I’m totally right about Ryan vanishing from the nursing home. I make a quick pass through the first floor on my way out and he’s nowhere to be found.
What the hell was he doing in a nursing home? And what was up with that cake?
The most obvious answer is that his dad is a resident of the nursing home and he’s bringing him a cake for his birthday. But that seems kind of unlikely, somehow. I mean, Ryan’s only maybe in his early thirties, tops. How old could his father possibly be? 6O? 65? That’s way too young to be a resident in a nursing home.
Or maybe the cake wasn’t from Ryan, but was from a patient’s family member. Maybe Ryan’s big secret is that he volunteers in a nursing home on his days off. Despite his assholish exterior, he’s really a saint who reads to old people with failing vision. And he didn’t want to tell me because he doesn’t want to ruin his tough guy façade.
No, that doesn’t seem very likely.
Ryan really does seem like an asshole. I can’t imagine him having the patience to volunteer with old people. Plus that would be such a cliché.
But then what on earth was he doing at that nursing home? It’s driving me crazy! Especially the fact that he seemed so uncomfortable about it and clearly didn’t want me to know why he was there.
When I get back into the hospital, I immediately get accosted by a man who’s looking for the outpatient pharmacy. I keep insisting I don’t know where it is and he keeps insisting I must know, until I finally just point in the opposite direction of where I’m going. I swear, being a doctor is starting to make me dislike human beings.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Rogers’s nursing home records are not terribly enlightening. I flip through the pages, searching for any mention of weird or mysterious smells. Nobody has made a note of anything like that.
Right now, in the battle of me versus Mrs. Rogers’s body odor, the BO is definitely winning. Has anyone ever published a case report about an atypical case of horrible, mutant BO?
As I head upstairs to report to Alyssa that I have failed to learn absolutely anything new, I practically smack into Ryan at the elevators. His head is clearly somewhere else because he appears to be just as shocked as I am.
“Oh,” he says. “Jane.” “Hi,” I say.
Neither of us makes a motion to press a button for the elevator. “So,” he mumbles, scratching his short blond hair. “That was… a coincidence, I guess. Huh.”
“Yeah,” I say.
He’s avoiding eye contact. I’ve never seen him do that before. S*xy Surgeon is the master of eye contact.
“My dad works there,” he says. “It’s his birthday, so, you know, I brought him some cake.”
“I thought you said your dad was a lawyer.”
Ryan is quiet for a moment. Finally, he says, “Yeah, he’s a lawyer for the nursing home.”
“The nursing home has its own lawyer?” “Sure, why not?”
Well, it is a pretty crappy nursing home—they could probably use a lawyer. Although it seems doubtful that place could afford an on-site attorney. They can’t even afford air conditioning.
“Okay,” I say. “Um, in that case, happy birthday to your dad.” “Thanks,” Ryan says. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
