“It helps.” Lilia took one of the pill packets from the paper sack and fanned it in front of him. “But these will help even more.” She frowned at the fine print on the back of the packet. “But they might make you a little sleepy.” Hopefully, he’d eventually get used to traveling in a car and would get past the motion sickness. His previous pallor was already giving way to a healthy ruddiness.
Graham finished off the ginger ale, then handed the empty bottle back to her. Rubbing his stomach, he pulled in a deep breath. “’Tis much better now. I dinna feel the need to retch my insides out.”
“I’m glad.” She stuffed the medication into the car’s glove box, then scanned the parking garage for a recycle bin. Not seeing one, she twisted the cap back on the ginger ale bottle and tucked it into the crook of her arm. “I’ll just get rid of this inside. I think I saw a recycle bin beside the gift shop.”
Graham arched a brow, looking at her as though she spoke in a language he didn’t understand. And he probably didn’t understand the concept of recycle bins and gift shops. Lilia wondered just how much Granny and Trulie had briefed the poor man on the ways of the twenty-first century. She waved him forward. “Come on. I’ve made Eliza wait long enough.”
Eying the massive brownstone building attached to the parking garage, he held out his arm for her to take. “What did ye call this place?”
Reluctantly, she relented and hooked her hand through his arm, falling into step beside him. Her heart double-thumped. Maybe the twenty-first century could learn a thing or two from the past—such gallantry had become almost nonexistent. She nodded at the bronze dedication plaque mounted beside the double glass doors. “This is a hospital and long-term-care facility.”
At his puzzled look, she hurried to explain. “In this time, whenever anyone is seriously injured or ill, they stay here at the hospital where a staff of doctors and nurses do their best to help them heal and survive.”
“And long-term-care facility?” Graham repeated the words as though reciting foreign items off a menu.
“That’s where some people stay . . . permanently.” Lilia frowned at her own explanation, struggling to come up with the right words. “The elderly, the disabled or terminally ill stay in long-term care until they either get better . . . or die.” She sadly shook her head. “It depends on their situation.”
“What of their families? Why do they not care for their own?” He slowed as they approached the massive sliding glass doors.
“Not everyone has a family who can provide twenty-four/seven care.” She tugged him forward. “It’s complicated, Graham. I don’t know how to explain it any better.”
He acknowledged her attempt at explaining with a curt nod, then stepped on the oversized black sensor mat in front of the hospital doors. The wide double doors whooshed open; the light over the entrance flashed a spinning red and white. Graham jumped back, his eyes widening even more as the doors shushed back to the closed position and the light stopped blinking. “What the hell kind of magic is that?”
Lilia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling at his bewildered expression. She needed to be nice. After all, this was his first visit to the twenty-first century. She gently pulled him forward. “Automatic doors.” She pointed first at the black mat then up at the tiny silver boxes fitted on either side of the door. “Motion and weight sensors in the mat and those two little—” She flipped her hand, searching for the correct terminology. They weren’t really cameras but she wasn’t quite sure what to call them. A frustrated huff escaped her as she pointed at one of the sensors. “Those little boxes see when someone walks up to the door and that along with your weight on the mat triggers the doors to either open or close.” There. Good heavens. Who knew explaining automatic doors could be so freaking complicated?
Graham’s disbelieving narrow-eyed look slid from the boxes atop the doors, down to the mat, and then back to her. “Magic?”
Sure. Why not? Lilia nodded. “Yes. Magic.” Since she was neither an electrical nor an architectural engineer, magic was a much easier explanation.
Gingerly easing forward, Graham stepped onto the center of the mat, flinching when the doors quickly slid open. His jaw hardened into a determined line as he squared his shoulders then hurried through the doors, whipping around to watch them as they bounced shut. “Amazing,” he said under his breath. He stepped back on the mat, staring at the doors as they slid back open.
“Wait ’til you see the elevator.” She pulled him off the mat in front of the door so they’d stop opening and closing. “Wait here while I drop this in the recycle bin.”
“Aye.” Graham nodded without looking at her, still staring down at the wide black doormat, then up at the doors. He tapped his toe on the mat and made the doors open again.
She rolled her eyes. What a way to keep a thirteenth-century Highlander occupied. She hurried across the smooth marble floor of the lobby, turning at the first wide hallway to access the common area housing the gift shop and vending machine alcoves.
As she lobbed the soda bottle into the recycle bin beside the door of the gift shop, a strong cheery “G’day to ye” rang out from within the tiny store.
A young girl, dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail tied with a bow that matched her pink volunteer’s smock, was busily flitting around the shelves, dusting them with a feather duster.
“Good day to you too,” Lilia answered, wondering where the sweet old lady had gone. Odd time of day for a shift change. Even for volunteers.
Oh well. Maybe the old lady couldn’t handle an entire shift. Lilia shrugged and hurried back to the main lobby. Graham was cautiously circling an oversized marble fountain sculpted into the shape of a huge orb with water bubbling from its center.
She waved him over to the set of steel doors at the opposite side of the room of the small waiting area filled with uncomfortable-looking chairs and decorative urns of plastic plants. “Come on. I’ll even let you push the button.” She chuckled at the memory of fighting with Mairi and Kenna to be the one who always got to push the button whenever the family happened across an elevator.
“Push the button?” Graham flexed his hands as he gave the steel doors a stern up-and-down look.
“Right there. The one with the arrow pointing up.”
Graham shoved his fisted hand against the button and held it.
She patted his muscled forearm. “You don’t have to hold it down. You just push it so it lights up, then let go. The elevator will be here in a minute.”
A bell sounded and the steel doors slid open with a bang.
“Saint’s bones.” Graham backed up a step. “’Tis a burial cairn made of steel.”
