Page 89 of The Night Shift
“Fine. I’ll tell you a joke.”
“Yes!” She claps and repositions her upper half against the blue pillow behind her.
A joke, a joke, a joke. Come on, Holly. The faster you think of one, the faster you get out of here. “Okay, I got one,” I say, and her eyes immediately light up. “It’s one of my favorites. Are you ready?”
She nods vigorously.
“What is red in color and goes round and round?”
“I don’t know, a red ball?”
“No.”
“A red dog chasing its tail?”
I frown. “No.”
“Okay, what then?”
“A baby in a blender.”
A hush falls around me. No one laughs. What the hell? Has no one heard a dead baby joke before?
“Your joke makes zero sense,” Kennedy states, sounding incredibly unimpressed. “How would a baby even fit inside a blender?”
“It’s a dead baby. You could chop it up.” It’s possible that every single one of my interns audibly gasps.
“My joke won, and you know it.”
“Your joke was stupid. A moon rock and an earth rock? Neither of those things taste good.”
Kennedy crosses her arms across her chest. “How do you know? You’ve never had a moon rock.”
“And you have?” I counter.
“I don’t do drugs, sorry.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She smiles. “I know.”
My pager buzzes in my pocket — thank God. I take it out. It’s from one of the ER nurses. “Blunt-force trauma with suspected internal bleeding or head injury. Two second-year interns needed.”
Without sparing mini-Theo another glance, I march out the ward and instruct two of my interns, Jennie and some lanky guy, to go wait for me in the ER while I grab a quick cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria. I desperately need some caffeine in my bloodstream.
She scurries off with all my patient charts, the clacking of her shoes growing distant with each passing second and I make my way to the cafeteria. It’s way past lunchtime so there isn’t much of a crowd, but there are still a handful of people gathered near the counter waiting to grab a quick evening snack or two. The cafeteria’s mini-TV plays quietly in one corner and I order myself a cappuccino and go stand near a wall away from the crowd, waiting for the barista to call out my name. I pull out my phone to see if I’ve gotten any more of those creepy stalker messages.
I haven’t.
Which is obviously a good thing, even though it doesn't feel good. Logic applauds, but my instincts scream. It feels like the calm before a very bad, very violent storm.
A few more minutes pass, and the barista calls out my name. I grab my cappuccino and just as I’m about to head towards the ER, I feel a cold hand on my shoulder.
I jump a little and scalding coffee sloshes over the rim of the mug. I spin around, ready to unleash a barrage of curses, but then I see the familiar face in front of me and all is forgotten. “Audrey?”
She smiles. It’s weak and forced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that…” her eyes flit around the surroundings. “Can we talk?”
She’s wearing the same clothes as the last time I saw her in Cami’s bar. Same sparkly overcoat. Her long, brown waves are tied up in a messy ponytail and her usual glittery eye makeup is replaced by something a bit darker and smokier.
