neurologist.â
âOn a Sunday?â
He may as well have spoken Manchurian for all the sense he made. I searched my memory and still had no idea what he was talking about, which I think he realized.
âEllie ⦠itâs a follow-up from your smack on the head last year.â
Damn, we still on that? I thought we were over the whole fractured skull/coma thing. I didnât remember having an appointment.
âOn a Sunday?â
âWe thought Sunday would be better than midweek, and the doc works weekends; who knew?â
âOh, right, now I remember,â I said, trying to sound convincing.
He grinned at me. âYou still have no fucân idea, do you?â
âNot a one,â I replied. âWorks Sundays? Sees patients? Man, heâs dedicated.â
âHeâs seeing you . Heâs usually only here Sundays to do rounds.â
We made our way to the doctorâs reception desk and then through to the waiting room.
I sat. Stood. Paced. Repeated the cycle several times.
My watch said weâd been waiting for half an hour. Thirty-minutes! Surely, it wasnât that difficult to run on time; why didnât they just allow the correct amount of time per patient? I remembered what Mac told me about Leon working weekends. If he was only here doing rounds and to see me, then I really expected punctuality.
I checked my watch again. âFive more minutes and weâre out of here. I donât have time for this waiting shit.â
I leaned on the windowsill and glowered through the hazy film that had built up on the outside of the window. I knew Mac was grinning. I also knew he hated waiting as much as I did. My phone hummed once then silently vibrated on my hip. I checked it, hoping it would provide me with an excuse to leave.
âYouâre not supposed to have your phone on inside the hospital,â Mac reprimanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
âTough. Iâm sure theyâll get over it. If we hadnât waited so long weâd have been out of the hospital by the time he texted me anyway.â
He nodded, as if he agreed with me but I knew better; he was being agreeable.
âWho is it?â
âCaine, he wants us in the office A-sap.â I started for the door only to find Macâs hand firmly on my elbow.
âNo you donât. Youâre having this check-up.â
âA-sap,â I said, attempting to extradite my arm from his grip. âHe said A-sap.â
âHeâll wait. He wouldnât want you to miss this either.â
Damn! No escape.
A young nurse poked her head around the door. âGabrielle Conway?â
Macâs hand squeezed my arm, prompting me to reply to the nurse. âYes,â I said.
She smiled, revealing teeth covered in colorful braces. âDr. Kapowski will see you now.â
âGreat.â I sucked in my impatience and tried to ignore the thoughts generated on seeing braces. Since when did they hire twelve-year-olds as nurses? âExcellent,â I said, and gave her a quick smile.
The theme song to Doogie Howser, M.D. rampaged through my mind as we followed the teeny-bopper nurse to the doctorâs office. I finally succeeded in quelling the dreadful music with a deep breath and an internal âShut up!â
A door opened and the nurse stepped aside, allowing us room to enter. Leon Kapowski stood up to greet us.
âMac, good to see you again.â He leaned forward and clasped Macâs hand, giving it a good hearty shake, then turned to me. âEllie, how are you?â
âOkay.â
Macâs smile didnât escape me. I gave his upper arm a flick.
Leon gestured to the chairs by his desk. âSit.â
Surprisingly, his command wasnât accompanied by a hand signal. I had a quick look at my own hands; yes, I had hands, not paws. Opposable thumbs. No fur. I hadnât suddenly become a puppy in obedience school.
âHave a seat? Is
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