Page 110 of Booked for Murder

Nothing happened, not even a warning twinge. “Huh. That’s different.”

“The remnant painkillers are masking any discomfort. You’ll get sore quickly, and it’ll hurt by the time we reach the elevator, I’m sure. You have to get used to walking again without pulling your stride, and that’ll take time. Pain is a reality of your situation, but while the circumstances of the shooting remain a tragedy, some good has come out of it. Just avoid any situations where your foot might be introduced to another bullet, please.”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised.

Dr. Mansfield gathered my purse, checked the room for anything that may have been missed, and grabbed the crutches from the hallway. “I’ll carry your things so all you need to worry about is watching where you walk. I should make you take the stairs, but we’re on the fifth floor. It would take you all day.”

I frowned at the implication I couldn’t handle the steps. “That sounds like good exercise, though. You want to make sure my lungs are healthy, right?”

“Your lungs are fine. We checked on them while we were working with your foot. You can handle everything except strenuous activities without the help of your magic. With some time, you won’t need your ability to do whatever you want, although your foot probably won’t handle a lot without pain. You’ve surprised me once, so I expect you’ll surprise me again.”

While aware the medications had turned me into a menace convinced she’d be amputating my foot, I couldn’t resist asking, “So, when will you be chopping off my foot?”

“I’m afraid that after review, your application for an amputation has been denied.”

“I see your sarcasm is in good form, too.”

“I’m still not sure which is worse: your panic upon waking from sedation or the delusions you suffer while under the influence. Just take the elevator. If you take the elevator, you can begin your quest for orange chicken faster.”

“I can’t believe he really refused to bring me orange chicken again. Cruelty.”

“Yes, how cruel of him. He brought you delicacies from across the takeout world for your enjoyment, and when you were throwing up every other minute, he went out every other hour to get you new soup until you could keep something down.”

“I will never eat hospital food ever again.”

“I’m still not sure how the pancakes were contaminated. I had them check the orange chicken to make sure it wasn’t the culprit. It really was the pancakes, and the tests proved it.”

“Something was off about them. I would never throw up good pancakes.”

“Still, I’m sorry. The last thing you needed was rancid pancakes making a mess of things. In good news, it did trigger an evaluation of the food here. While the meals the hospital serves aren’t precisely appealing for the most part, it’s supposed to be healthy. While you’d likely make it down the stairs, please use the elevator.”

“The stairs are a lot of work anyway.” Armed with my cane, I limped in the direction of the elevator, and after I made it a few steps without incident, I did my best to put my weight on my right foot properly.

Everything about my stride felt wrong after so long limping, and halfway down the hall, I shot accusatory glares at my doctor. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Physical therapy will help. Just try to avoid limping as much as possible, and if you experience any significant pain, give me a call. It’s going to feel strange for you for a while, especially as you’re so used to being unable to walk without significant pain. Your habits will be completely disrupted, but you’ll adapt quickly. For the next few days, try to take it easy, rest, and practice walking without pulling your stride. Your next appointment will be at my clinic in a week.”

“And the appointment won’t be to amputate it, right?” I teased.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Bradley waited for me in the hospital’s lobby, and he smiled when he spotted me. “How do you like your new medical boot?”

I regarded the contraption, leaning on my cane while I caught my breath from the hike across the hospital. “Apparently, I’ve trained myself to limp, and I can’t seem to stop limping despite my currently painless state. This is rather frustrating, but Dr. Mansfield promised she’d beat it out of me in the next few months.”

“I didn’t say I’d beat her, precisely,” my doctor added, crossing the lobby to shake hands with Bradley and handing him my oversized purse and crutches. “The prescriptions she needs for the next two weeks are in her purse, so you’ll want to pick them up on your way home. I’ve called them into the pharmacy, and the pharmacy’s address is with the prescription slips. Feed the woman orange chicken before she cries. She even limited her complaints to sad sighs. Her medical file has a recommendation for the drug cocktail she should be given when reversing sedation to limit the odds of her suffering through a panic attack, so the next time she’s in for a procedure, you might even be able to be with her, although you’ll have to leave if you start undergoing anxiety. Please see a therapist about it, Mr. Hampton.”

“I made an appointment with one for both Janette and I, and apparently, we get to do one session that is individual, and one where we’re together, as there are rules about how therapists operate. But as my anxiety is linked with her, we get to do some sessions together.”

I somehow resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re a pain in my ass, Bradley Hampton. Where’s Ren?”

“He’s waiting in the car with Ajani. We’re going to your mother’s house, and I figured you’d want to see your cat, who is very unhappy you’re missing. She’s been crying and looking for you. I make a poor alternative.”

I smiled. “My fluffy demoness actually misses me?”

“She really does. So, you get to sit in the back with me while we comfort your cat. We’ll pick up some orange chicken for you to snack on while we head to your parents’ place. I’ll fill you in on everything you’ve missed, too.”

“That sounds good.” I turned to my doctor, shifted my cane to my left hand, and shook with her. “Thank you for not amputating my foot, Dr. Mansfield.”