Part 8

The patient was watching the races again. Quinn smiled. As she put the blood pressure cuff on, she said: "What is that?"

"The time trials for the Michigan 400."

"You like the races? Have you ever driven?"

"On a real track? No."

"I have. My dad, and my god-dad, that's their hobby. They've never won any big thing, but they've always done it. My godfather was in a real pit crew once. He was even at Indianapolis. Since I was little I've been around the track. I've been driving my godfather's care since he retired. That's how he describes it - not that he had something to retire from. I still let him drive sometimes, though."

"It's hard to picture you driving a race car."

"You can check it out sometime. When you're better, I'll take you down to the track."

"Oh, I think my girlfriend wouldn't like that."

"Why not? She can come too."

"She's away at college."

"Surely she doesn't object to you having a little fun. I won't even come near you," she said, trying not to laugh, "just leave you with my dad and my brothers. And my boyfriend, he races now. I promise - no attempts to steal you from your girlfriend."

She smiled to herself, pumping the air into the blood pressure gauge. She let it down, and read it; slightly high. She sat down to write it down on the chart, concentrating as hard as she could; the harder she tried not to smile, the harder it got.

She pursed her lips as hard as she could, and turned from the chart. He was looking at her intently. "Sorry," he said. "Stupid of me."

"It's ok," she said, laughing, glad she was free to. "Tell me who wins," she added, going out.

Joanna and Quinn were in the cafeteria with Paul.

"He thought you were coming on to him?" Joanna asked, "Isn't that cute?"

"No," said Paul, "it's subconsciously what he wants that is operating here. But what can I do, I am always doomed to have competitors."

"Thank you," Quinn said with pretended sarcasm, rolling her eyes.

"Now this one I have no fear of," he continued. "At least, not in that way. But I do in another way."

"Why?" Joanna asked.

"Well, what's going to grab her attention like a mystery guy? I bet he knows he's doing it. He could have told her his medical doctor a thousand times, he just doesn't because he knows it will keep her curious."

"Being with a psychiatrist can be dangerous, Quinn," Joanna advised. "Look at this; he knows exactly what this young man he never met is thinking. He must be downright positive he knows what you're thinking."

"Is that so?" Quinn asked Paul, grinning broadly.

"Yes," Paul teased. "I know everything that goes on in that mind. All honest. All good. Totally sensible. Needs to be taken by surprise every once in a while to keep her from thinking she is ruling us all."

Zander Smith looked white; probably, pain.

"By the way," Quinn said, "I am stuck moving to the midnight shift, so you won't see me for about a day and a half; Terri Hayes will still be here in the swing shift and Gail Klein has the day shift for this hall. So I will see you bright and late at midnight the day after. I hate that shift! But there's always one of us here. Somebody has you in mind all the time; and Dr. Jones will be in and out and on call if anything is wrong. Nobody's going to come in to see you without one of us telling you first, you know."

"Thanks."

"You should take this stuff; you know it'll work. Make you groggy, yeah, and you might not be able to stay awake through the Michigan 400. I'll tell you who wins, though."

"I don't need it."

"Yes you do. There's studies out there that actually say, pain itself is a condition. People used to die just because of it. You have it, and it can slow down your recovery. Minimize it and you don't just not feel it. You feel better and heal up faster."

"Can you answer a question?"

"Yes."

"I keep seeing your name tag over and over. Q. Connor. Not to be familiar, I mean, I won't try to use your first name, I just can't guess what it is. I can't even start to guess."

She smiled.

"What's so funny?" he asked. "What did I do now?"

"I'll tell you when you tell me where you're from, I mean, city and county, and the name or street or anything about any doctor who ever examined you - in Florida or anywhere else."

"I can easily ask somebody your name. I think it must be Questioner. That's it."

"Call me whatever you want," she said, going out.

"Why don't I try?" Joe Quinn said. They were sitting around in the Connors' living room after watching the Michigan 400 on TV. "I'm retired. What better thing have I got to do than be assistant to Quinn Connor, R.N., the best nurse in the world?"

Quinn thought for a moment. "A little irregular. But it might work. I'm willing to go with irregular at this point. Otherwise, hitting him over the head will be my pain control method."

"Ok, you're doing good. Just remember the Irish."

"I know. I have my temper under control. This must be a test. This is it. The test for my temper. There are times I think I'm going to lose it. I would kill the patient, mark my words, if he didn't also make me laugh other times. There's a balance there. Fortunately."

"You would never harm any patient in any way. Not even yelling. Yell at me as if I'm him."

"Later," she laughed.

"Is there a way to give him an injection when he's not looking?" Dan asked.

"I don't know of any," Quinn said.

"Well, you can tell him I will personally come in and shove the pills down his throat," answered Dan.

"Thanks for the thought, Dad," Quinn said, "I'll pass on your assistance for now."