The House of Thunder Read Online Free Page B

said.”
    Susan laughed.
    “You did pretty well,” he said, indicating the tray. “You’ve got to start off with small, frequent meals. That’s to be expected. Don’t worry too much about regaining your strength. Before you know it, you’ll be making a pig of yourself, and you’ll be well along the road to recovery. Feeling headachy this morning? Drowsy?”
    “No. Neither.”
    “Let me take your pulse,” he said, reaching for her hand.
    “Mrs. Baker took it just before breakfast.”
    “I know. This is just an excuse to hold hands with you.”
    Susan laughed again. “You’re different from most doctors.”
    “Do you think a physician should be businesslike, distant, somber, humorless?”
    “Not necessarily.”
    “Do you think I should try to be more like Dr. Viteski?”
    “Definitely not.”
    “He iz an egg-cellent doktor,” McGee said, doing a perfect imitation of Viteski’s accented voice.
    “I’m sure he is. But I suspect you’re even better.”
    “Thank you. The compliment is duly noted and has earned you a small discount off my final bill.”
    He was still holding her hand. He finally looked at his watch and took her pulse.
    “Will I live?” she asked when he finished.
    “No doubt about it. You’re bouncing back fast.” He continued to hold her hand as he said, “Seriously now, I think a little humor between doctor and patient is a good thing. I believe it helps the patient maintain a positive attitude, and a positive attitude speeds healing. But some people don’t want a cheerful doctor. They want someone who acts as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. It makes them feel more secure. So if my joking bothers you, I can tone it down or turn it off. The important thing is that you feel comfortable and confident about the care you’re getting.”
    “You go right ahead and be as cheerful as you want,” Susan said. “My spirits need lifting.”
    “There’s no reason to be glum. The worst is behind you now.”
    He squeezed her hand gently before finally letting go of it.
    To her surprise, Susan felt a tug of regret that he had released her hand so soon.
    “Dr. Viteski tells me there are lapses in your memory,” he said.
    She frowned. “Fewer than there were yesterday. I guess it’ll all come back to me sooner or later. But there are still a lot of holes.”
    “I want to talk with you about that. But first I’ve got to make my rounds. I’ll come back in a couple of hours, and I’ll help you prod your memory—if that’s all right with you.”
    “Sure,” she said.
    “You rest.”
    “What else is there to do?”
    “No tennis until further notice.”
    “Darn! I had a match scheduled with Mrs. Baker.”
    “You’ll just have to cancel it.”
    “Yes, Dr. McGee.”
    Smiling, she watched him leave. He moved with self-assurance and with considerable natural grace.
    He’d already had a positive influence on her. A simmering paranoia had been heating up slowly within her, but now she realized that her uneasiness had been entirely subjective in origin, a result of her weakness and disorientation; there was no rational justification for it. Dr. Viteski’s odd behavior no longer seemed important, and the hospital no longer seemed the least bit threatening.
     
 
Half an hour later, when Mrs. Baker looked in on her again, Susan asked for a mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Her reflection revealed a pale, gaunt face. Her gray-green eyes were bloodshot and circled by dark, puffy flesh. In order to facilitate the treatment and bandaging of her gashed forehead, an emergency room orderly had clipped her long blond hair; he had hacked at it with no regard for her appearance. The result was a shaggy mess. Furthermore, after twenty-two days of neglect, her hair was greasy and tangled.
    “My God, I look terrible!” she said.
    “Of course you don’t,” Mrs. Baker said. “Just a bit washed out. There’s no permanent damage. As soon as you gain back the weight you lost, your