"No. No, that came later."
She saw him sitting in the bus shelter when her shift finished, listing to one side and head propped against the plexiglass. The whole time she worked on him, he held still. Never flinched. Joked with the orderly and asked the police officer if the woman whose bag was snatched was okay. Laughed at Pietr's terrible puns. He had a nice smile. Kind. She shook her head at herself and continued on to the parking garage but then doubled back, ignoring the Joan in her mind who raised an eyebrow and mouthed, "Really?" When she was close enough, she could see his eyes were closed.
"Hey," she said, and he slowly opened them. Green. She hadn't noticed while working on his stitches. "You okay?"
"Oh yeah, thanks. Waitin' for my ride." He gave a little nod toward the bus stop sign and winced.
She nodded, her practical self warning her against the words that pushed forward. "If you're not going too far, I can give you a lift. I'm headed to Queens."
"Ah, really?" He squinted as he looked up at her, his face showing signs of pain.
"Really. One good turn deserves another, and anyway, I'm not convinced you could stand long enough to climb onto a bus. You look a little woozy."
"Woozy. Is that one of your fancy doctor terms?"
She laughed. "Absolutely."
When she started up the car, music blared to life, Foreigner wailing "I want you to show me" at top volume.
"Oh god sorry." She fumbled the knob trying to turn it off, blushing. His eyes screwed shut at the noise, but he started laughing.
"You listen to the 80s station? No, turn it back on. I like it. Maybe a little quieter."
Oren had always made fun of her musical tastes. She was forever a decade behind what everyone else listened to. She pushed the knob on again and turned the volume low. "You do it," she said, waving at the controls. "I don't want you popping your stitches due to power ballad overload." She turned to look out the rear window to back out of the parking space, glancing at him on the way and spotting some iodine that had dripped down his temple. "Seriously, you listen to this?"
"Why? You don't respect me now? I would've pegged you for the other 80s station." He made a face. "This is much cooler." He adjusted the volume and turned the bass up a bit as she pulled into the street. "If I were driving my car, and I didn't have a blinding headache, I'd have all the windows down and and the volume cranked. You'd hear me in Queens."
"Oh, that was you," she said. He kept his gaze ahead, mirroring her, but she saw his smile quirk toward her, out of the corner of her eye.
"Just pull over here," he said fifteen minutes later, pointing to a space in front of a hydrant. "I'm the next building over." When the car came to a stop, he popped the seat belt and slowly let the strap slip back into place. "Well. Thanks, doc. This was—"
"Joan." He looked up at the interruption. "Sorry. It's just… Outside the hospital, I'm Joan. Not 'doc.'"
"Okay," he smiled and opened the car door but didn't slide out. "So, just Joan, when I'm not seeing double anymore, can I call you?"
"I'm pretty sure you're not even going to remember how you got home, once you lie down."
"We'll see," he said with that kind smile again.
"Fine. If you still remember this conversation in ten days after you get those stitches out, we'll see. Otherwise, just try to remember you did good today. And drink plenty of fluids. It'll help with the headache."
He got out and stood, unsteady, and she wondered if she should offer to walk with him to the door to make sure he didn't fall. After a moment he bent down again and looked at her across the passenger seat. "And the heart ache?" One hand clutched across his chest. She laughed.
"Two Journey songs and an aspirin. Take care." He grinned and stepped up on the sidewalk, closing the car door. She watched him walk down the block until he'd waved to her and gone inside his building. Driving off, she remembered precisely each suture she'd placed across the back of his head but had no recollection whatsoever of his name.