“Not a chance, Kate.”
As if on cue, a bustling Gloria came back in with a mop-wielding orderly, a pale-blue dressing gown, a scary-looking syringe, and a Big-gulp medical cup that she plopped onto an overbed tray—just like on TV. “We’re gonna get this mess cleaned up, get the pretty lady into some clean duds, and then get her into X-ray,” Gloira directed.
Pete stepped around to my other side, brushing his hand from my shoulder to my fingertips. All kinds of tingling sensations momentarily confused my pain.
“But first,” Gloria bent the accordian straw my way, “let’s do somethin’ about that headache and thirst.”
When I gratefully leaned forward to gulp it down, Pete snatched it away before I could do much more than swallow a sip. Feeling gypped, I looked up for answers.
“Boyfriend’s got trainin’,” Nurse Gloria approved, thumping the side of the syringe. I scowled. “Sorry sweetheart . . . don’t want you throwin’ up again, do we?” I grimaced. “Here.” She slipped me a package of Saltines. “Nibble on these—should help with the nausea. Okay, looks like Mr. Jameson here is all finished workin’ his magic. Boyfriend, you gots to leave, so I can get Girlfriend feelin’ better.”
Boy, were they efficient. Everything was back to antiseptic hospital smell, only times a thousand. While I was busy nibbling on a cracker, Pete pressed his lips to my temple and then withdrew from me.
“Pete!” Panic seized me. “Don’t leave!” I was afraid he was going to disappear on me again.
“I’m only stepping into the hall while you change and get your . . . er, happy shot.” He grinned his way out the door.
What’s a happy shot?
Two minutes later, I found out. When Pete came back in, I was feelin’ no pain. “Heeeey!” I chirped as though he’d been gone on a tour of duty.
“Hey, yourself.” Pete gave a conspiratorial smile to Gloria. “Looks like someone’s feeling better.”
“I got a shot in the butt,” I explained with a loopy grin.
“Fo sho . . . Girlfriend ain’t feelin’ no pain now,” Gloria added. While they chuckled together, I focused hard on wiping the smile off my face. “Okay, Miss Connelly, it’s time to wheel you down to X-ray . . . see how hard that head of your is.”
“They don’t come no harder,” Pete quipped, and the two of them laughed it up again.
“Hey!” I protested, yet couldn’t seem to work up any real feelings of irritation. Weird. And wonderful. Despite the lump on my head, a perma-grin seemed to be fixed to my face like the Joker. I rose to my feet—with the aid of Boyfriend—realizing, a moment too late, my assets were bared for the world. I knew I should be embarrassed, but, like irritation, the feeling was mysteriously absent.
A giggle tickled my throat as Pete set me carefully into the wheelchair. “I can walk yunno . . . my legs aren’t broken.”
“No, you can’t!” Pete and Nurse Gloria chorused.
I scowled up at them as best I could, but was simply feeling so good my heart just wasn’t in it. “Can he come with us?” I asked plaintively.
“Only if you can tell me who he is,” she challenged.
“Why that’s easy!” I smiled smugly. “Pete Davenport.”
“Very good.” Nurse Gloria nodded her approval, making me feel like the star patient. “Guess Boyfriend’s comin’ with.”
“Yay!” I threw my hands in the air like I was doing the wave.
Pete gave me his trademark crooked grin, knowing full well I’d cheated. “I think I like you better this way.”
“Me too!” I emphatically seconded.
A few minutes later, I was being wheeled out—sans neck collar—by Boyfriend while Nurse Gloria gave me post care instructions that included a bunch of stuff that wasn’t likely going to happen, like taking it easy for the next couple of days. Apparently, I was to have no physical or mental activities, which included screen time (the only thing on the list that would happen), no school, no chores, no anything except for bed rest.
“But the doctor says he thinks I just have a simple concussion,” I argued. “I should be fine after a couple of days.”
“Right,” she agreed, “if you follow doctor’s orders, and if there are no complications.”
“What if I’m feelin’ better tomorrow?”
“Kate . . .” Pete stopped wheeling to walk around and kneel to my level. He stared me straight. “There’s no such thing as a simple concussion. You hit your head pretty good. There’s swelling, and the levels of brain chemicals are altered. It takes about a week for those to stabilize again.” He waited for my sluggish brain to process this before going on. “Your normal level of activity is not conducive to healing your body. You simply have to stay in bed for the next forty-eight hours minimum. And then you can slowly add activities back, but only on a limited basis. You cannot afford to get another brain injury that could cause long-term damage.” He looked serious as a heart attack now.
The smile finally left my face. Boy is he a buzz kill.
“Your brain is who you are,” he continued. “I like who you are—the outside is just a pretty package you happen to come wrapped in.”
I tried scowling at him even though I was very much touched. Unfortunately, I had a house to run. “Who’s gonna look after the boys and the animals?”
“I see what you mean by the hard head,” Nurse Gloria said to Pete.
“Someone besides you.” I started to protest, when he cut me off. “The world will not stop revolving because you lay low for a couple of days.” I started to argue when he said something funny: “Your father can take over for the next few days.” I actually laughed. “. . . Or I will.”
“Aw, Pete.” I gazed at him with love-shining eyes. “You’ve already done enough for us already.”
“Looks like Boyfriend’s a keeper,” Nurse Gloria said to me.
“If only that were possible.” I sighed, feeling the first stirrings of reality set in. Pete looked at me, and if my intuition was correct, he was feeling the exact same way.
After Pete had me tucked back into my triage bed in the curtained off partition he said, “I better go check on the boys. They’ll want to know you’re all right.”
A few pleasant moments of resting later, and my brothers came creeping in, stopping just shy of touching me. I smiled lovingly down on them—one light, one dark—marveling at their little-boy beauty as though seeing them for the first time.
“You can come closer.” I beckoned. “I won’t break.”
Andrew spoke up, because a forlorn Mikey looked like he might never speak again. “Pete warned us that you’re fragile right now. He said we had to treat you like a porcelain doll for the next week or two, so your brain won’t swell again.” I almost didn’t recognize his voice because it lacked its usual trumpet of self-confidence.
“I bet a hug is permitted.” I reached out.
Mikey backed away crying. “No! I don’t wanna bweak you, Kadee! I alweady letted you get huwrt today, and Pete said we can’t let you get huwrted again!”