The nurse and I walk back to my hospital room, and my feet are in these weird paper booties. I’m carrying my bag of nasty clothes that I’m sort of hoping Mom just wants to trash. When we arrive, a woman with a stethoscope is talking to Officer Stanton. She smiles at me and extends her hand.
“My name is Doctor Raul. I’m here to check you out.”
I give her a noncommittal nod.
She starts by looking in my ears. My eyes. She taps my chin, and I open my mouth so she can look in there. I like that she’s mostly movement, not talking. She lifts each of my hands and inspects the wounds on my knuckles. She arches her eyebrow but doesn’t ask what happened, so I figure she’s cool with my not filling in the details.
She warms the stethoscope on her hands which no one has done for me since I was five, but I appreciate it. “So how are you feeling?” She puts her face next to my chest and listens as she moves the stethoscope all over my chest.
“I’m fine, I guess.”
“Cough,” she says. “Big one.” And then she moves the stethoscope to the small of my back. “Again.” Moves the stethoscope. “Again.”
I guess I pass muster, because she tells me to lie down on the table, but I truly hate this next part.
“Your first time on the trail?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I hold my breath.
“Try to relax,” she says as she presses on my stomach, rooting around for whatever is supposed to be there. That makes me think of the stars and the sky. If you have your kidney removed or your spleen and you go to the doctor and don’t tell them, would they search for the parts of you that are gone? That makes me think about Dad again. Like how he’s missing from my life and there’s no amount of probing this doctor or anyone else could do to find that hole. But I know it’s there. I must hold my breath, because she says, “That’s it, we’re done.”
I sit up, the only one aware of this hole in my stomach where Dad’s missing lives, the only one aware that it’s expanding inside me.
“You look fit and healthy. I hiked the trail when I was twenty-one. Loved it.” She stares at me. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Dylan?”
“No.”
“Okay. Well, I I’m not supposed to release any information about other patients, but I can tell you that the hiker that was brought in earlier is in stable condition, and his family has been notified and is on the way. I’ll be telling the press that same information, without revealing names, of course, in an hour or two. So, I don’t see why I can’t tell you that much.”
I don’t say a thing because the words that are lined up trying to force themselves out are being kept at bay for this second, guarded by my throat that constricts and pushes them back down inside me.
“Also, your mother is on her way. She seemed very relieved that you were okay and is eager to get you home.”
I stare at the scabs on my hands. They’re almost healed.
“We can have a social worker help you through that meeting if you’d like.”
I look her straight in the eye. Looking someone straight in the eye shows them you are serious. “No. I can deal with that myself. I need to apologize for worrying her. She’s kind of used to me being a pain in the neck. I won’t run away again.”
“You seem like a nice kid.”
I laugh. “That’s because you don’t know me.”
She smiles, but looks back at my hands. “Seems like you might’ve already gotten into a fight with a tree, no?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, they look mostly healed. You must have taken good care of the cuts. You won’t need any more treatment for those.” She holds each of my hands. “Flex.” I do. “Make a fist.” I do. “Wiggle your fingers.” I do. “Yup. They look good. I think we’re done here. Nice meeting you, Dylan. Good luck with the rest of it.”
She walks out of the room, and Officer Stanton is waiting for me.
“I’ve got someone for you to talk to.”
I figure they’re going to make me speak to a psychiatrist or psychologist or something. Maybe the doctor reported the marks on my hands and thought I was dangerous. I tell myself to not get worked up. I’m bone tired, so it’s hard to tap into my anger.
As we walk, the officer says, “You know we were supposed to dispatch to a different hospital.”
“Okay.” I’ve got no idea where this is going.
“Yeah. I brought you here, even though it was more than ten miles farther away.”
“Huh.”
He continues, “Rain Man is a legend on the trail for always helping people out. Everyone was so broken up when his wife died. She was a gem. They’re good people, for sure.”
I’m not sure why the officer is telling me this. I know it’s for a particular reason, because he’s slowed our pace, as if he’s trying to build suspense, but I’ve got no idea why.
We take the elevator up to the third floor. The hallway smells of disinfectant and the floor is shiny, like it’s just been waxed. Finally, we stop in front of a patient’s room, which is weird, because I was sure we were walking to psych.
“What’s…” Then I see her name on the wall. Sophie Mattox. I point. “Is that… Is she…”
“You earned this, kid.”