The doctor had a solid twenty-four hours with me, and in that time, I’d done nothing but argue with him. I wanted to go home, sure. Who didn’t when they were stuck in the hospital? But that was only a small part of why I kept poking at him. The main reason was that I wanted to get my money’s worth. And he deserved it for keeping me in the hospital just because he couldn’t explain why I was healthy.
“Your bill is paid.” He smirked.
“Yeah, right.” Nothing was free when it came to someone’s health. Maybe healthcare shouldn’t be big business, but it was. Capitalism was great. I rolled my eyes and tried to get off the soapbox in my head, annoyed by the constant stream of dollars leaving my life.
“It’s true. Someone paid the bill. The nurse can review the details when he brings your discharge papers.”
Sure enough, I left without a bill at all. All the bitching I did about it was for nothing. I was still right about the cost of healthcare, though.
****
I hoped Mandy would give me a shift, even though someone might have filled in for me. I put the lit sign on top before I even went inside.
Mandy took one look at me and pointed toward the door. “No way. Go home, Elliot. I mean it.”
I smirked and handed her the release form the doctor had signed.
She took one look at it and scowled. The confusion was clear as she read it. She looked at me as if she were studying for a quiz. Or maybe she was getting ready to grill me. “I literally watched you die. It was one of the most traumatic things I’ve ever been through, by the way.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” When her chin wobbled, I hugged her.
She hugged me back. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“If it makes you feel better, the doctors can’t explain my quick recovery.” Maybe I was a walking miracle. “I feel great. Honest.”
“I gave Tommy your shift, but you know how he is.” If Tommy didn’t have to work, he wouldn’t. Pizza delivery didn’t exactly motivate him. “I’ll send him home when he gets back.”
“Thanks, Mandy.” I meant it, too. The people who worked at Gino’s were like a family. We looked out for each other. Gino was a real dick, but he wasn’t there much. It was really Mandy who ran things. She was the glue.
She handed me a pizza box with the ticket on top. “You can take this delivery.”
I read the address.
“Huh?” Something about the address seemed familiar, even though I knew I had never delivered there before. Hollowbrook was a small town. I knew every road.
The address was on the north side of town, near the lake. I’d delivered all over, so I knew the neighborhood well. The houses were spaced farther apart, and they were mansions. Million-dollar homes with million-dollar yards. Swimming pools and internet that wasn’t glitchy. Plus, they had a lake the size of an ocean within walking distance. To say I was envious was an understatement, but I really didn’t want a bigger house. I was satisfied with the farmhouse my mother had left me. I just closed off the rooms I never used. That saved on the heating bill. I had forty acres. Most of it was wooded. I also had a garage, which my mom had turned into a kick-ass woodworking shop right before she died—she loved carpentry, too. It was her passion. So no. I might not want to live anywhere else but on the farm, but I would like the comfort money could buy.
The name on the order sounded fake. Maybe the person had a reason for using a name like that on their order.
“Grymley Reaper. Seriously.” I had to hand it to the person. It didn’t get much more original than that. “As someone who almost died, should I take this as a sign that I’m at the final destination? Like that movie.”
Mandy chuckled. “That’s not funny, Elliot.”
I smiled at her. “So why did you laugh?”
“He spelled out his first name for me. I would have gotten it wrong if he hadn’t.”
“If this is his actual name, then I bet most people must get it wrong.” I knew a little something about people misspelling names, but it was my last name that they always messed up. Coyne with a y and an e at the end, not like the money. That was usually how I explained it. Sometimes I just let them spell it however they wanted because correcting them was too much work.
I headed out. Grymley Reaper deserved a hot pizza. It took ten minutes to get to that part of town because the traffic lights on Main Street hated me. I found the house and parked in the driveway. I reread the address on the ticket to make sure I had the correct house number. It never hurt to double-check before leaving the car.
The walk to the front door was pleasant. The smell of lavender from the garden beds met me halfway up the driveway. There was a pretty pink flower whose name I didn’t know, but I liked its look. It reminded me of a poppy.
I knocked on the door before I saw the bell. Should I press the button? Wasn’t that overkill? I might seem desperate, as if I wanted to unload his pizza in a hurry. I definitely didn’t want to give that impression, so I stood there, hoping the occupants heard my wimpy knock in such a big house.
The familiarity didn’t make sense. I couldn’t put my finger on what made it feel as if I belonged there. The place felt so comfortable. I felt connected to it somehow.
When no one answered the door, I pressed the bell. The sound was faint, but it wasn’t a standard doorbell chime. It played a song. For the life of me, I couldn’t place where I’d heard it. The melody stuck in my head. It would drive me crazy for my entire shift, but at least it would give me something else to think about besides the good Samaritan who’d paid my hospital bill.
