Page 113 of Loverboy
“All right,” the doctor says. “You’ll probably be light sensitive.”
Gunnar’s beautiful eyes flip open. They’re red, and they look irritated. But he turns his chin right away and smiles at me. “Hi, gorgeous.”
My own eyes well up immediately.
“Oh baby, don’t cry. I’m okay.”
“I kn-know,” I stammer. “But I was so worried.”
The doctor pulls out one of those eye charts and holds it up. “Could you cover one eye and read the third row, please?”
“Z Q R…” Gunnar does pretty well at this quick-and-dirty eye test.
“You’ll still need to make an ophthalmology appointment for a thorough exam after you’re released,” the doctor cautions.
“Uh huh,” Gunnar says. “Thanks.” I can almost hear him dismissing the idea. “Thank you.” The doctor takes his leave. And then the brave, crazy man in the hospital bed says, “Did you say something about donuts?”
“Yes,” I say, swatting at my tears. “Teagan is beside herself with worry.”
“She’s at work? Is that safe?”
I explain that Geoff is in hiding and that the criminal mastermind Max is hunting has disappeared into the wind.
“Fuck,” Gunnar says, relaxing against his pillow. “Max must be in astate. Is there a button somewhere to sit me up?”
The nurse comes clucking back in just then. “You want to sit up? It may cause too much pressure on your wound.”
“Let’s find out,” Gunnar insists. “I heard there were donuts.”
“You haven’t been cleared for solid food,” she says, arming herself with a remote control device, and pressing a button that slowly raises Gunnar’s head. “You’ll start with a clear broth. Maybe a popsicle.”
“Did I have gut surgery?”
She shakes her head.
“Then a donut won’t kill me. I almost died, nurse. Are you really going to stand between me and a homemade donut?”
“You should be more respectful to the woman who’s in charge of bathing you,” she says, straightening his pillow. “Here.” She angles the swiveling table into place over his lap. “At least have a few more sips of water first. And go slowly, okay? You had a long surgery and respiratory distress. You don’t recover from that overnight.”
“How long will it take?” he asks. “Tell it to me straight.”
“Well…” She sighs. “Wound care will be important for the first couple of weeks. But then your surgeon will have some strong opinions about the rest. He’ll give you a timeframe for when you can put weight on that leg. Two months, maybe? Or longer if you need a second surgery.”
“Yikes.”
“How’s your pain in this position?” she asks, patting his good knee. “Scale of one to ten?”
“A three,” he says.
“Let me know if it gets worse.” She turns to leave, then stops to look back at him. “And don’t you dare get any powdered sugar in those bandages on your palms.”
“I’ll feed it to him,” I offer.
She rolls her eyes. “Lucky man.”
“You know it!” Gunnar chuckles as she disappears. “Okay, baby. Hit me with a bite of donut. What’s the special today?”
I retrieve the bag and open the box. “She sent you apple cider and ginger cinnamon.”
