What’s Up, Doc?
Early the next morning, I managed to drag Bill back to Hennepin County Medical Center to meet with the good doctor. Kimble was adamant. Since Bill had signed himself out AMA, then he needed to see his own doctor. It was imperative. Bill, of course, refused point-blank.
Bill: Listen, Doogie, I’m a little run down. I ain’t dead.
Kimble: And you listen, Strannix. It was damn close. You see a doctor.
Deb: He will.
Bill: Girl, you keep outa this.
Deb: You haven’t got dick to say this time, buster. You’ll see Dr. Toland or I’ll leave you here to get home on your own.
Bill: Fine with me.
Deb: And when you finally get there I’ll drag your ass to Dr. Toland. I went through hell to get you back and now I’ve got you I don’t mean to lose you to neglect.
A major spasm crossed Billy’s rugged features. If I’d gone through hell, what had he endured?
Kimble: Listen to the lady, big fella.
Bill saved the quiz for the car.
Bill: Who’s this Toland?
Deb: New guy at the clinic... big sneeze with the nurses, I don’t think is suits are exactly Armani but they’re close, nice looking...
Who was I kidding? Dr. Mark Toland was one of the reasons neurotic females decided they were in love with their personal sawbones. Not exactly the most memorable personality I’d come across, but pleasant enough. And if the clinic gossip was any indicator, single.
Bill: This your doctor?
Deb: He’s the one I landed with, yes. He’s a pretty good GP, so I think you’ll do okay.
Bill: How’s his bedside manner?
Deb: I like him.
Bill: You like Gerard, why am I askin’ you?
Deb: You need to shut up, sir.
Bill performed a classic Strannix segue.
Bill: You shouldn’t be drivin’ this bucket a’ bolts.
Deb: Bucket. Of bolts?
I knew from his tone that he was teasing so there was no offense taken, but—a 2000 Dodge Viper? A bucket of bolts? And it was his Christmas gift! Damn straight he’d get the smartass cracks back, for as long as I could keep it up!
Bill: That’s what I said. What am I supposed t’do with this little toy fucker?
Deb: Maybe you ought to teach yourself to play. You can start by goign and chasing your damn self. And what do you mean, I shouldn’t be driving?
Bill looked serenely out the front window, over the wide hood.
Bill: ‘Cause ya look like one of those damn Fisher-Price people Nuala leaves lyin’ around where I can step on ‘em. Round... no legs...
Deb: Fuck you, gooberass!
He must have been enjoying this.
Deb: And what in hell do you think you’ll look like when you’re allowed to drive again?
Bill: Gonna make Sam Quint and that cheapass Black Moon look like a pile of runny shit beside a fire hydrant.
I considered carefully as I drove. Sam Quint... leather... well, Bill had leather... but those immense shoulders, the snug jeans, the athlete’s grace...
Deb: Nope, not likely.
I reached over to touch his hand. I was going to need to get over this drive to touch him, it would only piss him off... but not quite yet.
Bill: Hear you went on a cruise.
Deb: Bully was kind enough to take us out.
There, that would get his attention. Sure enough, he started muttering evilly and shooting me black looks.
Deb: You’re waaay too jealous of that boy, Strannix.
Bill: Jealous! Hell! Jealous of that goddamn poser! Shit I am!
This was working beautifully.
Deb: You know I only have eyes for you, Billy.
Sloppy as hell. It would make him howl. But it was true, I only had eyes for Bill.
And Bully.
I didn’t think it would be wise to describe the scene at our departure. Bully had met us at the wharf, hanging from the rigging, shirtless, bronzed, long hair blowing in the breeze. He’d been squinting into the sun to see us coming.
Deb: You’ve really got to quit watching that movie, Bully.
Jade: Shut up.
Deb: What? He’s being a fool. Twerp.
Jade: Shut up. You don’t understand. I don’t care. Ryan’s growing a beard and letting his hair grow and Jesus God that man has some legs.
Deb: It’s the boots.
Jade: Shut up. I’m not kidding. I’m looking...
No, it wouldn’t do to tell Bill about that. Word would get back to Ryan and he would shave himself bald.
Bill heaved a long sigh, which brought me back quite effectively.
Bill: Next time ya go, I’ll tag along.
I took that as tacit instruction, and I ran to make the additional appointment.
My own trip had been planned for two days later and they squeezed him in neatly. On the appointed day I was perched on the examining table, prepared for routine poking and prodding. Bill was trying to pull The Sprawl in the little side chair and not having too much luck.
Bill: Where’s this Talleywhacker at?
Deb: God knows. I’ve never been to the doctor that it didn’t take forever.
He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, trying unobtrusively to ease his leg and his sore belly. He couldn’t hide from me and, naturally, I couldn’t hide my observation from him.
Bill: Settle down, Punk. It ain’t so bad.
I dropped my eyes to my hands, lying in my lap. I would probably never completely allow him is privacy with this, but I couldn’t help myself. The difference between this and any other time was virtually none, but I felt justified in watching so closely.
Finally I heard the soft knock that signaled Toland’s entrance. I mouthed across at Bill ‘here he comes.’
Toland: So... how are we today, Deb?
The one and only person not in but of my life who didn’t try to make me Bill’s wife. I was grateful.
Deb: I’m fine and the lump is holding.
Toland: And this would be Mr. Strannix?
Bill: Rumor has it.
Bill stuck out a massive paw, shifting to a slightly more upright opsition out of respect for the medical man, if respect it was.
Toland moved in, did an efficient exam. Before I knew it I was dressed and in the side chair. Toland handed him one of those lovely backless gowns.
Bill: Whaddya want me t’do with this?
Toland: Put it on, Mr. Strannix. I’ll be right back.
The doctor winked at me and exited. Bill was growling.
Bill: Thought I wouldn’t haveta wear one of these again for a while.
Deb: He’s going to look at your leg and probably your belly, you goon. He has to be able to get to them.
It always amazed me how fast he could change clothes, even with his injuries. I had a hard time watching him, even though both bandages had been changed the night before, masking the wounds. In places, I could still see the faint outline of his bones.
After he put the gown on, he eased himself onto the table. He looked silly, sitting there. I had a hard time keeping my smirk off my face.
Bill: Laugh it up, little girl. Go ahead.
Bill stared at his feet from his perch and looked annoyed. Toland returned and Strannix seemed to want nothing more than to shake the doctor off.
Toland was nothing if not the essential physician. He continued poking, prodding, listening, unflappable, reassuring. Soon, Bill was dressed and eyeing the pad that Toland was keeping notes on.
Bill: Hurry the hell up, Doc. I ain’t got all day.
Toland: And where are you going, Mr. Strannix?
Bill: Gotta get the girl home. She wears out.
Bill looked exhausted. I felt fine.
Toland: I’d like to run a few tests. Here...
Toland pulled a small, covered plastic cup out of a cabinet and handed it to Bill.
Toland: There’s a bathroom next to the lab.
Bill: So that’s what ya want.
Bill eased himself off the table, juggling the small cup in still-deft fingers and let himself out of the examining room.
Bill: Sit tight, Punk.
Deb: Get lost, Bad Boy.
Toland waited until Bill had closed the door before he spoke.
Toland: What happened to him, Deb?
Deb: I don’t know...
Toland: It’s not only what’s wrong with him now, but what’s happened in the past. There’s only so much the human body can take.
I looked away from the compassionate eyes.
Deb: I know he’s terribly scarred, Dr. Toland. About a year ago he was shot in the belly... buckshot... the doctor in Lubbock told me the only reason Bill survived that one was because he was shot through a plate glass window. It dispersed the shot, dissipated the force. That’s the only thing I know for sure. For the rest... only God and Bill know.
Bill appeared just then, looking much happier. He held the little cup in the opposite hand from the one it had been in when he left.
Toland: Didn’t you...
Bill grinned widely.
Bill: Found a fuckin’ beaker.
I shook my head, rolled my eyes, then pressed my fingers hard to the area between my eyes where my nose bgan. Bill prodded my arm before easing himself back onto the examining table.
It was plain that there were plenty of questions Toland wanted to ask but I couldn’t have answered them to save my life even if he’d had a chance to ask me. Instead Toland had to satisfy himself with eyeing Bill’s slowly healing leg and impressive collection of scars.
Toland: Have you been hospitalized recently, Mr. Strannix?
Bill: Ya know damn well I was, boy.
Bill proceeded to list his injuries chapter and verse. If nothing else, he knew his medical terminology.
Toland remained umimpressed.
Toland: Do you have your records with you?
Bill shook his head, back and forth, once to either side.
Bill: Give ya the doctor’s name. You can get ‘em.
Toland: True enough. I suppose they wouldn’t let you take your drugs with you. What were they, you remember offhand?
Bill did the listing thing again. I heard penicillin, darvon, and a medicine chest’s worth of remedies came flying out of his mough. Why had be brought nothing but the antibiotics and painkillers with him? Why bother to ask him, for that matter. He would bullshit his way out of it.
Toland: I’ll give you prescriptions for the penicillin and darvon. When I hear from the doctor, I’ll be in touch. But before I do that I’d like to draw some blood. Perhaps some of those meds will be unnecessary.
Deb: They want you to bleed, sailor.
Bill hauled up his sleeve. The big veins and arteries stood out in stark relief—they were used to fueling a much larger arm.
Toland: Back to the lab, Mr. Strannix.
Deb: They’ve got the buckets down there.
Bill gave me a sour look and stalked out, hitching the sweatpants he wore as a concession to his beat up abdomen and leg as he went.
Toland: Now.
Deb: All I know is that I’m not supposed to know anything. I guess... considering things like this, I’m glad I don’t.
Toland: He should be hospitalized right now, from the look of him. I’d guess that the lab results would agree with that opinion. Yet he seems to be getting around remarkably well.
Deb: He hates and despises hospitals. Absulutely refuses to stay in one if there’s any alternative. A friend of ours... one of my predecessors, actually, helped me smuggle him out of the Lubbock hospital in a laundry cart. I took care of him after that. He’s immensely strong.
Toland sat back, big body straining the little chair. He glanced at the notes he had written in Bill’s file.
Toland: And he’s how old?
Deb: Fifty-four in April.
Toland: I should be half that strong.
Deb: Any other man would be dead.
Toland eyed me and the look said ‘no shit.’
Bill let himself into the room. I noticed a huge bandage plastered to the side of his neck. The smaller cottonball, taped to his inner elbow, was covered by the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Bill: We about done here?
Toland: We’re through. As much bedrest as you can stand, Mr. Strannix... limited driving because she shouldn’t. Nothing strenuous, understand?
Bill: No weight room, huh?
Toland: Unless you want to tear up that leg again, and quite possibly that abdomen as well. You might want to look into using a cane if you’re insisting on moving around too much, though. They have them at the pharmacy downstairs.
Bill instantly looked seven shades of offended, but I nodded.
Deb: I think it’d be wise. Roger Ramjet here can’t stay still for ten minutes.
Bill: Hey, damnit!
Toland raised an eyebrow and continued.
Toland: I’ll call to let you know about prescriptions after I find out what he needs to be taking. Deb, we’ll see you next week. Mr. Strannix... how about in two?
Bill: How ‘bout if I’m sick?
Toland: Two weeks. If you’re sick, this’ll be the perfect place to visit.
Toland gave him an impish grin, then scribbled prescriptions for penicillin and darvon. He handed them to me with a slight flourish.
Toland: Bring him in if that leg looks anywhere near angry, or if he starts looking like he’s getting ill again.
Bill grumbled and slid off the table, keeping his weight off his leg. He helped me up. God, we must have looked a pair. Here comes the Gimp Patrol.
Deb: Absolutely.
Bill: I think I know when I’m sick.
Deb: Uh huh. Thanks, Dr. Toland. Have a happy New Year.
Bill waited until we were outside to start the tirade.
Bill: A cane?! I’m gettin’ along just fine.
He leaned against the car while I found the right key to unlock the door. He looked pale.
Deb: You sure, sailor? You look pretty white there...
Bill: When I ask for your opinion, I’ll give it to ya.
Deb: You’re giving me something...
Bill slid into the driver’s seat and turned to me.
Bill: Girl.
He held me with his sharp, dark gaze. My chin dropped to my chest and he slid his arm around my shoulders, pulled me close, and the world felt right again.
TO BE CONTINUED...