“So you mean to tell me you’re going to the Onion Ring restaurant now?” Tracy asked incredulously.
“Obviously,” Kim said. “If that’s where Becky got sick, that’s where I’m going.”
“Right now, it doesn’t matter where Becky got sick,” Tracy said. “What matters is she is sick. We can worry about the how and the why some other time.”
“It might not matter to you,” Kim said. “But it matters to me.”
“Kim, you’re out of control,” Tracy said with exasperation. “Just once can’t you think of someone else besides yourself?”
“What the hell do you mean?” Kim snapped, feeling even more enraged.
“This is about you, not about Becky. It’s about you and your doctor ego.”
“The hell it is,” Kim growled. “I’m in no mood to listen to any of your psychological nonsense. Not now!”
“You’re not helping anyone by running off like this,” Tracy said. “You’re a threat even to yourself. If you have to go, at least wait until you have calmed down.”
“I’m going in hopes it can calm me down,” Kim said. “And maybe even give me an ounce of satisfaction.”
The elevator arrived, and Kim boarded.
“But you haven’t even changed out of your scrub clothes,” Tracy said, hoping to find some way to delay him for his own good.
“I’m going,” Kim said. “Right now. Nobody’s going to stop me!”
Kim pulled into the Onion Ring parking lot fast enough to bottom out on the lip of the driveway. There was a muffled thump, and a shudder went through the car. Kim didn’t care. He took the first parking spot he came to.
After putting on the emergency brake and turning off the ignition, Kim sat in the car for a moment and looked out the windshield at the restaurant. It was as crowded as it had been a week earlier.
The drive from the hospital had blunted the edge of his anger but not his determination. He thought about what he’d do once he was inside and then got out of the car. Passing through the main entrance, he found the lines at the cash registers stretched almost to the door. Unwilling to wait, he pushed his way to the front. Some of the customers complained. Kim ignored them.
Once at the counter, Kim got the attention of one of the cash-register girls whose name tag said: HI, I’M DEBBIE. She was a nondescript teenager with bleached hair and mild acne. Her facial features were frozen into an expression of absolute boredom.
“Excuse me,” Kim said, forcing himself to sound calm even though it was apparent he was not. “I’d like to speak to the manager.”
“You have to wait in line to order,” Debbie said. She glanced briefly at Kim but was completely insensitive to his state of mind.
“I don’t want to order,” Kim said slowly and deliberately. “I want to speak to the manager.”
“He’s like really busy right now,” Debbie said. She turned her attention back to the person standing at the head of her line and asked that the order be repeated.
Kim slammed his open palm down on the countertop with such force that it caused several napkin holders to vibrate off and fall with a clatter to the floor. The sound was like a shotgun blast. In an instant the entire restaurant went silent like a freeze-frame in a movie. Debbie turned pearl white.
“I don’t want to have to ask again,” Kim said. “I want the manager.
A man stepped forward from a position next to the central island behind the row of cash registers. He was dressed in a two-tone Onion Ring uniform. His name tag said: HI, I’M ROGER.
“I’m the manager,” he said. His head twitched nervously. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s my daughter,” Kim said. “She happens to be in a coma at the moment, fighting for her life, all from eating a hamburger here one week ago.”
Kim was loud enough to make himself heard throughout the restaurant. Those customers who were eating burgers eyed them suspiciously.
“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter,” Roger said, “but there’s no way she could have gotten sick here, least of all from one of our burgers.”