It was as if, before Mark's eyes, the fabric that was covering the nurse's breasts just melted away into nothingness. Her scrubs, and the blouse she was wearing beneath them, now both had an elliptical cutout that lined up, and if she'd been wearing a bra, it was no longer in evidence. What was revealed was a very nice-looking pair, looking like a firm C-cup, with quarter-size areolae and succulent-looking nipples.
But another part of his brain was slightly panicked. Parts of women's clothing didn't just disappear on a whim. This all seemed way too vivid to be a dream -- and would he be feeling this "fuzzy" in a dream?
His confusion must have shown on his face, because Claire interrupted the doctor to ask, "Dad, what's wrong?"
He turned his head toward her.
She was wearing a shirt that had two round cutouts in the appropriate locations such that her freckled breasts and their pale pink nipples were on display.
He gurgled, "Claire, you -- you -- no --"
He felt the fuzz in his head pulse, seeming to briefly expand outward and quickly contract. His vision was blurring, but he thought he saw the cutouts in Claire's shirt disappear, her breasts now covered up. He turned his head back and didn't see any skin tone in the area of the nurse's chest, just the green of the scrubs covering her entire body.
"Mr. Jibs?" asked the doctor. "Perhaps we need to do some tests on you ASAP. I'm going to ask you a few questions. First of all, what's your full name?"
The fuzz seemed to be receding. "Mark Warren Jibs."
"And do you know where you are?"
"In a hospital -- I assume whatever was closest to the rest stop on, uh, highway 67. Northside Memorial?"
The doctor nodded. "Do you know what time it is now?"
"You said I was out for 12 hours, right? Uh, about 10 P.M., I guess."
The doctor did a few reflex and other physical tests, but finally seemed to be satisfied with what he'd found, and at last Mark was given something for the pain and instructed to try to get some sleep.
Claire sat down in the chair next to the wall. "They told me I could stay in here," she said.
"Oh, honey, that can't be comfortable," Mark said. "Did your friends all get home all right? Why don't you call one of them -- or if you think it's too late, you can take a taxi home if you need to --"
"The Bitch is in the parking garage," Claire said. "It was the only car in the rest stop lot that worked after the lightning. All the others had their electrical systems fried, it looks like. Everyone's home fine. I've got some books on my iPad, I've got money for the vending machines -- I'm staying."
She'd said that in a tone that meant there'd be no further discussion. Mark had a pang of nostalgia -- Shannon sometimes used exactly the same tone of voice.
He sighed and lay back, listening to the quiet rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor to which he was connected by a sensor on his ring finger. Obviously, Claire couldn't help reminding him of her late mother, with her voice, and -- and the small but perky breasts he'd seen. He was starting to think it was a dream, or at least a hallucination. It was like, just because he'd thought about being able to see the nurse's breasts, suddenly she was wearing clothes that seemed to be designed to leave them uncovered -- and then Claire was as well...
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