Page 67 of Fourteen of a Kind

“Fuck. How is she taking it?”

“I don’t really know. When she left yesterday, she told me not to tell the family until she was ready for them to know.”

“What’s going on with Graham?”

“I went to his apartment last night after work, and people outside were setting off fireworks. It rattled him to his core, Uncle Christian. It was almost as if he went into a full-blown panic. He shouted at me, then apologized. I found Prazosin in his bathroom. When I asked him about it, he said he has trouble sleeping sometimes and takes one.”

“Prazosin is a drug for high blood pressure,” he said.

“But it’s also used in treating PTSD nightmares. When he spent the night after the party, he had a nightmare. I had to wake him from it.”

“Did he tell you what his nightmare was about?”

“He said he dreamt that he was in surgery, made a mistake, and the patient died. I believed him because those are common dreams for a surgeon. But now, after finding that bottle of Prazosin, I’m not so sure his nightmare was what he said it was.”

“Something in his past caused him to get on that medication. Do you think he has PTSD?”

“After witnessing last night with the fireworks, I’d say so. But the thing was, he said they sounded like gunshots. I don’t know, Uncle Christian. Something isn’t right.”

“From what I have seen and heard, he’s an excellent surgeon. I know how much you love to fix people. But sometimes, you must walk away from situations beyond your control. Not everyone can be fixed.”

“Aunt Charlotte would disagree with you.”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. “Anyway. I spoke with Mr. Riley and rescheduled his surgery for tomorrow morning at eleven a.m.”

“Eleven a.m.? He’ll starve to death.”

“Then he shouldn’t have been so dumb in the first place. He’s up on the cardiac floor for the rest of today and tonight. Per your instructions, a patient sitter will be in the room with him after midnight to make sure his wife doesn’t sneak anything in and give it to him. Maybe you should go apologize to him.”

“I will. I’ll go now.” I stood up. “Thanks, Uncle Christian.” I hugged him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Do me a favor and try not to yell at any more patients.” He winked.

I walked into Mr. Riley’s room and saw him eating a McDonald’s Big Mac and a large fry. He tried to hide it when he saw me, but it was too late.

“Did you come to yell at me some more, Dr. Kind?”

“I’m sorry about this morning.” I walked over to his bedside. “I had a bad night and didn’t get much sleep. But I was also angry because you keep feeding your body that crap.” I pointed to the Big Mac. “I thought we talked about changing your eating habits.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just my job is stressful. My wife is stressful. My kids are stressful. Hell, my entire life is one big ball of stress. This comfort food helps me get through it.”

I understand, but there are other ways to relieve stress.”

“Like?”

“You can try running.”

“And drop dead of a heart attack?”

“You’ll still do that if you keep eating that.” I pointed. “Just consider it. And again, I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I accept your apology, Dr. Kind. But did you really have to schedule my surgery for eleven a.m. tomorrow?”

“Dr. Christian did that. I have a craniotomy first thing in the morning. You’ll be my next surgery.”

“You sure are one smart cookie. Speaking of?—”

“No, Mr. Riley. No cookies.” I pointed at him before walking out of his room.

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