“Kadee Connelly,” a desperate boy pitched in from below.
“The nurse is asking her, you idiot,” hissed an anxious-ridden Andrew.
“You must be the little brother.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mikey responded with a colossal attempt not to cry that about tore my heart out. The nurse asked the boys to wait out in the waiting room. “Is my sistuh gonna be alwight?” Mikey uttered in a voice even smaller than his age. I reached down to squeeze his hand; couldn’t find it in me to speak.
“She’s gonna be back to bossin’ you around in no time,” declared the nurse in a voice that instilled confidence.
Now I wanted to kiss her. I pried my lids up to see a wide smile and kind eyes set in a dark, no-nonsense face.
“Howdy. My name is Gloria.”
I felt rude, unable to partake in pleasantries right now. She shined a tiny flashlight into my pupils. Frowned.
“Her pupils always appear dilated,” Pete disclosed before stepping away, so I could focus my eyes on the line of her finger.
“Okay, Miss Connelly, can you tell me the name of the young man standin’ beside you right now?”
Couldn’t help it—a stupid smile spread my lips despite the throbbing of my head, and the wretched nausea roiling my stomach, and the annoying ringing in my ears. I would’ve known who was standing next to me in a pitch-black cave, after being blindfolded and spun around.
“Pete.” The word was loaded with meaning. He grinned at me, and I did my best to imitate the movement.
“Hmm-hmmm,” Nurse Gloria said, clearly not satisfied with my answer.
What else did she need? Standing there, looking down at me with the brightest dark eyes I’d ever seen, he was purely Pete—nothing else to know.
“Okay, let’s try again using his first and last name.”
Seemed silly. Piece of cake. I knew exactly who he was. “Pete . . .” I floundered for a second. Of course, I knew this. Just couldn’t seem to conjure it up straight away. Frustrating. I looked up for reassurance from the one I knew so well. He smiled down at me encouragingly, and my heart surged with pure joy and, and . . . love. “What was the question?”
His face fell a little before he rearranged it. He glanced over at Nurse Gloria. Nervous. Even if I couldn’t remember his last name, I could still read him like a book. He was nervous and wanted reassurance from the nurse. That touched me, it really did. I frowned, not being able to give him what he wanted.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. It’ll come to you in a minute,” said the kindly nurse, writing something down in her chart again. She wrapped my arm with a Velcro cuff and started pumping what looked like a small black balloon. The pressure built up tighter and tighter before releasing in a whoosh of air. I hadn’t minded the squeezing sensation of the device, because it momentarily took my mind away from the squeezing in my head.
It was fascinating to be here. I’d only visited the doctor once before, for a physical in sixth grade. I recalled enjoying the same sensation of pressure building up before the relief of release, and the annoying mini hammer knocking into my knee, and peeing into a plastic cup while giggling hysterically with Ashley-Leigh as we switched pee cups for no good reason but to laugh. And most of all: the pleasure feeling of feeling like a normal twelve-year-old.
Nurse Gloria made more notations in her chart. I tried to read what she wrote, but couldn’t turn my head. “Excuse me? Can I take this . . . thing off my neck now?”
“Your boyfriend was kind enough to put it on there for you, so I b’lieve we should just let it sit a while longer till the good doctor gets a gander at that CT and gives the okay to remove it.”
I kinda stopped following her after the B-word. “Boyfriend,” I said it aloud, trying it out in relation to Pete, who was still smiling at me, like, since that was the only thing he could do, he was bound and determined to do a bang-up job of it.
“That’s right. You heard me—boyfriend. Cuz the way you two youngsters is lookin’ at each another, don’t fool me a bit . . . Friend of the family, my foot,” she declared as definitively as she’d said I’d be back to bossing my brothers in no time. I liked her, I really did.
After a series of tests, seemingly designed just to drive me crazy, the doctor finally came in, looking sturdy and capable as a doctor should. He shook hands with Pete and introduced himself. (I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t remember his name two seconds afterward.) Then he commenced to probing around my head till I was swimming through stars and felt compelled to puke—again—right over the railing. It splattered onto the floor before ricocheting in a sickly-green arc, adding a charming backsplash to the curtain partition behind where Pete was standing.
The word mortified suddenly sprang to mind.
“Sorry!” I gasp-groaned.
“That’s quite alright, darlin’,” Nurse Gloria said. She held up a plastic boomerang-shaped bowl hanging out beside me on the bed. “That’s what this is for . . . just in case it happens again.”
Oh God. Didn’t think it was possible to be more mortified. And didn’t dare look up at Pete as I profusely apologized again. I had no idea what that thing was to tell you the truth.
“No worries. We had to get you outta those wet, dirty clothes anyhow and into a dressin’ gown.”
“Dr. Shaw,” Pete interrupted, “is there any way we can get her started on some pain meds?”
“I think we might be able to do that, Cadet Davenport,” he said jovial enough to be at a picnic in the park. His tone didn’t have much of a chance to rankle my nerves because the moment he ordered up some pain meds from good ole Gloria, I wanted to kiss him, although he vaguely looked like Santa Clause’s slimmer, better-looking cousin. (And not mentioning the fact that nobody wanted me to kiss them right now.)
“And some water please,” I croaked, feeling parched even though I’d almost drowned earlier.
Nurse Gloria and the good doctor left the room.
“Thanks, Pete . . . Davenport.” My grin turned into a grimace. I just noticed the antiseptic hospital smell was quickly being swallowed up by my vomit.
“You remembered!” Pete beamed at me.
“No, I cheated,” I confessed with a frown. “Heard Dr. What’s-His-Name call you Cadet Davenport.”
He chuckled. “I’m a little hurt, Kate—I thought I was unforgettable.”
“You are,” I sighed. “That’s the problem: even a big knock on my head can’t make me forget you.”
Pete brooded for a moment, and I took the moment to decide it was a good look on him. “You want to forget me?”
“Yes. No. . . . I dunno. I’m all mixed up and my head hurts.” He made a face. “Pete. The smell. It’s so bad. I’m really sorry . . . and your poor Hummer.”
“So you can remember the name of my truck, but not my last name?”
“Yeah. You know me. I’m real-real . . .” I struggled for the word to make the joke work.
“Materialistic,” he supplied, reading my fuzzy mind.
“Right.” I smiled up at him until another waft of throw-up brought to my attention the fact that he was most likely standing in it. “Pete, why don’t you wait out in the waitin’ room?”