NO SOAP OPERA.
I was almost asleep.
“Mom?”
“What?”
“I’m bored.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
I’M SLEEPY!
“I’M NOT SLEEPY.”
“Then look out the window.”
“It’s dark!”
“Then close your eyes!”
“But I’m not sleepy!”
I smiled under my mask.
“Mooooom!”
“MOOOOOM!”
“WHAT?!”
“How much longer?”
“Nine hours.”
“How many minutes is that?”
“Lily, please!”
“Is it more than a hundred?”
“HOW MANY MINUTES IS THAT?”
“Five hundred and forty,” I said.
Her mother leaned forward.
“Nobody asked you!”
“Sorry. Occupational hazard. I like accurate numbers.”
Lily started counting to 540 out loud.
At sixty-three, her mother cracked.
“FIVE HUNDRED AND FORTY.”
“Stop counting!”
“Why?”
“You’re giving me a headache!”
“But I like counting!”
“Then count in your head!”
“How do I do that?”
“YOU’RE GIVING ME A HEADACHE!”
In twenty years of medicine, I had never wanted an answer to a question so badly.
“Okay. New game. I say a word, you say one that starts with the last letter. Apple.”
“Elephant.”
“Tiger.”
MONKEY.
“Refrigerator.”
THE BIGGEST ONE STUCK OUT HIS TONGUE.
“Rabbit.”
“This is boring!”
Three minutes. A new record.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
But this time, her mother heard every single kick. No headphones. No tablet. Just the sound of her own child, in surround.
BUT THIS TIME, HER MOTHER HEARD EVERY SINGLE KICK.
“LILY! Stop kicking his seat!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s annoying!”
“But you said he had to deal with it!”
I turned around.
“She’s got a point.”
“BUT YOU SAID HE HAD TO DEAL WITH IT!”
“STAY OUT OF THIS!”
“Gladly. I’ve been trying for three hours.”
Lily tugged her mother’s sleeve.
“Mom!”
“What?!”
“I’m hungry.”
“STAY OUT OF THIS!”
“You just ate!”
“That was two hours ago!”
“Then drink some water.”
“I don’t want water!”
“Then don’t drink anything!”
“But I’m thirsty!”
“BUT YOU SAID HE HAD TO DEAL WITH IT!”
Her mother rubbed her temples.
BANG.
“STOP KICKING!”
“My legs are tired!”
“Then put them somewhere else!”
“Where?!”
BANG.
“I DON’T KNOW!”
I turned around.
“Everything okay?”
“DO I LOOK OKAY?!”
“You look like someone dealing with a child.”
“I’ll complain about you!”
“DO I LOOK OKAY?!”
“Go ahead. Tell them I answered a math question.”
She turned on her phone. Four percent.
“Here. Play a game. Quietly.”
Seven minutes later:
“Mom, it died.”
Welcome to the club. Membership is free. Sleep is not included.
FOUR PERCENT.
Emily gave Lily a coloring book. Ten minutes later, she was bored again.
But very soon, something I’d stopped even thinking about was about to happen.
Her head appeared between our seats.
“Are you a real doctor?”
“Real enough.”
“Have you cut somebody open?”
“ARE YOU A REAL DOCTOR?”
“Several times a week.”
“Did they cry?”
“They were asleep. Lucky them.”
“Lily! Don’t talk to him!”
“I’ve been asking you to talk to her for three hours.”
Her mother pulled Lily back.
“THEY WERE ASLEEP. LUCKY THEM.”
“Stop bothering the man.”
“But he’s a doctor!”
“And he’s off duty,” I said.
Lily kicked my seat again.
Her mother was about to blow a gasket.
And I did something even I hadn’t expected. I offered to help.
HER MOTHER WAS ABOUT TO BLOW A GASKET.
I remembered something my sons did whenever we were stuck waiting at airports. It usually bought me twenty minutes. Today, I’d happily settle for five uninterrupted minutes of peace.
“Lily, ever solved a crime?”
Her eyes widened. “A real one?”
“An extremely serious one. Somebody stole the last chocolate cookie from my kitchen, and nobody confessed.”
“Who?”
I OFFERED TO HELP.
“Three suspects. My sons and our dog. Your mother gets to be the detective.”
“Absolutely not,” her mother said.
“Then the criminal walks free.”
“Mom! Please! I want to catch him!”
THUMP.
“FINE! What’s the evidence?”
“THEN THE CRIMINAL WALKS FREE.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Every detective needs a badge.”
I drew a star on my notepad.
“Detective Lily. Officially appointed.”
Lily grinned like she’d just been promoted.
“Where’s Mom’s badge?”
