“Me? Do I look like I have time for hobbies? I’m a doctor.”
Exactly my point! “They’re great. I like the red one.”
“Perfect! I’ll have one for you at your appointment tomorrow. Bring a tenner, okay? She likes cash best.”
And just like that, I was out ten bucks. Sucker.
Dr. Cook whistled as he left.
“Sucker!” Dr. Chortle echoed my inner voice with a distinct cackle as she sidled up to me. She could have been the understudy for the Wicked Witch of the West. “I thought you were smarter than that, Hotwell.”
Dr. DadJoke flanked her. “He’s not as smart as he wants everyone to think he is, obviously.”
“Aren’t you the two doctors who refused care for me when I was concussed and bleeding?”
“Uh …” A look passed between them that went from imperious to fearful to let’s deny this fast.
Then, Chortle spoke up. “Whatever. The Kook was coming along anyway.” She gave a sour smirk in the direction Dr. Cook had disappeared.
“It was Dr. Cook?” I hadn’t known. I hadn’t thanked him. Wow, I should buy all his keychains.
“You’re fine. What do you care?”
Was I fine? I’d temporarily lost my shot at MVS. So, no, I was not fine. “You two are really lucky Dr. Cook came along.”
I should be saying that about myself.
The dingbat duo left.
The next day, I went back to the hospital and ran into Walter again. He was at the front entrance instead. His shoulders slumped as he watched me approach.
“Dr. Hotwell, you know what I’m going to say.”
I held up a hand. “You’re going to say, go on up to your appointment with Dr. Cook.”
“Only if you, in fact, do have an appointment.” He dialed Cook’s office. A moment later he said with a chuckle, “Go on up to your appointment. Did you get a hobby yet?”
“You mean besides making sure you do your job, Walter, of keeping the hospital free of the riffraff?” I breezed in, heading for the elevators to Cook’s clinic.
Upstairs, Cook sat behind a large desk made of a dark wood, and he invited me to sit across from him in a straight-backed chair.
“Here’s that ten-dollar bill I owe you.” I put down a fifty. It still felt cheap. And wasn’t I supposed to be lying on a sofa? “What are we supposed to be talking about here?”
Dr. Cook took out a sheet of paper, as if to take notes. For all I knew he was doodling new keychain designs. “How’s your cognitive ability?”
“Top notch. That’s why I’m a surgeon.” At least he hadn’t asked me if there had been unusual occurrences during the concussion period.
“Post-concussion, I mean.”
I eyed him. The truth hurt. “Getting there.” That was the best I could do for now.
“Staying busy and using latent skills can help bring back the sharpness that’s missing.”
“Latent skills? Like heart-valve replacement?” No one was going to let me do that right now.
“Longer latent. If you recall, I mentioned a hobby.”
The h-word! I gurgled.