Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536)

by Lyle, D. P.

  Evan introduced Jill and me to Niki and Lisa Norris. They were sisters.

  “Thanks for being here,” Jill said.

  “Are you kidding?” Niki said. “Thanks for having us.” She propped an arm on Evan’s shoulder. “When Evan stopped by last month and asked if we were interested, we jumped right on it.”

  Evan beamed.

  My brother the salesman.

  “We’ve done more business just today than we do in a week at the store,” Lisa said.

  “More like two weeks,” Niki said.

  A chair came free and Evan jumped in it. “I love these things.”

  Niki laughed. “He’s been in the store almost daily the past few weeks.”

  “And all this time I thought he was working,” I said.

  “Not daily,” Evan said. “Just a few times.”

  “I’d bet on daily,” Lisa said.

  Evan rocked back, his legs kicking up as the chair settled into a reclining position. He worked the controls. A faint hum sounded.

  “Ah, that’s it,” Evan said, his voice vibrating with the chair.

  “I’ll leave him in your hands,” I said to Niki and Lisa. “Send him home when you get tired of him.”

  By midafternoon the temperature had reached the low nineties. No clouds and little breeze left the athletic event participants to the mercy of the sun. Divya and I dealt with the consequences. The dehydration problems we had seen earlier ticked up a notch. We saw at least two dozen people with significant dehydration, cramps, and dizziness. Most could be handled with rest, shade, and a quart of water, but a half dozen required IV fluids.

  Around three o’clock a very precocious young man showed up. Patrick Knight was a twelve-year-old black male with long arms and legs, oversized feet, large brown eyes that reminded me of one of those Furby dolls, and an off-the-wall sense of humor. He didn’t show up on his own. His mother dragged him over. Apparently against his protests.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked as mother and son entered the booth.

  “He’s got all overheated,” she said. She was thin, with orange-dyed hair in tight cornrows and tipped braids that hung to her shoulders. She had the same large eyes as her son.

  The young man crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his chin out. “Am not.”

  She thumped the back of his head with a finger. “You tell the doctor here what’s going on.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Patrick. Patrick Knight. This is my mom. Her name is Rochelle.”

  “I’m glad to meet you both.” I looked at Patrick. “Why don’t you hop up here on the table and let me take a look at you.”

  “I don’t have much time.”

  “Is that right? And where do you have to be?”

  He looked at me as if I had asked a ridiculous question. “The long jump. It’s going to start in about an hour. I need to stretch out.” His chin extended even more. “And I’m going to win.”

  “So you’re pretty good?”

  “Lord, yes,” Rochelle said. “Just like his daddy. This boy is one heck of an athlete.”

  “What sports do you play?”

  “All of them,” Patrick said. “Baseball, basketball, track, and football.” He looked toward his mother. “She don’t like me playing football, but that’s my favorite.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Patrick Henry Knight, you tell him right now. You hear me?”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I knew I shouldn’t of told you.” Patrick nodded his head toward his mother. “She makes a big deal out of everything.”

  “That’s what mothers are supposed to do,” I said.

  “I reckon. Anyway it’s not much. I had some cramps in my legs and got a little bit light-headed.”

  “What were you doing when this happened?”

  “We’d just finished some races and I was standing around.”

  “Let me guess. Not drinking much water?”

  “That’s right,” Rochelle said. “I told him he wasn’t drinking enough.”

  “Any headaches or nausea or blurred vision or anything like that?” I asked.

  “None of that.”

  I smiled. “You wouldn’t tell me anyway, would you?”

  He looked at me. “Probably not.”

  I gave Patrick a quick examination and found everything was normal. His lungs were clear, his heart rhythm steady and regular, his abdomen soft, and no tenderness in his legs.

  “You’re a little dehydrated.”

  “Okay, so I’ll drink more water. Then go do the long jump.” He slid off the table. “Thanks.”

  “Not so fast,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Four glasses. You have to drink four glasses of water before I let you leave.” I patted the exam table.

  He jumped back up on the table. “I can do that standing on my head.”

  “A little hard to drink in that position, don’t you think?”

  “You’re funny.” He looked at his mother. “I didn’t know doctors could be funny. He’s a lot funnier than that guy you take me to.”

  Rochelle shook her head. “See what I have to put up with?”

  I filled a twelve-ounce plastic cup from the two-gallon water dispenser we had sitting on the corner of the desk and handed it to Patrick. He chugged it, so I refilled it.

  “A little slower.”

  “Man, come on, I’ve got to do some jumping.”

  “Dr. Lawson?”

  I looked up to see Jonathan Wiggins. He owned Wiggins Waters, a boutique water store in Southampton. I had seen his booth earlier. Down at the far end of the field. He had a hand truck stacked with four cases of his branded mineral water.

  “Can you use some mineral water?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Divya said.

  “I’ll leave you a couple of cases. I’m taking the others over to the Hamptons Heritage booth.” He glanced that way and then back at me. “With all this heat we’ve been doing a bang-up business and I figured you guys could probably use some. On the house, of course.”

  “That’s very kind,” Divya said. “We don’t want to take your entire inventory, though.”

  “No problem there. I sent my son over to the warehouse to load up the truck.”

  Jonathan removed two of the cardboard boxes and placed them on the exam table. He tore one open while I opened the other.

  He lifted a plastic bottle filled with yellow-tinged water. “This one is lemon-lime, and the ones you got there are raspberry. There’s lots of magnesium and potassium in them.”

  “I’ll take a raspberry,” Patrick said.

  I handed him one and then asked Rochelle, “And you?”

  “I’d love a lemon-lime.”

  “Here you go,” Jonathan said as he handed her a bottle. “I need to get these over to the hospital booth. I’ll bring some more by as soon as my son gets back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Man, this is good,” Patrick said. “When I get back from winning the long jump I’ll try lemon-lime.”

  “You seem pretty sure you’re going to win,” I said.

  “He probably will,” Rochelle said. “He can do just about anything he puts his mind to. Athletics, even his schoolwork. The problem is keeping him from breaking his neck.”

  “You’re saying he’s a little rambunctious.”

  “That hardly seems strong enough. Been that way his whole life. When he was five—when we lived down in Florida—he tried to jump off the garage roof. Had the corners of a towel tied together thinking that’d be a good parachute. Five years old. Can you imagine?”

  Actually I could. Maybe n
ot at five, but around age twelve I talked Evan into climbing on the roof with me. We had parachutes made of bedsheets. Evan went first. Cracked a bone in his foot. I thought about not jumping as I stood there watching him roll around on the ground, foot pulled to his chest. But that wasn’t an option. I couldn’t chicken out after Evan had jumped. So I prayed nothing bad would happen and off I went. Nothing broke, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d thought it would be. I had envisioned us floating to the ground, not dropping like sacks of potatoes. I suspected Patrick had had the same vision.

  “He’s always banging and bruising himself,” Rochelle continued. “That’s why his knees and back and elbows hurt all the time.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes again. “See what I’m saying? She worries about everything.”

  Rochelle looked at me. “The boy’s had growing pains his whole life. Of course, he won’t complain about it. I have to ask, but half the time he won’t tell me. I remember once he sprained his shoulder really bad playing football and didn’t tell me about it for a week.” She glared at her son. “Fact is, he didn’t tell me at all. His coach did.”

  “That’s because you’d make a big deal out of it and I wouldn’t get to play.”

  “Hank?” Divya said. She nodded toward the front of the booth.

  I turned to see a woman helping a middle-aged man. He had his arm draped over her shoulders and his gait was unsteady.

  Patrick jumped off the exam table. “Dude, looks like you better lay down here.”

  I agreed with Patrick and helped the man onto the table.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s overheated. He’s been out there running around like a fool. I told him he was too old to chase the kids.”

  “I might’ve overdone it a bit,” the man said.

  I gave him a quick examination and found that other than dehydration he was fine. I started an IV and began pumping him full of fluids.

  Patrick watched everything, his eyes getting even bigger. “That’s so cool,” he said.

  “Maybe you’ll be a doctor someday,” I said.

  “If I’m not an NFL quarterback I just might.”

  Lack of confidence wasn’t one of Patrick’s faults.

  Chapter 18

  Evan was in full schmooze mode. After spending twenty minutes in the massage chair and telling Niki and Lisa he would return later for another session, he made the circuit. He visited most of the booths that circled the track, asking if anyone needed anything and thanking them for signing up. The only problem he encountered was one booth where the power had died. He called Jill and she sent her volunteer electrician by. The problem was a disconnected cable two booths over. A reconnection and a duct tape wrap corrected it.

  Evan soon reached Rachel Fleming’s booth. The back flaps of the booth were open, revealing two brightly painted vans parked just behind. Rachel stood next to a blue one with oversized wheels and an attached Jet Ski trailer, talking with a family of four. Mom, dad, two sons in the twelve-year-old range. She saw Evan and nodded, holding up a finger to tell him she’d be there in a minute.

  It was more like ten, but after the family left Rachel walked back into the booth.

  “How’s business?” Evan asked.

  “Amazing. I nailed down two orders today and a dozen appointments for next week.” She brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face. “I’m glad you talked me into this.”

  “Do you have time for coffee. Or ice cream?”

  “No. I’m here by myself the rest of the day. Rain check?”

  “Tomorrow. An ice cream date.”

  “You’re on.”

  “Cool.”

  Evan left and completed his circuit, ending up at Good Vibrations. Still busy. Two of the chairs were occupied by giggling teenage girls. One blonde, one brunette, both wearing cutoff jeans and halter tops.

  “Looks like they’re having fun,” Evan said to Niki.

  “They’re ripped,” Lisa said.

  Evan looked at them again, now noticing that their eyes were a little glazed. The brunette said something to the blonde that Evan couldn’t make out and they both burst into laughter.

  “See what I mean? Stoned and headed toward stupid.”

  Evan walked over. “How are you young ladies doing?”

  “Peachy,” the blonde said. More laughter.

  “More like strawberry,” the brunette replied. Even more laughter.

  “You look stoned.”

  “You think?” the blonde said.

  “No, we’re not,” the brunette said. “We’re baked. Totally.”

  “Totally,” the blonde agreed.

  “Time’s up,” Niki said.

  “Dude, we’re just getting relaxed,” the brunette said.

  Niki helped her out of the chair. She staggered, bumping into Evan. He caught her.

  “Whoa. Easy,” Evan said.

  “See how relaxed I am?”

  “Not the word I would use,” Niki said.

  “Come on, Katy,” the blonde said. “Let’s go somewhere fun.”

  “Want to have some fun?” Evan said. “I know a cool place.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Evan.”

  She propped one hand on her hip. “I’m Gloria. This is Katy.” She eyed Evan up and down. “You look like a cool dude.”

  Katy was now upright. “So where’s this fun place?”

  “Just down the row here. My brother’s booth. You need to see it.”

  “Cool, dude. Let’s go.”

  Jonathan Wiggins, true to his word, returned with four cases of his mineral water. As Divya and I were opening the boxes, Danielle and Angela showed up. Danielle wore tight black athletic shorts and a white T-shirt with what appeared to be a red surfboard on the front. Hard to be sure with her sling strap partially covering it. Angela wore a blue dress and a broad straw hat. She maneuvered her walker like a pro.

  “You’re getting good with that,” I said.

  “Not much choice. I’ll be glad when I can get rid of it.”

  “Patience.”

  “You sound like those rehab thugs.”

  Danielle laughed. “They came by this morning. Apparently they kicked up her program to the next level.”

  “The next level? They nearly killed me.”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “They simply want to get you back to your old self.”

  “Don’t talk about my age.” She gave me one of her sly grins.

  I dragged the chair from behind the desk. “Here. Sit down.”

  Once Angela settled in the chair, I offered her and Danielle mineral water. They each chose raspberry.

  “I thought it would be good to get Grandma out and about, so we decided to come by and see how the fair is going,” Danielle said.

  “Busy,” I said.

  “Looks like it. The parking lot is nearly full. I had to let Grandma out and then go find a spot. Way in the back.”

  “How’s your shoulder feeling?”

  She moved it back and forth. “Better. It’s a lot less stiff and sore.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  “Sure.”

  I tested her range of motion and palpated over her AC joint. More mobile and less tender. “It’s getting there.”

  “I think I’ll make the meet.”

  “I never doubted it,” I said.

  “Me either,” Angela added.

  “You can probably dump the sling tomorrow or the next day. If you’re careful and don’t overdo it.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m tired of being one-armed.”

  I heard giggles and turned to see Evan with two young girls. High schoolers. Hair disheveled. Eyes glazed. Pupils dilated. What had Evan go
tten into now?

  “Is this your brother?” one of the girls asked.

  “Yes,” Evan said. “This is Hank.” He indicated the two girls. “This is Katy and Gloria. They’re sisters.” He then introduced Divya, Angela, and Danielle.

  Danielle gave Evan a look. One that said: “What’s this all about?”

  “I thought Katy and Gloria should meet you,” Evan said to me. “See the new van. That kind of thing.”

  My brother. Mr. Sneaky.

  The fact that these two young ladies were on something was obvious. Even to Evan. And to his credit he had tricked them into coming to the booth. I suspected that telling them they needed help would have run them off, but dragging them down here with a carrot rather than a stick worked.

  “You don’t look like brothers,” Gloria said.

  “Maybe one of you was adopted,” Katy said.

  Both girls burst into laughter.

  Gloria’s eyes widened and she looked at me. “Wouldn’t that be like so gnarly? Finding out you were adopted?”

  “Neither of us was adopted,” I said. “And we really are brothers, though sometimes I ask myself why.”

  That brought more laughter from the girls.

  Katy’s eyes seemed to finally land on Danielle. She hesitated a beat, and then her hand went to her mouth. “Get out of here. Are you who I think you are?”

  “Depends,” Danielle said. “Who do you think I am?”

  Katy elbowed Gloria. “Are you believing this, dude?”

  “Believing what?” Gloria still didn’t have a clue.

  “Danielle Delaney.”

  Gloria looked around. “Where?”

  Katy pointed to Danielle. “Right there.”

  Gloria seemed to focus on Danielle for a minute. “Are you sure? Why would she be here?”

  “Everybody has to be somewhere,” Danielle said. “Here is as good a place as any.”

  “This is so like totally cool,” Gloria said.

  “Totally,” Katy echoed.

  “Will you sign something for me?” Gloria asked. She looked around and then at herself. She held her right arm out. “Maybe my arm.”

  Danielle laughed. “I think we can do better than that.”

  The two girls stared at her, waiting. Or maybe they hadn’t understood. Hard to tell which.