4. These Old Bones
Chapter four
These Old Bones
Stanley
“Oh, I think I am. Drakey boy here’s wallowing so deep, and I’ve given him the outlet he needs to purge himself of all of it. Even if it means he—!”
Drake clocks me in the face with his fist and sends me sprawling to the ground. I’m more thankful that the door is closed. We don’t need to add security to an already spicy situation.
Drake’s shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breathing as I wait for the spinning in my head to stop. His fist is already turning red.
Something warm covers my face. I touch my bottom lip and see blood. I should be angry. I should be pissed off and return the favor. Instead, I feel… satisfied.
“There we go. Better you beat me up than yourself. You’ve taken enough punches today.” I push myself up the wall and thumb at my chin to wipe the blood away.
“Huh. Good swing,” I continue. I lick my lip and lean into the kitchen sink to spit out the blood. “Next time you’re in the gym, I should set you up with one of the sandbags.”
“Drake? You okay?” Edward finally steps between us; he’s not paying me any mind. He probably agrees with me that I deserve it.
“What the fuck...” Drake whispers under his breath.
“Let’s just take a breather here, okay? Stan’s not going to report you, I’m not going to report you. So just close your mouth, breathe, and think for a second.”
If there’s something Ed’s always been good at, it’s playing mediator. When Drake and I are at odds (which we often are), Ed’s always there to make sure we don’t kill each other. That’s what I was counting on now, to stop whatever Drake chose to do to me from becoming worse.
Me? I’m helping in my own way.
Drake does as Ed asks, and his breathing eventually starts to slow. I’m already fishing an ice pack out of the freezer to hand to the other two.
“Sorry for pissing you off, Drake, but you needed it. You looked like you were eating yourself from the inside out.” I clap him on the shoulder and we both guide him back to his seat.
“I wasn’t kidding, though. You do have a track record. And that’s not healthy for anyone.”
“I’m not... I don’t mean... I’m fucked up.”
“Not any more than either of us,” Ed replies and shifts the ice pack to Drake’s knuckles to contain the swelling.
“How about we do something this weekend? Just the three of us. Get away from all the medical talk for a few days,” I suggest.
Drake remains quiet but the fact that he hasn’t rejected the idea outright means he’s thinking about it. We were never ones to stay angry at each other for very long.
“I’d have to get someone to cover my shift...”
“Attaboy. I’ll go tell your head nurse what’s going on and that you’re heading home early. You can’t be here in your current state of mind.” Ed gets up from his seat and retrieves a paper towel for me to wipe my face.
“Heck, I’ll even drive you home if you want,” I offer. Since we’re trying to make amends…
“What, you want me to wallop you again while you’re driving?” Drake jests. It’s the first time this evening that he’s starting to sound like himself again.
“Oh, please do. My reputation for driving precedes me and you don’t want to experience it firsthand.”
“He’s right. You don’t,” Ed leans in to whisper to Drake, just loud enough for me to hear. “I almost filled his passenger seat with piss when I asked him to drive me to the dentist one time.”
“Hey, you were running late, but I still got you there on time, didn’t I?”
“Stan, I’m just glad I got there alive.”
Although my lip feels like a baseball attached to my face, letting it out is better than keeping it in, and that’s definitely what Drake needed right then. Nothing wrong with a little spilled blood between friends.
With the tension broken, Drake is more receptive to my teasing about his bad habits of dating women who’ve recently lost a loved one in this hospital.
I can understand why he does it—blame the savior complex I’m pretty sure he has—but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with it.
Each of his “relationships” has ended poorly, either with the woman breaking up with him after a few “one-night stands” or moving on just as quickly after they’ve used him as an emotional dumping ground for all of their sorrow.
And every single time, he’s heartbroken.
I don’t know why he thinks the next one will be any different from the one before.
Ed and I have tried to get him on a few dating apps and spread the word to a few of the nurses who might be his type to take out to dinner. But, much to my annoyance, those have never worked.
At least he has the opportunity to go out and meet people. Me? My line of work isn’t something most people want to hear about or consider.
My pager buzzes on my hip and I quickly pull out my phone and call back the nurse’s station on my floor.
“Ms. Brooks is asking for you again,” a nurse says into the phone, sounding exasperated.
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
No one wants to think about being a senior or end-of-life care, even though it’s one of the more crucial stages of care.
Honestly, it’s no different from the care one provides to a newborn: make sure they’re at the right temperature, mobility is good, and their nutritional needs are met...
Which always leaves me confused as to why my department is always at the bottom of the list when it comes to funding.
But no, children’s wards are perfectly fine, with all the latest technology to ensure their little bodies and brains are as perfect as possible. Meanwhile, my patients have very little of either left.
And I’m supposed to be okay with that.
I have this debate with myself every other week or so, drafting up newer ideas that would convince the Board that my line of work is worth examining. Even just getting my foot in the door is a struggle, and I’m sure they’ve blacklisted my number by now so that they don’t have to talk to me.
Which is fine. I can get funding from other sources. The age of internet charity has definitely made it a lot easier.
“Thank you very much.” I hear the softest voice in the hallway near the elevators.
“You’re very welcome, Miss Bailey.”
Bailey? Wasn’t that the last name of the woman Drake is currently hung up on?
I jab the elevator button and shove my hands in my pockets, quickly glancing in her direction to see what all the fuss is about.
That’s when I feel my heart stutter in my chest. So small and waifish, she looks like a strong breeze could take her away. Her eyes are red and she has tissues pressed against her nose. There’s a rather tall and bulky man next to her, looking just as concerned as he leads her toward the exit.
I can see now why Drake’s fallen head over heels.
“Hey, you getting in?”
I snap out of my daydream and discover a man standing just behind me, staring at me with a scowl.
“Sorry?”
He points his cane towards the elevator doors that are now, unknowingly, open before me.
How long has that been...?
“Sorry, uh, after you.” I gesture for him to go ahead of me, as a kind of apology for wasting his time. He mumbles something under his breath in passing that I don’t try to make out. He pushes “7” with his thumb before taking up a spot on the other side of the elevator.
I press “8.”
I just notice the small bundle of flowers in one fist. He’s gripping them tight as if he’s trying to choke them out.
He probably hates being here.
“Visiting a friend?” I ask to eliminate the silence during the elevator ride.
“Could say that. Pamela. Pamela Brooks.”
It feels like a jolt of lightning shooting through my brain. What is with the coincidences today?
“Then you want floor 8, where I’m heading. That’s the senior ward.”
“Oh.” His grip on the bouquet lightens slightly, his knuckles a little less white. “Thanks.”
“In fact, that’s just who I’m going to see right now. I could take you right to her if you’d like.”
His face flushes red, embarrassed of his earlier anger. He tugs on the collar of his starched shirt.
“Only if I don’t have to see any wires or tubes shoved into places they’re not supposed to be,” he whispers, his voice quivering.
“It’s nothing like that. Not for Miss Brooks, anyway. But if it concerns you, we can talk all the way to her room if you like so that you don’t have to see any of that stuff.”
He dons a crooked smile and shifts the bouquet to the other hand, offering his open palm for a handshake.
“Devon. Devon Skells.”
“Nice to meet you, Mister Skells. Have you known Miss Brooks long?”
“Oh, you’re finally here.”
Miss Brooks’ face lights up when I step into the room.
She’s a bedridden woman with no family left to call her own, save for the familiar face of her congestive heart failure.
I make it a mission of mine to at least see her every other day (if not every day) so that she has someone to talk to.
I find keeping seniors positive and mentally active tends to improve their outcomes.
And if nothing else, it helps them feel less lonely and forgotten about.
“What happened to your face?” Her head tilts to one side in question. I’d temporarily forgotten about my lip.
“Would you believe me if I said I walked into a door?”
“Hardly.” Her tone becomes more stern. “Were you fighting with someone?”
“The opposite, actually. I said something to a friend I shouldn’t have.”
“You?! Being mean?! Doctor Baker, that hardly sounds like you!”
I tug on the front of my white coat and don a mocked grin of pride.
“Maybe I’m just a man of mystery.”
The look on her face practically screams that she doesn’t believe me. I clear my throat and get back to business.
“Anyway, I was just downstairs and I came across your friend here, who wants to pay you a visit.” I gesture to the door and Mister Skells steps inside, looking as nervous as a sinner in a cathedral.
“Oh! Devon!” Her face brightens even more when he presents her with the small bouquet he’s brought her. I excuse myself to ask the front desk for a vase and some water, giving them some time to be alone.
Nothing wrong with wanting some companionship, no matter what age you are.
My thoughts dart back to downstairs and the woman I’d seen.
Despite my words of warning to Drake, I honestly can’t stop him from doing whatever he wants.
With that woman being in such a vulnerable state, I don’t know if Drake is exactly what she needs right now. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit.
Still, people do crazier things when they’re mourning. The only thing I can do is hope for the best and wait to see if he shares the details of their meet cute.