Page 11 of Time for You
“I said, one would think a doctor might be a little kinder to their patient,” he repeated defiantly.
“I’m being plenty kind. Now lie down.”
“You didn’t sayplease,” he replied, and Daphne was almost ready to screech in frustration when she noticed the gleam in his eye.
“Are you seriously fucking with me? Right now?”
He fought a valiant battle against a smile. “I can’t say I’m certain whatfucking with youmeans in this century, but I’ll hazard a guess and say aye, I’m fucking with ye.”
His Scottish burr came through stronger than usual on the last few words, and Daphne found herself also losing a fight with the corners of her mouth. “For Pete’s sake, just get on the table, okay?”
From the booth behind them, Meghan, her favorite radiology tech, pressed the intercom. “You guys okay in there?”
Henry jumped half a foot and looked around for the source of the sound. “You lot have far too many ways of scaring a fellow, you know that?”
“We really don’t have all day, Henry. Just—please, let’s get on with it, okay?”
“All right,” he agreed and gingerly lay down on the table. “But if something goes wrong, will you pull me out?”
He looked worried all of a sudden, more worried than even the blood pressure machine had made him. Against her better judgment, her heart softened just the tiniest bit. “I’ll be right in there, watching,” she said, and pointed to the booth. “You’re safe, Henry, I promise.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, and she made a mental note to ask why he’d switched frommisstomy lady, but they really didn’t have time to expand on his reasoning. And besides, hopefully he’d be sent off to another unit soon, for treatment of some kind.
“I hear you ran him over because he thinks he’s fromBridgerton,” Meghan said as soon as the door to the booth clicked shut, leaving Daphne to wonder how that particular interpretation got started. She began the CT scan and glanced at Daphne. “Did he piss you off or something?”
“I did not run him overon purpose.”
“Okay, but if you did, at least he’s hot, right?”
“It’s somewhat less attractive when a man thinks he’s from a century where the idea of a woman doctor makes him faint. Which means he’s got a brain tumor, a massive TBI, or else he’s just a stone-cold weirdo.”
“Which one are we rooting for?”
“Noncancerous tumor,” Daphne replied. “Easily fixed with surgery.”
“Hmm,” Meghan said, squinting at the monitors in front of her as the images of Henry’s brain appeared. “Not sure we’ll have that luck.”
Daphne wasn’t a radiologist, but she could read a CT for basic major issues. And as far as she could tell, Henry had no hint of any sort of brain deformity, tumor, bleed, or anything else. It looked like a perfectly normal, healthy brain.
Which meant it was time for a psych consult.
Chapter Five
Daphne stood outside Henry’s room, chewing on her fingernail and pacing. Ellie was on shift now, but Vibol and Brittany were off today, and if Michelle was working, she would be way up in Obstetrics with her patients, so Daphne would have to deal with this on her own. The psychologist on call was in there with him—and had been for nearly a half an hour.Please just let him be admitted to the psych ward, please let him be admitted to the psych ward,she prayed, although she wasn’t sure who exactly she was praying to. Whatever deity was in charge of handsome men with pleasant accents and very strong delusions, maybe. She wanted to be able to wash her hands clean of Henry and get on with things. Daphne had a very full life, and she didn’t have time to waste on some man who didn’t know not to stand in the bike lane. She had to water the plants in their neighbor Helen’s apartment while she was down in Florida and, well, other stuff. Like bingeingParks and Recfor the fiftieth time.
Finally, the door opened, and the psychologist on call, Dean, came out. “What’s the verdict?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you what I told him: His thoughts are perfectly logical and coherent, and there’s none of the usual disordered thinking that we would see with a delusion or hallucination. No ID on him, or phone, but he knows everything we’d want him to know about himself. He knows who he is, what his job is, and he’s capable of making informed decisions.”
“Except he thinks he’s a time traveler.”
“Except he thinks he’s a time traveler,” Dean agreed. “Which is a pretty bigexcept.”
“So you’ll admit him?”
Dean looked sad and shook his head. “I could, if you want to do an involuntary hold, I guess, but we don’t have any free beds, so he’d have to stay down here indefinitely until one opens up. And, well, he’s otherwise perfectly sane. You said you didn’t see evidence of a TBI? Or tumor?”
“Nothing. Still waiting on Radiology to confirm, but—maybe he’s just very committed to the bit?”
