Page 49
She always answered my questions like this, I realized. She gave me the same vague response whenever I asked her anything. I didn’t know her last name, what hospital she worked in. Hell, I hadn’t even known she was a doctor until the Popeye thing. But I figured she’d open up to me when she was ready, so I didn’t push it.
“So,” I said, “what have you been up to?”
“Not much. Working mostly.” I heard the pith of a can opening.
I put in my earbuds so I could have both my hands. “So what kind of doctor are you?” I asked. I hadn’t had a chance to ask her before she took off on me the other day.
“I’m an ER physician.”
“Ah,” I said, measuring the chair leg and marking it with a pencil. “Why’d you pick that?”
She sounded like she was stretching. “I didn’t plan on it. I was going to go into neurosurgery, but I met my best friend and she was pursuing emergency medicine and she got me into it. It’s fun. And I like being there on someone’s worst day. I like saving people.”
I smiled. “Any interesting cases?”
“Oh, lots.”
“Like what?”
She made a humming noise. “I pulled a Barbie shoe out of a kid’s nose yesterday. And some guy used a nail gun to shoot a three-inch nail into his foot this morning. He was stuck to the floor. The paramedics had to use a hammer to pry him off.”
I sucked air through my teeth. “Ouch.”
“Once this guy swallowed a Fitbit. He was cheating and he got a text from another woman on it. His girlfriend demanded he show it to her, so he ate it. It was still tracking his steps from his stomach. We have Nunchuck Guy. He comes in once a month with a concussion. There was the guy with a flashlight stuck in his rectum—”
“Why is it always guys?”
“I don’t know, Daniel. Why is it always guys?” I pictured her grin.
“Hey, I have never been to the ER. Doug does my stitches.”
“Doug does your stitches?”
I nodded. “Yup. He was a medic in the army. Saves me a two-hour round-trip to Rochester every time. Uses a barbless fishhook and a ten-pound test line.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding…”
“Nope. He does a good job too. Straight.”
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “What do you use for the pain?”
“Gin?”
She laughed.
I needed to use the saw, but I couldn’t do it with her on the phone, so I decided to stain some headboards instead. I got up and grabbed some brushes. “So, back to the flashlight thing. Does this happen often?”
“You have no idea. People love putting stuff up their butts. And they always want you to think they fell on it in the shower. About fifty percent of my job is keeping a straight face.”
I chuckled. “Same. Someone spray-painted dicks on the bike trail yesterday. Mrs. Jenson came to tell me, and she kept mouthing the word ‘penis’ because she couldn’t bring herself to actually say it out loud and I had to look very concerned and nod a lot.”
“Any leads on who did it?” she asked, a smile in her voice.
“Eh, it’s teenagers. It’s always teenagers. Firecrackers in mailboxes, stealing wine coolers from the grocery store, nature peeing—”
“Nature peeing…” she deadpanned.
“Yup.” I pried open a paint can. “It is exactly what it sounds like. The businesses are either closed for the season or they don’t want kids in their stores using their bathrooms, so they just go where they can. The alley outside of the pharmacy was starting to smell like a urinal.”
