Even from her hospital bed, Rivi reminds me that she’s the giver

I’m on the phone with Sampson when the message comes in on three chat groups at once.

Daven now! Riva bas Miriam, young mother of five, in critical condition!

“Blarucciglekmslmdssae,” Mr. Sampson says, as my ears suddenly fill with buzzing.

Rivi. It’s her name.

She has five children.

What happened?

“Hello? Hello?” Mr. Sampson’s voice sharpens, cutting into the haze. “Are you there?”

He’s just asked me something, I’m supposed to answer. What’s he talking about, eviction policy? The security deposit? Something else?

“I’m… at Diamond Property Management we have a firm policy regarding tenant agreements….” I’m babbling and incoherent and whatever he asked, I’m definitely not answering it.

“I was asking about the frequency of property inspections,” Mr. Sampson says. He sounds impatient.

I pass a hand over my forehead; it’s slick with sweat. I need to focus, this is Mr. Sampson, we’ve been working on this for a month. I’m at a meeting, can’t be interrupted, if Sampson calls, drop everything and take care of it, Mr. Breuer had told me this morning. I’d nodded, half an hour and a lifetime ago, because of course I could do it, I could do this in my sleep, I’ve been managing the office for ten years, trained in countless new employees, set up myriad meetings to sign on new clients,  answered call after call, email after email, question after question….

But….

Riva bas Miriam, it’s Rivi, critical condition, head pounding, heart stuttering, I can’t talk now.

“I’m sorry, I have to go, I’ll get back to you,” I say, and then I hang up on Sampson — Sampson! — and I don’t even divert my calls, just leave my desk and flee for the privacy of my car.

What happened to Rivi?

The messages are buzzing in one after another: from Ma, from my sisters, from mutual friends, some asking, some telling. Did you hear? What happened? I’m in shock. Broken heart emojis. She was crossing the street after dropping off her kid at the bus stop. He watched the whole thing.

Horror, pure unadulterated horror.

I need to do something, talk to someone. I call Shimi. He picks up second ring, sounding shocked. I never call him from work. I never have time for that.

“Rivi was in an accident,” I blurt. “She’s — they’re worried–” I can’t talk.

I hear him draw a sharp breath. “Oh my. That’s awful.…”

He’s trying to say the right thing, but there is no right thing, and suddenly I want to hang up the phone and do something, because the fear is consuming me.

What happened? What’s happening? What will be?

“I need to… find out what’s going on,” I say, my words coming out in spurts. “If they need– help. Like the family. Her kids. They could come after school. Or food. Something in the hospital, maybe. I don’t know — I don’t even know who’s there, what’s… happening.”

“Do you want me to come home? Pick you up?”

I sigh, press fingers into my eyes, feel the terror and shock subside just a little. “No… thanks, I know you’re busy.” Circles, white on black, flash across my eyelids. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I’m going to find out. See what I can do.” My voice gets stronger. The thought of direction, doing something, feels better than paralyzed helplessness.

“Okay. I guess.” Shimi doesn’t sound convinced. I know he’s thinking about Rivi and me, what this will mean, but I can’t think about that. “Call me if you need me, Tamara, okay?”

Call me if you need me.

I close my eyes, breathe.

And then, alone in the silent car in the parking lot under Diamond Property Management offices, I realize I’m crying.