Page 25 of Doctor Enemy

I trade the scrunchie out for one of the cards. There are flowers embossed on the front, bright blue and purple. Using my thumb, I flip it open. “Best wishes for strength and a speedy recovery, Shannon.”

I put it back, and pick up a second one, clearing my throat.

The front of the second card has a cartoon stick of butter on it, sitting on a porcelain plate. The inside is pale pink, with a cartoon knife on the left hand of the page. The right hand of it reads, “Get butter soon. And it’s from Cara.”

Lori is staring at me.

I put that card back, too. My own hand rises up to press against the side of my neck. “That won’t be on for long. A few days, and then we’ll take it off you. You’re going to feelgreatonce you can move around more freely.”

“How long am I going to be an in-patient?” Lori asks, softly. There are still tears in her green eyes, making them look glassy, like a doll.

“Ten days. Two weeks, at the most. You had a brain bleed. Have you read up on craniotomies?”

“A little.”

“Do you want the dirty details now, or later?”

Lori thinks on it. “I don’t know.”

“Alright,” I tell her. “Why don’t you know?”

“My head hurts and I’m tired.” She closes her eyes again. The misery on her face is enough to make my own chest throb with sympathy. “But… I don’t want to be in here alone.”

She’s scared.

That’s normal. It’sscarybeing in a hospital, especially if you’ve never been on that side of the knife before. “Do you want me to come back when my shift is up?” I ask again.

Lori makes a soft, sad little sound. “Would you?”

“Absolutely.” I give the back of her forearm a reassuring squeeze and then I grab one of her scrunchies–bright yellow, with a lion on it–and slip it onto the wrist of her hand not sporting the IV. “This can keep you company while I’m gone.”

Lori gives a soft, watery laugh. She pulls her wrist up against her chest. I take note of the shaking in her fingers, and the way that her motions are slightly hitched. That’s something to keep an eye on. It could just be the stress of the crash and the surgery, but brain bleeds are dangerous injuries.

I got the pressure down fast, but you can never be too careful.

We only talk for a moment longer before I leave the room, heading to take care of Ethel. “Son, your name tag is upside down,” she tells me just like I knew she would.

“Would you look at that!” I lean forward and let her unclip the tag. Fingers heavily twisted with arthritis put it back on, right side up. “Thank you, Ethel. I could have made a real fool of myself if someone else had noticed that.”

“Busy man like you, it’s no wonder that you got distracted.” Ethel gives me a pat on the wrist. Her face is drooping with age, and her silver hair is long and straight. She reminds me of my great-grandmother–the woman lived to be a hundred and three before she passed away.

“Busy as a bee,” I tell her.

Ethel likes bees. She has a stuffed bee sitting on the bedside table. All of the cards that her friends and family have brought in for her have bees on them too.

The comment wins me a gummy sort of smile. “You should take more time for yourself. Bees need rest, too.”

“I will, don’t you worry about that.” I finish checking her charts–all in good order, she’s only in for observation after a fall in the shower that led to a knock to the noggin–and then head out to continue my rounds.

As I come out of the last room for the night, Jackson Hawk waves me down.

He’s my age, and he’s been working in the hospital just as long as I have. About six months ago, he was the recipient of an award for leading the research team that came up with the first accurate treatment for Margur’s disease, a progressive neurological disorder.

I was part of that team, so I was given a plaque too, alongside Cara and Jackson’s wife, Amanda. It was long, hard work but it’s changed the lives of a lot of people, including Jackson’s.

“There you are,” says Jackson. “I was looking for you.”

I tug on either side of my white doctor’s coat, holding it out like the belle at a ball. “Here I am. Tell me it’s not a work question?”

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