I right?”
I grumbled. “Something like that.”
“The trouble with trouble is that it starts out disguised as fun.”
I’d never heard it put that way, but there was a lot of truth in that statement. “You’re a wise man, Joe.”
The bartender smiled. “Name’s Ben. But for two hundred bucks, you can call me Shirley. I don’t give a shit. I’m divorced twice, and my advice probably isn’t worth shit. But here it is anyway. If she makes you smile before you have coffee in the morning and you don’t have to knock back a few drinks to get in the mood when she’s around, she’s a keeper. Get some flowers from the twenty-four-hour bodega down the block, and go home and apologize. Doesn’t matter who was right or wrong.”
If only it were that simple. “You’re right, Joe.”
The bartender straightened up. “So you’re heading home?”
“No. Your advice isn’t worth shit.”
Chapter 34
* * *
Grant
Where the hell am I?
I lifted my head, and it felt like some of the skin on my cheek stayed on the thick plastic I’d been sleeping on. I rose up to an elbow and looked around. I was in some sort of a waiting room, and it looked industrial. But I had no fucking clue where I was or how the hell I’d gotten here.
“You’re at Patton State Hospital,” a deep voice said from nearby.
Patton. What the fuck was I doing anywhere near this damn place? I followed the direction of the sound and found a well-dressed man sitting a few chairs away. He closed what looked like a chart he’d been working on and folded his hands on his lap. “I’m Dr. Booth.”
The name rang a bell, but it took me a second to figure out why over the pounding in my head. I sat up and realized for the first time that I’d been sprawled out over a few folding chairs with plastic-covered, cushioned bottoms.
My hand reached for the side of my head once I was upright. “Did I get hurt?”
“Not that I’m aware of, other than what I suspect might be a little alcohol poisoning from overconsumption.”
Fuck. My head is really killing me. And what the hell was I doing at Patton? “Do you know how I got here?”
“The guard asked you that when you came in. You told him Uber.”
I went to nod, but raising my head and lowering it hurt too fucking much. I racked my brain, trying to remember the events of last night. I remembered being at a bar, and I remembered some guy helping me to a car after he locked the door. Joe? Maybe his name was Joe. Yeah, that was it. He was the bartender, and I’d walked out with him at closing time. Damn…that means I was drinking until four in the morning. No wonder I don’t remember shit.
“Did we meet earlier?” I asked Dr. Booth.
He smiled. “No. This is the first time we’ve met. You came in about five thirty this morning and asked to see one of my patients. All visits require the inmate’s psychiatrist’s approval. The guards knew you were drunk and turned you away. But they called me to let me know what had happened, and I asked them to let you sleep it off in the waiting room, at least until visiting hours start at noon. The hospital allows visitors twenty-four hours a day, but the correctional facility ward follows state prison protocol when it comes to letting people in.”
“What time is it?”
He looked at his watch. “Ten fifteen.”
I raked a hand through my hair. Even touching the strands hurt. “I take it you’re Lily’s doctor?”
He nodded. “I am. Lily tried to get you to come see her for the first four years of her admission here. You never would respond to any of my messages or her letters. So I was curious what made you come by today. But by the time I got here, you were out cold.”
“You’ve been sitting there for four hours waiting for me to wake up?”
He smiled. “No. When I saw your condition, I made my morning rounds and told the guard to page me if you woke up. I came back after I finished to work on some of my charts.” He pointed his eyes down to a stack of thick manila folders on the chair next to him.
“Why?”
“Why what? Why did I ask the guards to let you sleep it off, or why am I here working on my charts?”
I shook my head. “All of it.”
“Well,