by Tina Beckett
“Daniel—”
“Daniel is responsible, yes, but he’s still just a kid. He’s grieving the loss of his mother. I don’t think it’s fair to expect him to take on the bulk of Cleo’s care.”
“I agree.”
“So the ‘we’ part of the equation means we share the load. You and me.” His sly smile warned her of what was coming before his words had a chance to register. “Until we can arrange something else, you’ll need to come back to Teresina. With me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“WHAT?”
Ben had expected an angry outburst the second she realized what he was asking. What he didn’t anticipate was the stricken pain that flooded her eyes instead.
Warning bells went off inside him.
“It won’t be that hard. You can relocate for six months to a year—help the kids get through one school year. You’ll be closer to the Amazon, anyway, if you’re in Teresina, because Projeto Vida’s medical boat operates out of Manaus.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Ben, I—I can’t.”
Something in her face took him aback. What was going on here?
“Why can’t you? And if you mention the word ‘travel,’ the deal is off.” He held his ground. “I want Cleo to get the best treatment available. In fact, I want that just as much as you do, but you’ve got to tell me why you can’t sacrifice one year of your life to help make sure she does.”
She turned away from him and crossed over to the trunk of a huge mango tree, fingering the bark.
Not about to let her off the hook, he followed her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She whirled round to face him.
“You want to know why I’m reluctant to commit to a year in Teresina? Why I traveled so much while I was carrying our child?”
“Yes.” He kept his eyes on hers, even as the first tears spilled over her lashes.
“Because I have the BRCA1 mutation. And I don’t know when—or even if—that switch might suddenly flip on.”
“BRCA…” His mind went blank for a second before his training kicked in. “One of the breast-cancer markers?”
A lot of information hit his system at once: Tracy’s mother’s early death from the disease, her grandmother’s death. Next came shock. She’d been tested for the gene variation? There’s no way she’d draw that kind of conclusion without some kind of definitive proof. “When did you find out?”
“A while ago.” Her green eyes skipped away from his. “After my mother passed away.”
An ugly suspicion went through his mind. Her mom had died not long after they’d married. A lot of things suddenly became clear. The frantic pace she’d kept. Her withdrawal a month or so before she’d finally walked out on him. “It was while you were pregnant, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“You went through genetic testing and never said a word to me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. And then when the test came back positive…” She shook her head. “I was trying to think of a way to tell you. Before I could, you sent the military into that village. I was angry. Hurt. And then I lost the baby.”
And then she’d lost the baby.
A streak of raw fury burst through his system closing off his throat and trapping all kinds of angry words inside as he remembered that time. She’d stood in his office a week and a half ago and accused him of going behind her back, and yet she’d traipsed around the country, carrying this huge secret.
Oh, no. That was where he drew the line.
“Yes, I did go behind your back, and I was wrong for doing that. But how is that any different than what you did? You went behind my back and had yourself tested for a gene that could impact your life…our future as a couple. How could you have kept that a secret?”
“You’re right, Ben. I’m sorry.” Her hands went to his, which had drawn up into tight fists as he’d talked. Her fingers curved around them. “At first I was just scared, wondering what it meant for our baby—and if it was a girl, if I would pass the gene to her. Then I worried about how this would affect us as a couple. I—I didn’t want your pity.”
“Believe me, pity is the last thing I’m feeling right now.” At the top of the list was anger. Anger that she’d suffered in silence. Anger that she hadn’t trusted him enough to say anything.
“I probably should have told you. I know that now.”
“Probably? Probably? I cannot believe you just used that word.”
She swallowed. “Okay, I should have told you.”
“We were supposed to be a couple, Tracy. A team. I shared every part of my life with you. Didn’t keep one thing from you.”
“I know it doesn’t seem right. But when you’ve had some time to think about it—”
“I don’t need time to think.”
When he started to pull away from her completely, she gripped his wrists, holding him in place. “Try to understand, Ben. My mom had died of cancer six months after we were married. We got pregnant sooner than we expected to, and I started to worry. Being tested was something I did on impulse, just to put my mind at ease. I didn’t expect the results to come back the way they did.”
“And yet you kept them to yourself. Even when they did.”
“Yes.”
The anger drained out of him, leaving him exhausted. “It explains everything.”
And yet it explained nothing.
Not really. Millions of women faced these same kinds of decisions. And most of them didn’t shut their loved ones out completely. Only Tracy had also been facing the loss of their child in addition to the test results. Not to mention what she’d viewed as a betrayal on his part.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her head against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” she repeated. The low words were muffled by his shirt, but he heard them, sensed they were coming from her heart.
He didn’t respond, just let the charged emotions crash over him until they were all spent.
Nothing could change what had happened back then. It was what it was. She’d made her decision, and now he had to make his. How he was going to handle this newfound knowledge?
“This is why you don’t want to take Daniel and Cleo yourself.”
“Yes.”
Wow. He tried to find the right words but found himself at a loss. Maybe like she’d been when she’d found out?
He gripped her upper arms and edged her back a little so he could look at her face. Fresh tear tracks had appeared, although she hadn’t let out any kind of sound.
“This isn’t a death sentence, Tracy.” He wiped the moisture from her cheeks and eyes with the pad of his thumb. “Carrying the gene mutation doesn’t mean you’ll develop the disease.”
“My mom and grandmother did.”
“I know. But knowledge is power. You know to be vigilant.”
“I know that I might have to take preventative measures.”
Something she’d hinted at earlier. “Tamoxifen?” He’d heard that some of the chemo drugs were being used as a preventative measure nowadays, much like the antibiotics they’d used on those exposed to the plague in Sao Joao dos Rios. All in the hope of killing any cancer cells before they had a chance to develop and multiply.
“Some women choose to go that route, yes.”
“But not you.” It was a statement, because from her phrasing it was clear that she wasn’t looking at that option. Or had looked at it and rejected it.
“No. Not me.” She licked her lips. “I’ve been weighing the benefits of prophylactic surgery.”
“Surgery…” He blinked as he realized exactly what she was saying. “You’re thinking of having an elective mastectomy?” Against his will, his glance went to her chest and then back to her face.
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know the timing yet, but I realized not long ago that if I can head it off, that’s what I’m going to do.”
Shit.
He remembered their time in
the tub and how he’d gently caressed her breasts. Kissed them. What had she been thinking as he’d brought her nipples to hard peaks? Even then, she hadn’t said a word. Maybe she had been committing the sensations to memory.
Okay, now his vision was starting to go a little funny. He tightened his jaw. Tracy had said the last thing she wanted from him was pity. He needed to suck it up. Then again, she’d had a whole lot longer to process the information than he had. And ultimately she was right. It was her decision to make. He might disagree or object or even urge her to go ahead and do it, but he wasn’t the one who’d have to live with the aftermath. Tracy was.
And he’d had no idea what she’d been facing all this time. He was surprised she hadn’t chosen to have the surgery right after their break-up.
He decided not to say anything. Instead, he opted to go a completely different route.
But before he could, she spoke again. “So you see why I’m reluctant to say yes. I was planning to meet with a doctor when I got back to Sao Paulo.”
“Give it some time, Tracy. Neither one of us should make any hard and fast decisions right on the heels of fighting this outbreak.” He tucked a lock of hair behind one of her ears. “I’ll be honest, though. I don’t think I can commit to taking on Cleo’s treatment on my own. And I’m not sure it would be fair to her or Daniel. I’m away a lot. Sometimes for days at a time.”
“Kind of like I used to be.” The words had a ring of challenge to them.
“The difference is I don’t have a partner or children at home. Not any more.”
She sighed. “And I did.”
His thumb stroked her earlobe, watching as her pupils dilated at his touch. “Give me six months to a year of your time, Trace, and I’ll take the kids on. I’m not asking you to renew our wedding vows or even get back together. We just have to…work as partners. For the sake of the kids, until Cleo is fully recovered and we can find a better place for them.”
“I don’t know. Give me a couple of days to make a decision, okay?”
“You’ve got it. But as for timeframes, we don’t have that long, remember? Sao Joao dos Rios has less than a week. And then Cleo—and everyone else—will be escorted out.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
INSULIN WAS A blessing and a curse.
A blessing because the change in Cleo had been almost immediate when they’d pushed the first dose into her. A curse, because this might be something she’d have to do for the rest of her life.
It explained why her body had taken so much longer to recuperate from the plague than that of her brother. She’d improve a little bit and then go back three steps for seemingly no reason. They’d assumed it was because she was one of the first victims. In reality it had been because the sugar had built up in her system like a toxin, infecting her tissue as surely as the plague had.
The insulin had worked. Today the little girl was well enough to walk the short distance from the village to a clearing to accompany Daniel, Ben and herself as they took care of some important business.
Just like a little family.
And that made her heart ache even more as they caught sight of the first of the cement markers on the other side of a small wooden fence.
“Will I see Mommy again?” Cleo’s voice wobbled the tiniest bit.
“I think you will, honey. But only after you’ve had a long and healthy life.”
Tracy wanted to do everything in her power to make sure that happened.
Even move back to Teresina for a while?
Ben stopped at an empty site beneath a tree, carrying a flat sandstone rock in one hand and a hammer and chisel he’d found in a neighbor’s shed in the other. “How does this spot look?”
“Beautiful,” Tracy said. “How about to you guys?”
Cleo nodded, but Daniel remained silent, his mouth set in a mutinous line, looking off to the left. He’d been silent since Cleo had asked if their mother would have a grave and a stone like their grandparents did. But when they’d given the boy a chance to remain behind, he’d trailed along at a distance, before steadily gaining ground until he’d been walking beside Ben.
“O que foi?” Cleo went over to Daniel and took his hand in hers, her concern obvious. “Estas triste?”
He shook his head. “Vovo esta por ai.”
Ah, so that’s why he was looking in that direction. His grandparents’ graves were to the left. Cleo had assumed, like Tracy had, that Daniel was struggling with his grief. And maybe that was partially true. But he also wanted his mom’s grave to be next to that of his grandparents.
“Can you show us where they are?” she asked.
Without a word, Daniel trudged to a spot about twenty yards to his left, where a weathered tombstone canted backwards.
Ben laid his tools on the ground and set to righting the stone as best he could, packing dirt into the furrow behind it. The names Louisa and Jorge were inscribed on the top, along with the surname Silva. Louisa had outlived Jorge by fifteen years.
Other than the leaning headstone, the graves were neat, with no weeds anywhere to be seen. They’d been well tended—probably by the mother of Cleo and Daniel. It made it all the more fitting that her grave be next to theirs.
“This is perfect,” Tracy said.
Daniel gave a short nod, to which Cleo added her approval.
Kneeling on the packed ground next to her, Ben pulled out the sheet of paper that had the children’s mother’s full name on it and picked up his chisel and hammer. The first strike rang through the air like a shot, and Cleo flinched. Tracy put her arm around the girl and they stood quietly as the sound was repeated time and time again. A cadence of death…and hope.
Sweat poured down Ben’s face and spots of moisture began to appear on his dark T-shirt, but still he continued, letter by letter, until the name of Maria Eugenia da Silva Costa appeared on the stone, along with the dates of her birth and death.
Cleo had stood quietly through the entire process, but when Ben glanced up at her with his brows raised, she knelt beside him. With tender fingers she traced the letters one by one while Daniel stayed where he was. He’d brushed his palm across his face as if chasing away sweat—but Tracy had a feeling a rogue tear or two might have been part of the mix.
Handing a bunch of wildflowers to the little girl, she watched as Cleo and Ben carefully placed the stone and cross, setting the tiny bouquet in front of the objects. Glancing at Ben, who’d slicked his hair back, she cleared her throat. “Would you mind saying a few words?”
Blotting a drizzle of perspiration with his shirt sleeve, he stood, lifting a brow. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to church.”
“I’m sure you can think of something.” Tracy knew she’d lose it if she tried to say anything.
Cleo rose as well and gripped her hand fiercely.
“Right.” He put his hand on one of Cleo’s shoulders and motioned Daniel over. The boy moved forward, his steps unsure as if he didn’t want to face the reality of what was about to happen. Tracy knew just how he felt. Somehow seeing your mother’s name carved into cold, hard stone made things seem unbearably permanent. Even more permanent than the granite itself.
As if aware of her thoughts, Ben started talking, his voice low and somber. “We want to remember Maria Eugenia and give thanks for her life. For the brave children she brought into this world and nurtured to be such fine, caring individuals.” Ben’s eyes met hers. “We leave this marker as a reminder of her time on this earth. A symbol that she was important. That she was loved. That she won’t be forgotten. By any of us.”
Cleo’s hands went up to cover her face, her small shoulders shaking in silence, while Daniel stood unmoving. Ben knelt between them. One broad-shouldered man flanked by two grieving children.
Oh, God.
One of the tears she’d been blinking away for the last several minutes threatened to break free. But this was not the time. This wasn’t about her. It was about these kids. About helping them through a terrible ti
me in their lives. About helping Cleo get to the root of her medical problems.
She went over and gave Daniel a long hug. And then she knelt in front of Cleo, her eyes meeting Ben’s as she brushed a strand of hair from the child’s damp head and then dropped a kiss on top of it.
Suddenly she knew she wouldn’t need a few days to decide. In the scheme of things, what was six months or a year when she could make a difference in these kids’ lives for ever? Wasn’t that what she’d come here to do? What she’d done even as she’d faced her test results? As impossibly hard as it might be to see Ben each and every day, she was going to Teresina. She was going to help make sure Daniel and Cleo were put in a situation where they could flourish and grow. And where Cleo—as Tracy had promised her—would have that chance at a long and healthy life.
* * *
Ben stood in the door of the sickroom and peered around one last time. Every bed was empty of patients, the IV poles disassembled and the military vehicles had headed out one by one, leaving only a small contingent to carry out General Gutierrez’s final order. Ben had insisted on staying behind to make sure the last survivors had packed up and moved out of town, which they had.
Maybe it was the life-and-death struggle that had gone on here, maybe it was the unrelenting horror of what they’d seen, but most of the inhabitants had seemed only too happy to clear out. Most of them—except Cleo and Daniel—had relatives to turn to and those who didn’t would have help from the government to start over, including jobs and subsidized housing, until they got back on their feet.
Several of the villagers, when they’d discovered what Ben had done for Daniel and Cleo’s mother, had made similar monuments for their own loved ones and set them in various locations around the cemetery. Ben had wrung a promise from the general that the graveyard would remain untouched.
Sao Joao dos Rios was now a ghost town—already dead to all intents and purposes.
And soon his wife would be moving back into his house with a ready-made family in tow. He wasn’t sure what had suddenly caused her to say yes. He only knew as the four of them had knelt in front of Maria Eugenia’s grave, she’d met his eyes and given a single nod of her head.