After Hours (InterMix)(75)

“Sure.”

“Lee Paleckas is paranoid. And while a meatloaf might taste of pepper, there’s more going on—salt and basil and garlic powder, any number of things. Follow?”

“I think so.” Though I had no clue what it meant about my lame-ass non-treatment plan.

“Whatever flavors Mr. Paleckas has going on in him aside from paranoia, I can’t tell yet. He’s too smothered in gravy, from the meds the hospital’s got him on, and whatever extracurriculars may have tainted his earlier diagnoses.”

I couldn’t help but crack a grin at this ridiculous metaphor.

“So until we can scrape some of that gravy off and figure out what recipe we’re looking at, I’m in perfect agreement with you, Miss Coffey.”

My brows popped up, and Dr. Morris smiled.

“You looked surprised.”

“I am surprised. I thought it must’ve sounded like a cop-out.”

“In my not-always-popular opinion, there is far too much gravy-ladling going on with patients like Lee Paleckas.” He stood, tidying the files on his desk. “And somewhere, a mob of psychopharmacologists is sharpening its pitchforks.”

I got to my feet.

“But as his new doctor, I plan to lessen Lee’s dosage and get a good look at what’s underneath the side effects, just as you suggested.” He opened the door for me and we exited his office. “Pardon me, but I have a session to head to.”

“Sure. Thanks so much for letting me sit in, Dr. Morris.”

We shook hands.

“You LPNs are refreshing. You haven’t had your intuition crowded out by a skull full of med school texts. So, well done. If a time comes when you find yourself in need of a letter of recommendation, don’t hesitate to knock.”

I blinked, floored, and Dr. Morris started down the hall, the opposite way I’d be heading. He turned after a pace. “And Miss Coffey?”

“Yes?”

“With all due respect to our stellar nursing staff—give some thought to joining the dark side.” Demonstrably, he straightened the collar of his white coat.

Me? A psychiatrist? That was just whacked.

Dr. Morris pumped his fist in the air, cultishly chanting, “One of us. One of us,” as he turned and headed down the hall. And I thought, maybe whacked is exactly what it takes.





Chapter Twelve


I ran into Kelly in the mid-afternoon in the S3 break room. He was eating an apple and watching a golf tournament on the tiny TV in the corner—surely someone else’s selection he was too lazy to change. He turned as I entered and offered the barest flicker of a smile.

“Hey, Kelly.”

“Hey, yourself.”

I bought an orange pop from the machine and sat on the other side of the table. I needed the sugar, badly. The afternoon had been a mess—nothing that required any restraining or sedation, but it seemed like everybody’s psychoses were keyed up and eager to clash. Maybe from the gloomy weather.

“It’s not a full moon, is it?” I asked, pressing the cold can to my temple.

“Feels like it. Everybody’s voices are screaming extra loud today.”

After a few minutes of impersonal pleasantries, Kelly got up. I figured he was leaving, but he headed for the vending machine. When he sat back down, he faced me, instead of the TV.

“Wasn’t expecting to find you sitting in on that admission,” he said, cracking open his cola.

“Me neither. I didn’t know I was ’til I saw it on the duties board.”

“How was it for you?”

“It was . . . interesting. I’ve never gotten to see that before. Plus the part afterward, listening in on a psychiatrist explaining how they come up with the treatment plan they do. It sounds naive, but I didn’t think there’d be so much guesswork. I mean, I’m sure they know their stuff, but at the end of the day, it’s just taking a best stab, or holding off until there’s a better set of clues to go by.”

“Mental illness is messy. Can’t check an X-ray and pin it down like a broken bone.”

“I know. It was just interesting. Demystifying. And I like Dr. Morris now. He always seemed kind of brusque and snarky in hand-off, but he’s actually pretty cool.”

Something changed in Kelly’s expression. Was I dreaming, or was that jealousy passing over his unreadable face? I had to make a decision. Stroke his ego and downplay how impressed I was by Dr. Morris, or let him suffer the knowledge that I could be wowed by more than a potent attraction and a big dick. Not much of a contest.