“My leader appreciates your effort to allow our voices to be heard,” he says, his voice thick with a foreboding that might intimidate a weaker man.
“You did as I asked?” I don’t need his thanks. I just need his word.
His face is shadowed by the darkness, only certain features illuminated by the light of the moon. But I catch the movement as he nods toward the SUV he pulled up in, then lifts a hand, motioning to the driver. Or another passenger. I have no idea how many people are in there. And the lack of that knowledge doesn’t distract me one bit. A rear door opens, and David climbs out of the vehicle. I exhale a sigh of relief that he’s able to walk on his own. I’ve seen what these types of people can do when they’re backed into a corner, and it’s a hell of a lot worse than a black eye. As much as I want to meet David halfway, to let him rest his tired weight on my shoulders and help him get to my truck, I stand my ground.
He limps, the gravel driveway dragging and spitting up a cloud of dust as he pulls his ankle with every step. The tall man doesn’t offer him any help as he passes. The driver never turns on his headlights to light the way for him. And with each scrape of the rocks, my anger builds. He finally reaches my tailgate, and his body collapses against the combination of steel and glass. The tall man turns to go back to his SUV.
“Don’t move,” I tell David. Not that I thought he would even be able to at this point. The man can barely see, faintly breathe, hardly walk. I think of Grace. And how she would react to seeing him like this. How desperate she’d be to help him. How much it would pain her to see him so broken. And I know she’d want to fix him. I know she will want to fix him the moment she sees him. But I can’t ask her to do that. I won’t ask her to do that. As a matter of fact, I will do everything in my power to make sure she doesn’t see him. So, she won’t have to hurt for him. So, she won’t have to see what I see, feel what I feel.
Am I even going to see her again? Can I walk back into that world?
The loud slam of a car door clears my thoughts, bringing me back to the here and now. I have to finish what I came here for. With no headlights to alert them of my closeness, I approach the driver’s side door and give the window a light tap. The faint sound of a motor breaks the silence as the window lowers, revealing a set of bright green eyes peering out at me. I check the backseat for a third passenger, relieved when I find it empty.
In all of ten seconds, I reach through the open window with one hand, crushing his throat then chopping the side of his neck, rendering him helpless and out of breath. With my other hand, I grab the gun from my waist and point it at the tall guy, forcing him helpless.
“My turn to send a message.”
***
I left the men who took David kneeling on the steps of the old church. Since they seemed to be so fond of quoting the Bible, I thought they’d appreciate properly asking God for forgiveness. And I just happen to be the right guy to arrange that meeting. With their hands tied behind their backs and their heads bowed, I gave them thirty seconds to make their pleas to a higher power before I put a bullet in the back of their skulls.
To some, what I do may seem barbaric. But those men weren’t going to stop at David. They have a message they want to send. So, if taking two lives saves ten, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Can I call my wife?” David asks, his arm draped over my shoulders as I carry him to his room when we get back to the lodge. He didn’t speak a word the whole ride here. He just rested his head against the back of the leather seat and sobbed. I don’t want to even imagine the horror he’s lived through for the past three weeks, the things he’s seen, the things they did. His jeans are ripped at the knees where dried blood covers broken flesh full of tiny fragments of asphalt and dirt. The tips of his fingers are bloody and bruised like he’d been trying to force a way out of a box… or through a door… that wasn’t meant to be opened. And his ankle is swollen and discolored, and he groans the moment he puts any weight on it.
“Of course. As soon as we get you cleaned up.” I reach into my back pocket for the room key and swipe it across the black magnetic pad on the door. I turn the knob, and my shoulder nudges the heavy door open as I pull him into the dark room. He tenses under my grip, so I hurry and flick the switch, filling the room with the soft light of two floor lamps.
“No,” he says, immediately. “Now. I need to hear her voice.”
As if he’s been poisoned and her voice is the anti-venom, there’s a desperation in his tone. I lead him to the bed and guide him down gently. “Okay. Call first. Shower later.” I take my cell phone from my coat pocket and scroll my recents until I find her number. It’s fourth on the list. And that was two days ago. Right after my meeting, when I knew one way or another I’d get her husband back.
I open the curtains and look out into the courtyard, giving them as much privacy as possible right now. I’m not leaving him alone until I know he’s not seriously wounded and that the wounds he does have are properly cleaned and treated. Across the pool, past full green leaves and colorful wildflowers, through the open curtains of a sliding glass door, long dark hair falls down the back of a curvy silhouette. She walks across the room, her plaid pajamas hanging loosely over her frame, and clicks off the lamp. I wonder if she sees me when she comes back to close the curtains. If she feels me watching.
Do I want her to see me? I should just let it go. I should just let her go.
I think about the darkness. I remember how Fiona felt when I had to leave her for weeks at a time. And I remember the pain in David’s wife’s voice every time she would call for an update. And I know I would never put anyone through that. I would never bring anyone into this world.
Then I look at David as he talks to his wife, tears falling from his good eye. His voice shakes with delight as her sweet voice reminds him of what kept him fighting to be free. And I wonder what it must be like to have someone. Someone you can’t wait another single second to talk to. Someone to bring you light when you’ve spent so much time in that darkness. Someone worth fighting for.
***
I tell myself I’m on the N2 driving through the city because I need medical supplies for David. That I’m on my way to the hospital to make a donation. That seeing the conditions of so many underprivileged people made me realize that while I can’t be like Grace and throw on a stethoscope and a white coat, I can make a contribution. I can help them purchase the things they need. Every little bit helps, right? That’s what I tell myself.
But the truth is, I want to see her. I’m not going to explain my reaction to her connection to my past. That’s not something she needs to know. It doesn’t even matter. But I do need to apologize for being an ass when she did nothing to deserve it.
Dawie greets me with a smile as soon as I walk through the door, making me feel like an old friend who belongs here.
“Ready to help again so soon?”
I glance down at my navy-blue tie and dress pants then back at him. “Something like that, yes.”
“You’ll actually have to fill out the form this time,” he says with a laugh that reflects in his bright brown eyes.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a donation.”
He notes my appearance, and his smile grows. “Well, that’s above my pay grade. But I can direct you to the right woman.”
That’s why I’m here.
He makes a call from the phone behind a nearby desk while I process the solemnness of the waiting room. Mothers with crying infants. Children with pale skin and sunken cheeks from undernourishment. Elderly men and women with uncontrollable shaking or coughs. And I realize that I spent the night thinking I had to protect Grace from the things I see, to hide the true face of the world from her. But she faces it every single day. Head on. With a smile. And a determination to make it better. The darkness hasn’t claimed her. It motivates her.
“We’re really going to miss your friend,” Dawie says, as he places the phone back on the charging dock. “The doctor you assisted
the other day.”
“Miss her?” What’s he talking about? What happened to Grace?
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” I feel the heat rising in my bloodstream at the thought of someone hurting her.
“She left this morning. Went back home. I’m sorry. I assumed you were close. I thought you knew.”
My temperature cools. She’s not hurt. Thank fuck. But she is gone. Without as much as a goodbye. Not that I deserved one after last night. It’s not like I gave her a chance to tell me she was leaving. My quest to save David is over. Johan is healing fine. The Ambassador has finally decided to do something about the unrest. Time is finally on my side. And the one woman I wanted to spend it with is gone with no promise that I’ll ever see her again.
Chapter Fourteen
Grace
At least I have the twenty-three-hour flight home to catch up on the sleep I didn’t get last night.
My body spent all night feeling the tremoring aftershocks of our dinner date. While my mind spun circles around what could have happened to suddenly turn Deacon so cold. Then my heart reminded me that it’s best if I just forget about all of the above.
Ebrahim is parked in front of the lodge at 5 a.m. sharp, just like he said he would be when I called him last night. Between his smile and his chipper demeanor, I forget the sadness of leaving a place that’s felt more like home than California over the past week. Even with the crazy machete flashing madmen and the lack of resources at the hospital. Even though Deacon left last night without a word. Something about this place pulls at me, draws me in. I feel needed, but not in the same way I’m needed at home. I feel like I’m making a difference. At the Gateway, I feel appreciated, valued, and indispensable.
The soft aroma of jasmine and sage fills the cab, jarring me awake the way a fresh cup of coffee normally would. Through the window, I watch as the sun slowly begins to rise, covering the sky with a blanket of warm amber glow. The roads are deserted except for the early morning street sweepers and a few factory workers.
“Do you need to stop by the hospital on the way out, Miss?”
Do I? I said my goodbyes to the staff yesterday after my shift. But I can’t ignore the pull in the pit of my stomach drawing me back there. Without me, there will be three doctors on call today, with at least two of them going on pulling eighty hours this week alone. The waiting area will be overrun with patients soon. I check the time on my phone. My flight leaves in two hours. If I stop at the hospital, I’ll be tempted to help out. And as much as I know they could use it, my father needs me home. My sister needs me home. Lucas needs me home. I made my choice. This was supposed to be one week. Help people. Show them someone cares. Make a difference. See new things. Then back to normal.
Normal. I don’t even know what that is anymore.
“No. Just straight to the airport, please.”
***
I’ve been back home almost a week, and already I miss the laid back, modern charm of the Greenleaf Lodge, the warm smile of Ebrahim, and the heat of dark blue eyes burning into mine. I texted Dr. Stephenson the day after I got back to check on the patient Deacon helped to restrain. She let me know they had to send her home because they needed the bed. I wish I’d had more time with her, to help figure out what’s wrong.
I thought about calling the lodge to talk to Deacon. I even dialed the number at least three times over the last few days but never found the courage to hit the green circle. After the way I left, he probably wouldn’t want to talk to me anyway.
My father is a stubborn man. After the third massive heart attack, his cardiologist politely and professionally informed us he wouldn’t survive a fourth. His heart just couldn’t take any more. There was too much damage. We left the hospital with yet another stent in yet another artery, and my father continued to run his company another whole year from the office inside the four walls of his home. I threw a fit, and he reasoned that technically he wasn’t going to work. Leave it to John Matthews to tune out bad news and do what he damn well pleases. He didn’t listen when they told him he had COPD. Stop smoking, they said. He laughed all the way to the cigar bar. Now he lies in bed with a machine on his nightstand to help him breathe when he can’t do it on his own. I worried about him the whole time I was away. And now here I sit, another night in an uncomfortable chair I’ve become all too familiar with, watching him sleep, praying he wakes up.
***
“So? Tell me all about South Africa,” Karen McCallister squeaks, meeting me at the coffee pot in the cafeteria.
“It’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to experiencing what it’s like to practice in a war zone.” I dump three packets of sugar into the Styrofoam cup then stir. “But it’s also the best I’ve felt in a long time. The people were so grateful for something as simple as a few stitches. No entitlement. Just thankful. The lodge I stayed at was cozy with just enough modern to feel like home. And it felt so good to just… sleep.” The moment I say the words, the guilt falls to the bottom of my stomach like dead weight. I don’t regret a single second of sleep I miss by taking care of my dad. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. But it was nice to let it all go. Even if it was temporary. I don’t mention Deacon. There’s no need. He’s exactly what I needed him to be. A memory.
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
Will I ever go back? Would I ever even have the chance? I can’t expect Deirdre Drazen to support a return trip. And it’s definitely not something I can afford on my own. It was a one-time thing, a learning experience. Something that will stay with me forever.
“It’s something everyone should do. Once.”
What I mean to say is that I would love to go back. I’d book my flight tomorrow if I had the chance. But I have too many obligations to make that decision.
“How’s your sister?”
Speaking of obligations. I haven’t seen Natalie since I’ve been back. I called twice, but she declined both times. As much as it hurts to see a relationship that used to be so close fall apart at the seams, I’d rather have her decline my calls than not be able to call her at all.
“I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me since before the night I brought her in.”
Karen reaches across the table for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Grace. You just have to trust that one day she’ll realize you’re only trying to help.”
Deacon’s words come back to me. “Not everyone wants to be helped.”
But she’s my sister. And whether she wants it or not, I can’t just leave her alone.
I tell Karen about the burning woman, and she has the same thoughts I did. Nerve pain, diabetic neuropathy, maybe. But with limited time and resources, she’ll probably never find out for sure.
“I know you want to be here. And this is your home. But it seems like South Africa stole a little piece of your heart while it had you.”
I think it was more than Cape Town that stole my heart. I take the last sip of my coffee before heading back to NICU. I think about the woman, Deacon’s eyes, and little boys with no shoes. Sheer window panels blowing in the warm night breeze and welcoming courtyards. Ferris wheels on the harbor… and sushi. My stomach flutters as my body remembers my last night there.
“Yeah. I suppose it did.”
***
Three hours and twenty-three red lights later, I toss my keys onto the table in the foyer and kick off my shoes. “How is he?”
Renee, my dad’s home health nurse, finishes rinsing out her glass, placing it upside down on a dish towel, then rakes her fingers through her long blonde hair. “It’s been a rough day.”
Renee is tough. She’s been with my father for over a year, and she’s seen some bad days. She’s suctioned his mucus and massaged his swollen legs. She didn’t panic the day his lips turned blue, and he forgot where he was. So, for her to say it was rough, means she was probably about five minutes away from speed-dialing the hospital and calling me home.
“Thank you, Renee. Go hom
e. Get some rest.”
“I can stay if you need to sleep.”
She’s always worried about me and my sleep. She offers to stay every time. And every time, I send her home. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough.”
“He’s lucky to have you, ya know. So many of my patients are all alone.”
My whole life, my father sacrificed, he provided, he did whatever it took to take care of me, my sister, and my mom. Taking care of him now is the least I can do to repay him. “I’m the lucky one. But, thank you.”
She pulls her ponytail tight and grabs her bag from the seat of a dining chair. “See you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
“Oh. I almost forgot,” she says, stopping just before she reaches the front door. “A package came for you today. I put it on the kitchen counter.”
A package? I don’t remember ordering anything, and it’s nowhere near my birthday. The large brown envelope is postmarked South Africa. Maybe I forgot something at the lodge?
I grab a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer, running the sharp edge along the sealed flap on the back side. A frame. With a black and white photo inside. A woman. Her fingers are wrapped in her long dark hair as she pulls it up and tilts her head to one side, revealing the slender curve of her neck. The bottom of her round behind peeks out from a t-shirt and lacy panties, leading to a pair of lean thighs, parted just enough to see the crease in the fabric between them. Sheer curtains wisp across the bottom of the photo as the photographer watches through the eye of his lens as she stands in front of her bed. It’s positively sensual in its simplicity. The way she’s standing, allowing herself to be seen like she knows he’s watching, and she’s waiting for his touch. It’s sexy. It’s seductive. It’s breathtaking.
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