Scotty? Scotts,” she directed, stumbling over my name as