Chapter 39
"Entertaining the 'Child' With the Five O'Clock Shadow"
I woke up Friday morning with my teeth on edge for some reason. I untangled myself from the pillow cocoon and padded around in the kitchen preparing a few things in preparation for breakfast, and double-checking the list of goodies we would need for the poker game that night.
Oh man! The poker game! That explained my unease, and the unexplainable hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach because there was no way to predict what might come out of House's mouth tonight after Dick arrived …
I put the kettle on the back burner turned on "low" and went into the bathroom. Quickly I showered and shaved and made fast work of the morning ritual. Dressed myself in jeans and a decent shirt and my old moccasins, sans socks, and went back to the kitchen.
I was a little worried about Greg's condition. I had a feeling that sometime today his leg would go into another spasm … and this time it would be a really bad one. He was only now beginning to show positive signs of recovery from the bout with pneumonia, and his general response was going very well. Like the pessimist that I am, I was foreseeing grim happenings on the horizon, and a premonition of another severe attack that might steal the strength House had fought so hard to attain.
I had seen my theory about the psychosomatic pain confirmed; things that caused him to feel insecure or unsettled did, indeed, bring on the spasms … and what could make him any more disquieted than knowing he'll be going toe-to-toe with a wily and very perceptive clinical psychologist that night?
I went back into the kitchen to get the coffee on, and as I puttered around, my worry about Dick's impending visit grew. Finally, I decided to postpone the game for about a week to give Greg more time to adjust to the idea of the new diagnosis. I poured the water into the press and waited for it to steep. I got the pancake mix out of the cupboard and read the directions on the box. I found a can of minced macadamia nuts and got them ready, figuring he would ask. I checked the egg supply and the milk supply and the large carton of orange juice on the top shelf of the fridge. The glass of milk I ended up not drinking yesterday, still stood right where I'd placed it. Maybe later today …
I poured my coffee and decided to call Dickinson's office at once, and leave a message on his voice mail.
Before I could place the call, I heard the thump-step cadence of the cane and its owner as he walked up behind me. I pressed "end" and stuck the thing in my pocket. He was walking confidently, quite adept with the cane and IV-pole combination for walking aids, and there was a cat-like smile on his face. I turned and looked at him, and his appearance made me chuckle aloud, remembering Cuddy's allusion one time to his "living-under-a-bridge" look. His tee shirt was wrinkled and twisted on his body, the old scrubs equally twisted, making him look as though he were trying to walk sideways. His feet were bare. His hair stood up all over his head like porcupine quills, and his thickening beard made him look a little like a street beggar. All he needed was the tin cup. He saw me laughing at the look of him, and stopped to look down at himself. I think he understood immediately what I meant, but he was in too good a mood to crab at me about it.
"Lookin' forward to the poker game tonight," he said happily. "Not often I get to psych out a psychologist!"
I grabbed another mug and poured him a coffee, wondering if he was referring to the poker game, or to the diagnosis of psychosomatic illness. "Yeah," I said, "Well … about the game … I was thinking about putting it off for a couple more days to give you a chance to really get over the pneumonia."
He wasn't having any. "Uh uh! I'm ready. Don't need healthy lungs to play poker! Just luck and brain cells …"
And balls the size of a moose … I didn't say.
"… what I lack in the luck department, I more than make up for in brains," he continued enthusiastically. "Matter of fact, got so many brains, I might be able to loan you a few extra cells tonight. Wouldn't want ya to think I never share the wealth!" He smirked and walked over to the table and sat down.
I brought him his mug of coffee. I decided reluctantly to abandon my plans to postpone the game, and I eyed him appraisingly. His high spirits seemed to be for real, and I thought it might do him some good to have a little distraction and do something not entirely focused on his status as a "patient".
"I'll make you a deal …" I said. "If you eat a good breakfast and lunch, I'll let you ditch the pump for the evening. If you take a nap this afternoon, I'll even throw in staying up past your bedtime. 'Course, that'll depend on how bad you're beating me …" I kept a grin on my face as I spoke, but I still felt somehow uneasy.
"Deal!" He said. "But only if you keep the 'Doctor stuff' to a minimum. Not easy to keep my poker face with a thermometer sticking out of my mouth! Kinda ruins the look I'm goin' for."
I smiled again and took the bait on purpose. "What would that be?"
"Tough guy. Intimidating. Kinda crazy. Jack Nicholson in 'Cuckoo's Nest'."
"Ahhh … type casting. Got it."
"Hummph!" He took a slug from his coffee and smacked his lips. "So what's for breakfast? And if I have to eat all of it, it'd better not be past-pigs, future-chickens, or the secretions of contented bovines."
"House, if you don't want bacon and eggs, just say so. If you don't want milk, then pour it down the sink when you think I'm not looking … the way you usually do."
"It's just that it's so … yesterday … and the day before … and …"
"Hold on!" I interrupted the whining litany. "As I recall, you made what passed for breakfast yesterday, and no nutrition involved. No actually work involved either."
"Okay! It's so the day before yesterday then. And the day …"
I sighed loud enough to shut him up. "Macadamia pancakes it is!"
He ate pancakes like a starving waif. So did I!
An hour later he was on the couch, idly wrapping his IV tube around his fingers. I heard the two words that made my eyes roll skyward.
"I'm bored." He turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
Insert proper "danger" music here …"Why don't you play your new video game? Brush up on your poker skills … you know … four of a kind … two pairs … straight flush … full house …"
"Video game … already beat level fifty-eight … saw the naked girls. The thrill is gone. I already have an unfair advantage over the rest of you unfortunates in tonight's game, just by virtue of being me. I'm just that good!" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me. He then leaned his head back and addressed the crack in the ceiling: "I'm. Bored!"
"Someday I'm going to figure out how it is that make those two little words sound like such a big threat. In the meantime … in the interests of world peace and domestic tranquility, I guess it's time to bring out the big guns!" I went to the coat closet and came back with a flat package. I handed it across to him. "Here! This should keep you busy for … oh … about a hundred and seventy-four minutes. Not that I know exactly …"
"SpongeBob SquarePants Absorbing Favorites!" House grin threatened at that minute to take over his face. "Wilson, you've been holding out on me! How long hv e you had this?"
"Got it just after the last time you uttered those dreaded words, and I came home to find out you'd dismantled the microwave to find out why the food gets hot, but the plate stays cold!"
"Hey! Check out this bonus feature! 'Ripped Pants Karaoke' … this is just too awesome. Can ya bring me that old scrub brush … gotta have my microphone."
I felt so … underwhelmed!
I went through the rest of the day listening to the soundtrack of sweet SpongeBob and Patrick and Gary the meowing snail. Every time that part came around, I had to squelch the impulse to strangle Gary … or maybe House … or both … but that might involve jail time. I reminded myself that it was better than having to rescue my blow dryer from the freezer, where he said he'd left it … plugged in and turned on … to defrost a TV dinner in a hurry …
I stayed in the kitchen. I drank the glass of milk I had abandoned yesterday. I chewed on pulverized macadamia nuts. I found things to do in preparation for the coming evening, holding my hands over my ears and gritting my teeth against his seventeenth rendition of "I Ripped My Pants" … but who was counting?
I took my fourth ibuprofen of the day … but who was counting?
I gazed longingly at the little bottle of Ativan and fixed a smile on my face.
He never did take the damned nap I'd suggested earlier, and it was entirely my own fault!
I was ready to go in there and fling the DVD player … or House … or both … out the window!
Give me strength!Little did I know what he was about to get into next …
Oooo0ooooO
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