As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (18)

“You did amazing, Lama. I’m so proud of you. You’re so brave.” Their tears mix together. She smiles weakly, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

But my work is still not done. I get up to wash her blood off my hands only to remember that the water is cut off.

“Here,” I hear Kenan say from behind me. He holds a big bucket of water, which they probably use to drink and cook.

I shake my head. “I can’t do that. You need this water. I’ll wipe them back at the hospital.”

“Don’t be silly. Come here and wash the blood off you. We have buckets of water.”

No one has buckets of water.

But I take it from him. The water runs over my scars like little streams washing away the blood.

“Did the hospital give you any antibiotics?” I dry my hands on my yellowed lab coat.

“Yes.” He takes them out of his pocket and hands them to me. Cephalexin, 250 milligrams.

“Give her two tablets every twelve hours for seven days.”

He hurries over to her and makes her swallow two of them. She complains that her sides still hurt but takes the pills. Their brother emerges from behind the door and sits beside her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. He sniffs, rubbing his red eyes, and she smiles slightly before closing her own. Her fatigue is so palpable I feel it on my own skin.

I look at my watch. It’s nearing six p.m. I have to get back to Layla.

Kenan walks back over to me.

“Thank you so much, Doctor. I don’t know what else to say.”

I wave off his appreciation. “It’s not a big deal. Just doing my job. And I’m a pharmacist.”

“I guess this isn’t in your job description,” he says, looking at me with awe. Adrenaline shoots through my system once again and I look away. There’s life in his eyes. Something I’m not used to seeing outside of Layla’s. “And you’re young.”

I fiddle with my fingers. “Not that much younger than you.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s amazing that you can do all of this.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Circumstances.”

“Yeah,” he says, and his gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he looks away. His cheeks turn pink.

I clear my throat and gesture toward Lama. “Now, your sister won’t be able to eat anything for a while. That’s where fluids will play a role. Let her drink as much as she can. Soup, water, juice… anything really. Fruits too. If there are any.”

He’s nodding at every word I’m saying, storing them in his head. I can see him try and work out where he’ll be able to get all these things. They aren’t starving by choice. I don’t ask where his parents are. If they’re not here, then it’s not a mystery what happened to them.

“I’ll be at the hospital if you need anything. When she can move a bit, bring her there so we can see what more we can do.”

“Thank you.”

I hoist the surgical bag over my shoulder. “Again, no problem.”

He walks with me downstairs. “I’ll take you back to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m going home anyway. Your sister needs you more.”

He looks torn between wanting to be chivalrous and staying for his sister.

“It’s fine,” I repeat more firmly.

“Let me at least see you out,” he says, and I nod.

We walk together, going down the stairs in silence. At the front door, I turn toward him and he smiles.

“Thank you again,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, and step over the threshold.

“Take—” But his voice is drowned out when shots rip through the air. I whirl in fright to see his eyes widening, and immediately he grabs my arm and pulls me inside.

“Hey!” I protest, wrenching myself out of his grip, but he doesn’t notice, instead slamming the door shut.

He holds a finger to his lips and presses his ear against the metal frame. I wait with bated breath, praying it’s not what I think it is. Hope shrivels away when more shots follow and our worst suspicions are confirmed.

“It’s not safe,” he finally says.

“Obviously. I need to go.” I move to the side, but he blocks the space.

“It’s probably the military clashing with the protestors. You need to stay indoors until it’s over. They’ll have snipers all over the buildings.”

Even though this is expected to happen at any time, I start to panic. Layla’s alone. I can’t leave her like that the whole night.

“I have to go. Layla needs me,” I echo again.

“Who’s Layla?”

“My friend. She’s my sister-in-law, too, and seven months pregnant. I can’t leave her.”

“How are you going to be any help to her if you’re dead or captured?” he says forcefully, forming a body shield against the door.

Goddammit.

“Can’t you call her?”

“We have phones, but we don’t use them. I’m too scared the military will track them and know she’s alone.”

He hesitates for a few seconds, then takes out an old Nokia. “This is like a burner phone. It’s only used to call people. You can use it.”