Falling

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  Now he just had to get Isobel to say yes.

  Chapter 20

  “I’ll be there in just over two weeks,” Isobel said, studying Idris Toko’s face over the fuzzy Skype connection. She could see the hospital office in the background, little more than steel-legged tables with fabric partitions. It was almost impossible for Westerners to imagine how little they made do with there. Isobel put her feet up onto the desk and pulled the laptop onto her knee. She was almost alone in the Medpax office; Leila was in her room, but the rest of the staff had left for the day.

  On the other side of the screen, in Chad, half a world away, Idris wiped his forehead with a scrap of material. He was one of the best doctors Isobel had ever met, and one of the few local doctors who had stayed put in his poor, unstable homeland. Most of those who trained to become doctors in Chad eventually gave up and moved to countries where they were paid a regular wage and found security for their families, countries where clan fighting and violence didn’t make the situation dangerous, the future uncertain. Chad, the landlocked country in the bull’s-eye middle of Africa, was one of the poorest and most corrupt countries in the world. It was also a country of proud men and women, people who lived a hard life, loved their families, and did what they could to survive.

  “We need you, but the situation is under control,” he said as he adjusted his simple glasses on the bridge of his nose. They always spoke French. Chad was a former French colony, and Idris’s French was educated, peppered with Arabic phrases.

  “How are things?”

  He looked like he had been awake for days. He probably had.

  “Three C-sections last night.” He shrugged.

  “Should I bring anything with me when I come?” she asked. She would stuff her bags with chocolate, cheese, and medicine—that was almost mandatory as a field-worker.

  “You got a spare oxygen machine?”

  “That bad?”

  Idris nodded. A pediatric hospital could succeed or fail depending on its access to oxygen. The machines in the hospital were old and working overtime. But Medpax had hospital salaries to pay and upkeep to fund. They also had bribes to make, to guarantee a minimum level of safety. An oxygen machine cost a lot.

  “I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting,” she promised.

  “Marius is here,” Idris said, and disappeared from the screen. A tiny, serious face appeared and Isobel’s heart swelled. She smiled, flooded with relief.

  “Bonjour, Marius,” she said. He looked so thin, so tired. But alive.

  “Bonjour, Docteur,” he said, and waved to the screen.

  Idris came back.

  “Marius wants some of those Swedish cheese puffs you brought last time, don’t you?” Isobel could hear laughter from somewhere off camera. Her eyes burned. Please, Marius, stay alive until I come.

  “I’ll bring lots of cheese puffs,” she promised.

  Idris nodded, and they ended the video call.

  She stayed where she was. It was always such an odd sensation, talking to someone so far away, someone who lived under such different conditions. She rubbed her eyes. It was seven o’clock. She had worked hard the past few days, and should really head home. Or go out. Wasn’t Wednesday the new Saturday, or something ridiculous like that? Either way, she ought to do something instead of just sitting here, obsessing over things she had or hadn’t said.

  She hadn’t heard from Alexander. That was a fact. And it wasn’t the least bit surprising. He had sent messages and called her all day Saturday, but she hadn’t replied with anything but short, apologetic messages, and he’d eventually given up. Now it was Wednesday, and she had gotten what she wanted—he had left her alone.

  She was ashamed of how cowardly she had handled the situation. She fooled around on the laptop awhile. Surfed the net. It was almost impossible not to Google his name, but she managed. It was over and that was good. She closed the computer and got up.

  Her phone buzzed into life. She looked at the display.

  Alexander De la Grip. Seriously?

  She shouldn’t reply. Really shouldn’t . . .

  Oh, hell, why not?

  “Hello?”

  “Aha, hi there, Doctor Sørensen. You’re alive. How are things?”

  Alexander’s voice was like the promise of sunshine and adventure straight down the line. Oh my, she liked that voice. The warmth and the laughter in it, but also its strength and stability. This was a man who had fought for her, who had challenged Sebastien, and who had studied aid for her sake. She knew it was partly manipulation on his part, of course, that he had an ulterior motive for everything he did, but still.

  “Good. I’m working,” she replied, feeling a stupid smile tugging at her lips.

  “What else. I’m starting to suspect you don’t have a life.”

  He had a point there. “And you? Are you still in Skåne?”

  “Where you left me, you mean?”

  Well, she deserved that. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “So you should be. But I like it when you apologize to me. You’ve been ignoring me, so now you have to make up for it.”

  “Have to?” she asked, trying to sound aloof but feeling her pulse start to race a little.

  “Yup. I wondered if you wanted to be my plus one to something.”

  “Something?”

  “A wedding. A friend of mine is getting married.”

  She couldn’t say yes. She knew that, but a wedding . . . Isobel had a soft spot for weddings. “When is it?”

  “Saturday.”

  “This Saturday? That’s pretty soon.”

  “In Storkyrkan, the cathedral,” he added. “Dinner at the House of Knights.”

  Isobel frowned. The only people she knew who got married in the cathedral were royalty. And House of Knights? That was where the nobility had their parties, wasn’t it? “What kind of wedding is this, exactly?” she asked suspiciously.

  “My friend Åsa Bjelke is getting married to some finance guy, Michel Chamoun.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Even Isobel had heard about that wedding. It was hard not to have heard about it. The society wedding of the year, the media was calling it. World-famous guests from every corner of the globe were expected.

  “You can salvage what’s left of my ego and grab some food at the same time. I know how grumpy you get when you don’t eat.”

  His tone was humorous, but these were his friends; his entire family would probably be there. She hesitated, knew what she had to do. She needed to plan for Chad. And she had already made up her mind. Taking his call had been a bad idea.

  “I’m sorry, Alexander, but I have to say no. It’s better if we don’t see each other anymore. I wanted to say that, not just send a text or avoid answering. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice was quieter, more serious now. “I hoped we could keep seeing one another.... I thought that we . . . I like you.”

  And I like you. Much too much.

  “I’m sure. It’s for the best.”

  “Alright,” he said. She heard both disappointment and warmth in his voice, but there was no accusatory tone. This wasn’t a man who took his frustration out on others. God, she liked that. He was silent, and Isobel held her breath, not knowing why. She pressed the phone to her ear.

  “So, good luck with everything,” he said softly. “You’re doing a fantastic job; I hope you know that. I’m glad we met. It’s been really great.”

  Isobel, a voice within her cried, what the hell are you doing?

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “Bye, Isobel.”

  She paused, and then hung up before she had time to change her mind. Part of her had already changed her mind, but it was too late and she knew she’d done the right thing. She breathed out, deeply. The depressing sound filled the empty room.

  “Who was that?”

  Isobel jumped at the voice and turned around. Leila was leaning against the door frame, her arms c
rossed and a jet-black eyebrow raised.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but that was Alexander.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Nothing to do with Medpax. He wanted to invite me to a wedding over the weekend. I said no.”

  “Yes, I heard.” Leila came in, pulled up a chair, sat down, and gave Isobel a piercing look. “Let me guess. Blanche needs DIY help all weekend, so you said no to going out with a drop-dead gorgeous man who clearly likes you. To help your mother.”

  Isobel crossed her arms. It was one thing that she was annoyed by her mother, another to hear Leila’s criticism.

  Leila placed her hands on the table, her shiny black nails drumming the surface. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice now.”

  “Again? Because I still recall all the others you’ve given me.”

  Leila narrowed her eyes. “Call Alexander back and tell him you changed your mind. Live a little.”

  “I don’t know what kind of feedback you normally get, Leila, but your advice really sucks. We just ended it.”

  Not that they had been together, but it still sounded painfully definitive when she said it aloud.

  And it made her ache with longing.

  “Don’t say that, people pay a fortune for my advice. But you’re going to Chad in two weeks, so what difference does it make? Go out with Alexander. You like one another. There are so many sparks between the two of you it hurts the eyes. If it doesn’t work out, you’re leaving soon anyway. It can come to an end naturally.”

  The thing was, she had thought along those exact same lines herself. A quick fling with one of the world’s hottest men before she went off to work—wasn’t that exactly what she needed? She had dated after Sebastien, or a little anyway. A couple of older doctors, a few men she’d met through work. A surgeon. All serious types. Intelligent and interesting. But they were so dull. Zero intensity.

  “I can’t just call and say I changed my mind,” she complained now that Leila sat there, giving her foolish hope. Or could she? “We just said good-bye for good.”

  “There are plenty of things you can’t do in this life, I agree with that. But this isn’t one of them. Sure, you can.”

  “Why do you care about this?”

  “I wish I knew.” Leila stood up. “It’s a pain in the ass, being so considerate. It must be an innate virtue. And then all the psychological training on top of that. I’m almost incapable of not caring. I’m going for a smoke. Call him. Before he calls one of his many other women. He’s charming, but he is a bit of a man whore.”

  Isobel hesitated, but made up her mind the moment Leila closed the door.

  He picked up on the first ring, as though he had been waiting, phone in hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Can I change my mind?”

  Oh, God, please. Surely he hadn’t already asked someone else?

  “You can.”

  “Then I’ve changed my mind. I want to go to the wedding with you.”

  “That pleases me.”

  They were silent for a moment, until she asked the only relevant question.

  “What should I wear?”

  “It’s an afternoon wedding, so an evening gown.”

  Merde. She wouldn’t have time to buy anything. And what did a dress like that cost? Could she just wear the green one? She wasn’t sure about the nuances of the dress code. Weren’t the upper class really sticklers about things like that?

  “Isobel? Maybe I can help.”

  “With what?”

  “I know how much you work, and I realize that a field doctor who earns eleven thousand kronor a month to make the world a better place has slightly different priorities from a society girl. So I’ve solved the whole thing. I know a friend with an atelier. You can borrow a dress there. I already checked. Or, my sister did. She told me you know one another, by the way.”

  Isobel ignored his last point, pretended that Alexander hadn’t talked about her with his family.

  “Borrow? Are you sure?”

  “It’s practically secondhand.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks. I’d love to borrow a dress.”

  “Isobel?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m so happy you called.”

  “Me too,” she said, sounding a bit breathless to her own ears.

  “I’ll send you the details.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  Isobel felt herself crack a smile. It would be very fun.

  “Yes.”

  She wasn’t 100 percent sure, but it sounded as though Alexander exhaled before he hung up.

  Chapter 21

  Gina made an extra pass across the floor with the vacuum cleaner. She glanced over to Peter’s office. He looked up, half raised his hand in the air, and smiled tentatively as though he didn’t dare give her a full smile. Gina stopped mid-vacuum and awkwardly raised her own hand in a quick response before she looked back down and continued her work. So odd. The next time she looked over, his head was down, bowed over the computer. Only the two of them were left in the office, and he seemed to have plenty to do.

  She went to his room and hesitantly knocked on the door frame.

  “Hi,” he said. “Come in. Is it okay if I work while you vacuum?”

  As though she was allowed to have an opinion about that.

  “Sure.”

  Peter was focused on the screen, his eyes darting about it as he wrote the occasional line on a notepad on his desk while she moved around the room.

  “Thanks,” he said when she was done and had switched off the vacuum cleaner. “Were the trains running again yesterday?”

  Gina frowned suspiciously. What did he mean by that? Did he expect her to thank him again? She had already done it, several times.

  “Yeah,” she replied curtly.

  “And today? Running like normal? I’m just asking since it’s a holiday.”

  “It isn’t normally a problem,” she answered, still unsure of what was happening. Was he making small talk with her? Why?

  “Were you studying today? Or is class over?”

  “There are always lectures. We never really get any breaks. And they expect us to work on the weekends.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “I have to eat a little before I go.”

  He stood up. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Gina shrugged. She could hardly say yes, didn’t know why she’d volunteered any information at all. She had always preferred to eat alone. People made comments about her food, and she hated it, but maybe she wouldn’t mind so very much if Peter joined her. He wasn’t quite as annoying as she used to think.

  As Gina heated her food—rice, seasoned with cardamom, cloves, cumin, and vegetables—Peter took off the packaging from a ready-made sandwich. She glanced at the plate spinning away in the microwave and wondered what Peter would say if she told him she had never bought takeaway coffee or a premade sandwich in her life. What did one of those cost anyway, with their glossy cheese slices and crisp salad leaves? Forty kronor? She could make several family meals for that.

  She took out her plate. The spicy scent filled the room, but Peter said nothing, just fetched water for them both. He put down the glasses. Went to get a cup of coffee.

  “How’s your father?”

  Gina couldn’t help it. Her suspicion was automatic.

  “What do you mean?”

  Peter picked up his coffee. He drank a lot of it, she had noticed. Maybe that was what affected his sleep. With that thought, she made the connection, recalled their earlier conversation. “Oh, you mean his sleeping? Up and down. It’s hard to say what the reason is, really.”

  She didn’t want to say any more than that. Didn’t want to tell Peter that her dad sometimes woke with a shout in the night—not as often as he used to, but still. She hadn’t told anyone how afraid she had been of those shouts when she was younger. How part of what held her tiny family together was the way each of them tried to prote
ct the others from their fears, sorrows, and worries. They had seen so much. Amir had only been two, but she and her father had experienced horrors they never talked about. It was hard to explain to an outsider.

  “Sleep is tricky,” Peter said, and Gina saw in his eyes something she had never expected: warmth.

  He picked at his sandwich but didn’t eat it. He was so much thinner these days. Was it because he didn’t eat? There were so many things that caused people to lose their appetites. Depression. Anxiety. Cancer.

  “What are you studying at the moment? In your course?”

  “The whole first year is about the Healthy Human.”

  “A whole year?”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot to know before you can start the next chunk. Illnesses.”

  He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and put it down. Wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Like what?”

  She smiled. “Chemistry and biology. All the Latin terms.”

  “You look so happy when you talk about medicine, I guess you really like it. I was terrible at school. When do you decide what to specialize in?” He picked up his sandwich again. Took a bite, chewed, put it down. She had always wanted to be able to eat like that, so controlled and well-bred; sometimes she practiced Swedish table manners when she was alone.

  “You only choose when you’re finished. You do an internship and have to get your license. It’s a long way off.”

  She put down the cutlery and took a sip of water. She could let her food digest for a bit, she decided. Could sit and talk with him for five minutes.

  “And you? Do you enjoy your work?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. It’s always been my dream to be a mediocre banker.”

  She laughed. He had nice eyes when he smiled.

  When she stood up, Peter did the same. She washed and dried her things. Wiped her hands on a towel as he rinsed out his coffee mug. He hadn’t eaten most of his sandwich, but if she had to say something in his defense, he didn’t throw it away, simply put it back in the packaging.

  “I need to go,” she said.

  “Are you free tomorrow? It’s a holiday.”

  “We don’t have any lectures. But they asked me to do a couple of hours here, so I’ll be in around lunch.”