The Twelve Jays of Christmas by Donna Andrews

Author:Donna Andrews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

Chapter 23

The head of Harris’s hospital bed had been raised to a forty-five-degree angle, and he lay back, staring up at the ceiling. Dad was at his side, bending over to peer into his left ear with an otoscope. Harris wore the peeved look of someone who’s tired of having his orifices peered into.

“Well, that looks fine.” Dad removed the otoscope and beamed at his patient. “And no ringing or changes to your hearing?”

“No.” Harris looked as if he were consciously refraining from shaking his head, though.

“Splendid.” Dad patted him gently on the shoulder. He glanced up at me. “What a stressful day! We don’t often get three emergencies in one night.”

“Much less three such interesting emergencies,” I agreed. “It’s like your own little medical experiment. I understand you’ve got one hypothermia with possible concussion, one possible concussion with a bleeding head wound, and one bleeding head wound with hypothermia. Covers all the bases.”

Harris looked slightly alarmed at that, but Dad’s face lit up.

“I never thought of that,” he exclaimed. “Of course, it’s too small a sample to really be an experiment. But it could serve as the basis for a nice little article on some of the factors to be considered when treating patients with comorbid conditions.” He stood nodding slightly for a few seconds, then snapped back to the present. “But no lollygagging—I’m going to go organize getting the CT scan for that head of yours.” He dashed out of the room.

Harris looked after him with a mournful expression on his face and uttered an almost inaudible sigh.

“I know,” I said. “It’s annoying, being poked and prodded and wheeled down to Radiology when all you really want to do is rest. But won’t it be reassuring to know you’re going to be fine?”

“At the moment, I don’t really care,” he said. “I just want to be left alone. I feel awful.”

Actually, he looked awful. But I didn’t think it would be helpful to say so.

“You’ll feel better once the pain meds kick in,” I said. “And now that they’ve got all the blood cleaned up, you’re looking pretty good.”

He looked up at me with a lugubrious expression. I got the feeling he wanted to say something like “Pretty good? Are you kidding?” but was too polite.

“Okay, how about ‘a lot better than the last time I saw you’—how are you doing otherwise?” I asked.

“It’s been quite a shock.” His voice was almost inaudible.

“I’m sure it has,” I said. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m not sure I can claim it’s my loss,” Harris said. “Unless you mean my job, which I have most definitely lost, but that would be a rather petty reaction wouldn’t it?”

“Not petty at all,” I said. “Losing your job’s … well, a pretty formidable challenge, isn’t it?”

“Challenge,” he repeated. “If you’re using that as a euphemism for ‘catastrophe,’ yeah. But I’m still alive. And Mr. Castlemayne…” His voice trailed off and he frowned slightly, as if struggling to find the words he wanted. “I won’t try to pretend that I liked him,” he said finally.

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