But none of this matters this morning, because I'm standing in a hospital room with a seventy-eight-year-old minotaur who is as immovable as a boulder.
My grandmother has been grumbling since I arrived this morning. It's not surprising. Agatha Thornwood is a force of nature and being confined to a hospital bed is not going to sit well with her old bones.
Still. Tough luck and all that. Also quoting from my grandfather.
Cornelius Thornwood really used to say a lot of things.
Doctor Astrid Mercer pulls me from my taciturn thoughts as she steps into the room. Even this early in the morning, Agatha's doctor is perfectly put together. She is a minotaur, tall and striking, with dark amber fur and polished horns adorned withgold jewelry bands. She smooths her coat the moment she spots me and her smile widens as she plays with her long black mane.
I don't mind. I'm used to women reacting this way to me. I'm not fool enough to think this is about my charming personality. The only charm any of these women find in me is the size of my bank account. Or accounts.
"Doctor Mercer, thanks for coming by this early."
"For you?" She gives me a smile that is several degrees warmer than the occasion requires. "Anything, Demetrius."
I smile and nod politely. She is an excellent doctor and I am not in the habit of making things complicated with people I need.
"How is my favorite patient?" Astrid asks.
I scoff.
"Irritable and snarky enough to scare the nurses away."
"Good." Astrid chuckles, half a register too low. "Anything less and I would worry."
I stand there while Astrid goes to the bedside, turning to the still sulking elderly minotaur in the medical bed.
"Mrs. Thornwood, how are you this morning?" Astrid pulls at her stethoscope and I get the sense that she's all too willing to reveal her ample cleavage as her white coat parts open.
"I am feeling like someone who is fed up with having people fuss all over her," my grandmother says with a bite.
"That seems like an appropriate response," Astrid says with a small smile. "Any pain?"
"Apart from my pride, no."
Astrid laughs, then approaches Agatha while I go out and wait in the corridor while she examines her patient.
The corridor is quiet. The floor hums with its own particular rhythm. The distant sound of a rolling cart, the muffled voices at the nurses' station, the baseline hush of a building that runs on emergencies and never quite stops.
I stand with my back against the wall and my treacherous brain returns to its obsession about Madison Berwick.
Not intentionally. I have been not doing it intentionally since two in the morning and it has been working about as well as most things I try not to do.
When Astrid calls me back inside, the temperature in the room has dropped by several degrees. A quick glance at Agatha and I see the tension reflected in the stubborn set of the older minotaur's jaw.
And the way she crosses her arms over her chest and looks like she's about to head-butt her primary care doctor.
Not good. The only person I know who is more stubborn than my grandmother is me. Many things can be said about my grandmother, but soft of will is not one of them.
"Mrs. Thornwood, I can't discharge you without home care," Astrid says with a gentle tone.
"I have Mrs. Fairweather," Agatha says between clenched teeth.
"Mrs. Fairweather is not a nurse," Astrid responds. "You need professional care, I'm afraid. You're going to need a nurse for the next six to eight weeks at minimum. Wound care, mobility assistance, pain management, the bathroom. A nurse is what you need, not a housekeeper."
Agatha glares at her doctor with the kind of stare that used to send me hiding under my bed, but Astrid does not retreat. Granted, her smile loses some of its shine and a tic flicks at her left eyelid, but she still holds her ground. It's admirable, really.
"If you don't want to hire a nurse to care for you at home, then may I suggest Cliffwood Rehabilitation Center for the recovery period?" Astrid says this without flinching, even after Agatha huffs at her with an expression of such outrage, I'm surprised the good doctor doesn't spontaneously combust. "The rooms are very comfortable, the staff is twenty-four seven."
