The Thief of Lost Time

Chapter 49: "The Eyes of Habit"

I'm on the road to the hospital at eight. Leslie calls to say her car has a flat and she's waiting for AAA. "I'll be in before ten."

Parking is easier because most medical offices don't schedule morning appointments until nine. In the Air Force, I was assigned to the hospital's records office. I enjoyed walking through the peaceful wards in the early morning, delivering lab results and doctor notes for patient records: the waxy smell of polished floors, every surface cleared and scoured, wheelchairs and carts stored out of sight, everything anticipating the colonel's inspection. All problems of the previous day were scrubbed away. New problems and emergencies hadn't had time to infect the building.

I wish Dad's roommate "Good morning." He's wearing headphones, engrossed in Good Morning, America. I doubt he's even aware I'm in the room. Dad's not in his bed. His test schedule must have started at daybreak I don't expect the doctor to stop by until he has some results.

My stomach rumbles. I'd grabbed a cup of coffee at home but had planned to eat at the hospital. His breakfast tray lies untouched on his table. I lift the cover and find scrambled eggs, bacon, and two slices of wheat toast. I pick up his fork and take a small bite of eggs. Lukewarm, but delicious and not dry or runny. I'm like Goldilocks: "They're just right." Certainly, the hospital will bring a fresh breakfast when he returns. I fold a piece of toast around two slices of bacon. Then two more bites of eggs, after which I push the food around to disguise the fact that some is missing.

"Is this George Aherne's bed?"

Startled, I almost choke on the toast. "I'm his son..."

He sticks out his hand. The fingers are thin and bony, delicate. I feel manly giving his small hand a solid squeeze. "I'm in charge of your father's care while Dr. Madison's away. We're in the same practice—Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. Dr. Wattly. Like the bulb." He sticks out his hand for another squeeze.

"Mark Aherne." I wonder if I have food on my teeth. "They took Dad early for his tests. He didn't have time to eat his breakfast." I run my tongue along my teeth.

"You were here when he left?"

"No. I must have just missed him—"

"Is this a convenient moment to talk?" He doesn't wait for an answer. The moment is convenient for him, so it must be convenient for me. "I see that you and your sister are designated as his health proxies. Is she here?"

"She's dealing with a flat tire. She'll be here later in the morning."

"That's unfortunate. I'd hoped to have a chance to talk with the two of you together."

I shrug as if to say I'm all you get. "That sounds ominous."

"Not at all. I'm sure you have many questions." The doctor gestures for me to sit in the chair beside the bed. "When did you first notice your father feeling ill?"

I tell him Dad hasn't had much energy lately, but no recent change. "On Christmas, he seemed tired, so we didn't stay long. I never suspected he needed to be hospitalized."

"I'm happy he took the initiative and called the practice. By the way, I've never met your father. I hope my stepping in temporarily won't upset him. Or you."

"Oh, absolutely not." Do I sound too delighted that Madison is away? "What I mean is...I'm glad...I hoped Dr. Madison could get away for the holidays."

Wattly nods as if I've answered a question he didn't ask.

"My sister and I always wanted...I mean...it's important to get a second opinion."

The doctor says nothing and scans my father's chart. He flips a page.

"In fact, I've never met Dr. Madison. I've only spoken to him over the phone."