Last Licks

I suspect the blood pressure reading just went up on this side of the room, too, Sunny thought, but she said nothing and neither did her father.

The doctor vanished behind the curtains again for several minutes. When she reappeared, briskly moving the privacy curtain back to the wall with a rattle of hooks against the ceiling track, she seemed the model of serene professionalism.

“Except for the blood pressure, all the other exam results are normal. I’ll have the nurse check your pressure twice more this evening. I expect it will be acceptable. Then, tomorrow, you will be evaluated by our therapy department, and they will prepare a treatment plan for you. Good evening, Mr. Barnstable.”

With a nod, Dr. Gavrik headed for the door, leaving the room in silence.

Despite a wince of pain from the exertion, Ollie pulled himself up to make sure that the doctor was well and truly gone. Even then, he kept his voice low as he turned to Mike. “What kind of joint have you gotten me into?” he demanded. “Doctors like that—they bury their mistakes.”

“Doctors like who?” Sunny asked.

“You know—foreign ones.” Ollie kept his voice low and his eyes on the doorway. “Anything goes wrong, they can always go back to wherever they came from.”

“I can’t believe—” Sunny began, but Gardner Scatterwell suddenly spoke up.

“She’ll never win any bedside manner awards, but I can assure you, Dr. Gavrik is an excellent physician,” he said. “Most of the people in this ward are basically trying to get themselves better, so health is less of an issue. But in the time I’ve been here, I’ve seen Dr. Gavrik save the lives of several permanent residents.”

Now I see why they call Gardner the mayor of the rehab ward, Sunny thought. He even talks like a politician.

Gardner waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, when you get to know her, you’ll find she’s a very attractive woman.”

Sunny rolled her eyes. Maybe too much like a politician.

“I guess Dad and I ought to be heading home,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ollie the Barnacle said. “Check in at the office tomorrow morning, then come here and collect these papers.”

Sunny and her dad said good-bye to Ollie and Gardner, then headed down the hallway. Mike was silent as they walked past the nurses’ station and then toward the front door.

“You okay, Dad?” Sunny asked. “That doctor didn’t upset you, did she?”

“I was thinking of something else.” But Mike didn’t elaborate as they got to Rafe the guard’s desk. While her father paged back through the sign-in book, Rafe smiled at Sunny. “Well, it looks as if you survived the Curse of Portia,” he said.

Mike looked up. “Is that Dr. Gavrik’s first name?”

That took the wind out of Rafe’s sails, reducing him to “Er, ah . . .”

“This is my dad, Mike Coolidge,” Sunny introduced them. Then she went on to explain the rumors about Portia acting as the fickle finger of death.

Mike snorted and shook his head. “I’m getting gladder and gladder I didn’t come to this place when I was sick. It’s beginning to sound like a home for the feeble-minded.”

“Just a place where a lot of lonely folks have no place to go and nothing much to talk about,” Rafe said. “It’s like little kids telling ghost stories.”

“Yup—definitely happy that I can get out,” Mike mumbled, scrawling his name in the appropriate spot. Sunny signed out, too, then said good-bye to Rafe.

“Have a good evening,” Rafe replied.

As they stepped out the door, Mike said, “That’s a nice boy.”

“Dad.” Sunny gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t have to worry about setting me up.”

“I was just thinking that maybe Will Price could use a little competition,” Mike turned an innocent blue gaze on her. “They’re even in a similar field. Will’s a cop, and this fellow is in security.”

“Rafe’s also a lot younger than I am,” Sunny pointed out.

“Oh, that all evens out in, say, twenty years.”

Wonderful, Sunny silently groused. He’s already got me married and sitting beside the fire for twenty years. “What’s got you thinking like this?” she asked.

“I’ve just been mulling over something Gardner mentioned,” Mike confessed. “He asked why the band broke up. You know, I met your mother through that stupid band. She used to stand right up front when we played.” He smiled at the memory. “There were usually three kinds of people you’d find up front. The ones who couldn’t dance, the ones who wanted to look cool, and the ones who really enjoyed the music. Your mother loved music—not that I need to remind you of that, with your name.”