In This Life
Copyright © 2016 by Christine Brae
Cover Design by Lindsay Sparkes
Editing by Jim Thomas
Interior design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
All rights reserved.
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART II
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PART III
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PART IV
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ALSO BY CHRISTINE BRAE
Through all the joys I’ve had
And all the tears I’ve shed
I wish that you could see
You never left me.
“But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!”
—Robert Burns
“ONE FOR ME, please, Miss.” The smiling boy reached out his bony arms before me. I resisted the urge to squeeze liquid sanitizer into his hands before dipping the ladle into the steaming cauldron and filling his filthy cup. It had been a long day, doling out watered down chicken noodle soup in the makeshift shelter supported by flimsy poles set into the sand. One of three white tents for food, medicine and emergency medical care.
“They need their daily dose of grace,” I muttered, convinced of my purpose for being there.
It was a typical day in Thailand, five days since I arrived on this medical mission—a choice I made rather impulsively. I traveled here from New York with a group of idealistic twenty-somethings, ready to help the less fortunate. There were seven of us, mostly med students from different parts of the world.
Ban Nam Khem, a serene fishing village located on the coast of the Andaman Sea, featured beautiful sandy beaches, crystal clear water, and a host of natural rock formations. We were there to serve at the orphanage for children affected by the tidal wave last year.
Mud and remnant debris were still evident in some places, but if you walked down the stretch of sand far enough, you were met by unexpected bursts of paradise. The stench of sweaty bodies, some close to death, pressed together in the hot, humid air, filled my nostrils despite the endless backdrop of sea and shore. This paradise, this place of beauty, was also filled with sadness and need. Everyone here was in need of something—food, shelter, hope.
For me, hope was a cold drink and a long bath, although I would have settled for a cool breeze—something to dry the sweat trickling onto the sides of my face, and to unglue my hair from the back of my neck. Or anything to drown out the taste of salt from the soppy surgical mask stuck to my skin. My movements were restricted by a thick layer of sunblock, greased fingertips and mud-caked sneakers.
As if in a fog with no chances of ever lifting, I watched people move around sluggishly. No one seemed to be in any hurry, and I was sure that the weather had much to do with the slow pace of life. Maybe it was the fear of expending too much energy. Or maybe it was the acceptance of a situation so dire, you did what you did in the course of a day knowing full well that change was unlikely.
The smiling faces that greeted me each day were nothing short of amazing. The fact that they could live in squalor and still consider themselves blessed was a gift and an inspiration, making the days go quicker and the tasks easier to carry out.
It was early evening by the time I made my way along the winding gravel path that led to our dwelling. The house was one of the few made of stone, a sprawling white bungalow with arched windows and a raised terracotta roof. It stood out a bit like an eyesore, a solid concrete structure surrounded by bamboo huts.
Our host for the mission was a businessman who built this home in the middle of nowhere. It must have been a good investment then—who would imagine that this happy little corner of the world would one day become swallowed up by the sea? The aftermath of that disaster captured global attention and exposed this small town to an outpouring of goodness from the Western world.
I entered the house before the others got back. The smell of bacon wafted through the hall as I made my way past the sparsely decorated living room. The afternoon sun shone dimly through the tall windows, reflecting rust-colored tiles against the yellow walls.
“Hey, Spark. A bunch of us are hanging out by the beach tonight. Are you coming?” My friend and partner-in-crime, Dante Leola, called out from the kitchen. He began calling me Spark years ago, because I was always on fire. Would you rather I call you Ants in Your Pants Anna, or Spark? Dante said that I did everything with fearless passion. Somehow I managed to convince him to travel here with me on a whim. I packed up and left, and he came running right behind. We need this break before we turn into adults, I told him. When else will we get to take three weeks off once you’re in business school and I’m in med school?
Dante walked towards the sink with a frying pan in his hand. There were neatly arranged strips of bacon on a square plate by the stove. He picked up a few pieces and shoved them hungrily into his mouth. “You could’ve eaten straight from the pan,” I said with a laugh.
“Yeah, I could have.” Typical answer from someone who took no shortcuts.
“Who’s going?” I asked, while proceeding directly to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. I had yet to interact with the rest of the group, having spoken briefly to them when we arrived at the airport.
“The usual. That French dude, the English guy, and those two Russian chicks.” The rush of the water drowned out the sound of his voice. I watched while he rinsed the pan and laid it face down on a kitchen towel that was spread out across the marble counter. Th
e space embodied a contemporary feel, with grey and white stone structures contrasted by wooden cabinets and solid oak barstools. It was the most updated area of the house. “Ah. The ones you hooked up with the other night,” I teased.
He winked at me while drying his hands before strutting to his bedroom. He was a beautiful man, with dark brown hair cut close to his head, deep-set green eyes that smiled wider than his mouth. They were framed by dense eyelashes and lighter brows that wiggled when he stressed a point. His nose was perfect for his face, a little crooked but angled just right. His thin, pouty lips were in perfect harmony with that sexy five o’clock shadow. He carried himself with so much confidence: pushy, organized and methodical. But he had such a joie de vivre and did everything with vigor. Dante loved to work out, and it showed. His arms, his chest, his abs—everything about him was sculpted to perfection. Just like the way he lived his life.
In the middle of the house was a patio filled with colorful orchids and tropical plants. As I cut across the indoor garden, winding my way through the U-shaped corridor towards my room, I called to him. “How much time do I have? I was hoping to at least wash up and catch a quick nap.”
He stuck his head out of the door as I walked past it. “Few minutes, Spark. Get on it.”
I pushed his finger away from my face. “Chill! I’ll be right there.”
He huffed impatiently as he followed right behind, gently directing me towards my bedroom with both hands firm on my shoulders. “This from the girl who showed up an hour late to her own graduation party?”
I dug my heels in to protest his attempts to push me along. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” I turned towards the dresser and struggled to pull open the top drawer, which had been jammed to the hilt with clothing.
And then it hit me. My life was perfect then. Those were the easy days, before my life spiraled out of control. Dante noticed the sudden twitch of my head and quietly reached for my hand as I began nervously ruffling through my things.
“Spark, are you okay? Did I say something?”
“Of course not,” I responded shakily. I’m here to forget. Don’t let me lose sight of that.
“Have you spoken to her since we arrived?” he asked quietly.
“Nope.” I answered, my voice breaking.
“You know you’re going to have to do it eventually, right?”
“I texted. That’s enough for now.” I yanked out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and threw them on the bed. “Give me fifteen minutes and I promise I won’t be late.”
WE SAT ON the powdery sand as the sun was setting, lulled by the sound of crackling wood from a bonfire by the shore. I reached out to take a joint from Delmar Davignon, the guy from France. His weed was strong. I felt lightheaded and frisky. Sexy. Ready to forget.
“Do you like it, Anna?” he asked. His accent alone was an aphrodisiac. Long and drawn out, with a focus on his vowels and an exaggerated take on consonants.
“Good stuff,” I said, putting it to my lips for a third time.
“Zut alors, sexy girl, I am wishing my dick was that joint right now.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” I laughed, unfazed. I had never been one to shy away from overt advances.
Out of the blue, Dante muttered under his breath, “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t.”
I scooted my body over, away from Delmar and closer to Dante in attempt to conduct this upcoming argument in private. “What?” I asked, without masking my irritation. “He doesn’t what?”
“Say that to all the girls,” he answered through lips pressed tight. “Come on, Spark. Don’t be naïve.” Yes, I remember. You’ve told me that countless times. The dangerous red hair and blue green eyes. Contrasted with the pale angelic skin, it was beguiling to some. This was just a routine exchange between two old friends. Everything about this was normal, even the way his eyes lingered on my face long enough for me to feel his tacit affection.
“Don’t worry, once he finds out how crazy I am, he’ll be running in the other direction,” I laughed.
“You’re a walking contradiction. For some reason, dudes are into that kind of thing,” he teased. He was just looking out for me, so I decided to let it go. I tapped my hand over his before pulling away and moving back towards Delmar. I was lost in the sound of the crashing waves. Every time they rolled in towards the shore, I felt the ground shift underneath my feet.
Nothing about this place was recognizable. The warm air, the tall palm trees and discarded coconut husks, and the silvery crabs slithering in and out with the tide reminded me that I was far away from home. I began to imagine the different scenarios that would have brought these people to the mission—who they were and what they had left behind. Paulina, one of the Russian twins, was tracing the outline of the King Kong tattoo on Dante’s arm. He chuckled as she whispered something funny in his ear. Kingston Preston, that guy from England, was in deep conversation with the other Russian girl, Milena. I tried to listen as they rattled on about nothing. Shallow conversation—I was bored to tears.
“American girl. Would you like a beer?” Kingston said as he stood up to walk towards the cooler. He was tall and lanky, his dishwater blond hair swept neatly over his sunburned face. His teeth weren’t bad. Next to the cooler was a bag filled with sports equipment—a volleyball, badminton rackets, Frisbees and a soccer ball. It didn’t seem like anyone wanted to get physically active that night. At least not in that sense.
I grinned at Dante just as he caught my eye, and he flashed me a smile back. “The lady doesn’t drink beer,” he said with authority. “It’s a good thing I brought her my stash for the trip.” He pulled out a bottle of red wine from his backpack and offered it to me.
The wine was full-bodied and dry, just the way I liked it. With an empty stomach, and some strong pot, I was feeling quite content.
Delmar leaned in, brushed his lips behind my ear, and continued to tell me what he thought we should be doing instead of sitting around the fire. I let out a whoop of laugher. This guy was pretty cute. Though not my type with the blond hair and blue eyes, the fitted jeans and pretty Hermés belt.
Dante moved away from Paulina to listen in on our conversation. His eyes darted back and forth as he observed our ongoing flirtation.
“Anna!” he finally interrupted.
“What?” I asked, offering him a swig of the wine, which he completely ignored.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He stood up and tipped his head towards the shore, signaling for me to follow him. I struggled to gain my balance, leaving the group by the bonfire. The farther we walked, the darker it got. Teeny tiny sparks of light shot up from the burning wood onto the open sky. The birth of the stars.
“What’s up?” I asked, swaying and trying desperately to focus on his face. We stood in the shadowy darkness, the rumble of the waves more distinct as they washed up along the shore.
“I think you’ve had enough,” he scolded, both hands on his waist.
“Enough what? Jesus, Tey, it’s a weekend. I’m just trying to relax a little bit. You know how difficult that past month has been.”
He smiled in resignation. “Spark, you’re here to take a break from that shitstorm we left back home. That’s why we came all the way here. Don’t complicate it by doing things out of spite that you might regret. Remember, we’re leaving in a couple of weeks and going back to life at home.”
“Okay, boss,” I said with a tinge of sarcasm.
“You also survived four years of college without a single hangover. Don’t start now,” he cautioned, eyes still tight and squinted.
“Dude! Relax. I’m just having fun. I wo—”
The buzzing sound rudely interrupted my oncoming tirade. I slipped the phone out of my jeans pocket and glanced at the screen “I have to take this. It’s my dad,” I said, walking away from him in the opposite direction.
“Spark.” He took a step towards me, hesitated and then slowly turned around.
“Annie, I tried to call you earlier.” I could hardly hear him over the waves.
“Oh, I must have still been outside with the kids. Dad, why is your voice so muffled? Are you all right?”
“Anna. Your mom collapsed at work yesterday from a severe headache. Aneurysms, they said. Close to bursting. She’s going in to surgery and has been calling, asking for you, frantically trying to reach you. You need to call her, please. Come home and make it right with her.”
I felt ill all of a sudden, my heart plummeting down to my feet, but maintained my composure, closing my eyes and willing my mouth to stay shut while a barrage of thoughts flooded my mind. Think, Anna, think. There haven’t been any previous diagnoses. She’s been healthy until now. If found early, they could relieve the pressure and prevent any kind of rupture. Right. Yes, they can certainly nip it in the bud.
I couldn’t give in to worry. Giving in would defeat the purpose of being here. I’d be home in two weeks, and then we could get this all sorted out.
“Annie? Are you there?”
I opened my eyes and looked far out into the water. “I’m here. I’m sorry to hear that, Dad.”
“I think you have to cut your trip short and fly back. We need to figure things out, as a family. Whatever your feelings are about her, about what happened—let’s work it out together.”
“No.” I choked out that one lousy syllable. Yes to my studies. Yes to my future. Yes to my priorities. Today was a good day to say “no.”
“No? Annie, she’s your mother. She doesn’t deserve such hatred.”
“I don’t believe her, Dad. She’s a liar and a drama queen. She’s done this to us—to you, numerous times. Played on our emotions to justify her actions. How do you know she’s not just doing this to get you back?”
“She’s sick. I’ve spoken to the doctors. She’s in the hospital, and I don’t know when she’ll be getting out.”
“People with aneurysms live a long time. She should get better.” She was heartless and cold when she left us. I am her daughter after all.
In This Life Page 1