by Davis Bunn
There were five pictures, four of them encircling one in the middle. Amanda knew Emily and Frank had four kids. She also knew what she was seeing.
“Her name was Rachel. She was my second baby.”
The child in the central photo was not right. Amanda had heard the words often enough. It was a tragic litany that anyone who worked in the baby ward was forced to endure from time to time. No amount of sonograms and prenatal testing could prepare either the patients or the doctors.
The baby’s face was improperly shaped. The eyes were dull, probably blind. Amanda found herself entering her nurse’s mode, seeing with nine years’ experience in infant care. She could name four life-threatening conditions on display in that photograph.
Emily traced one finger along the border of that little face. “She lived three days.”
“I’m so sorry, Emily.”
The older woman turned slowly, taking the time to stow away all the emotions, able to show Amanda a very real smile. “You are going to be just fine.”
Amanda felt her eyes flood with tears. “I’ve been so afraid to hope.”
“I know. All too well. But you will. It’s already happening. You’ve done far better with your year of grief than I did, let me tell you. The only way I survived was having a three-year-old who needed me. How you’ve managed with no child at all, well, all I can say is, I’ve seldom met a stronger lady.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What’s there to tell? That sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night and hear my husband crying in his sleep, and know he’s mourning a child who’s been in heaven for twenty- eight years? That sometimes I stand at my rear window and see this sweet child playing in the pool? You were doing fine. You needed one person who didn’t push you or console you or tell you a thing more than good morning. I’ve been praying for you for a year now, and my prayers have been answered.”
Amanda did not know what to say. She did not even trust herself to return Emily’s fierce embrace for fear of breaking down entirely.
“Enough of this,” Emily said, releasing her and wiping her eyes. “Go tell Chris. And start packing. We leave in eight days.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Chris did not even give Amanda a chance to finish. “I think you should go.”
Amanda felt in a slight daze. The entire day had been one great swirl of events, pushing her forward whether she wanted to or not. “Will you even let me tell you the rest?”
“I imagine we’ll be talking about this until you board the plane. But sure, go ahead. Tell me whatever you like.”
“So it’s all settled then?”
“This sounds like a perfect opportunity to me. I actually wondered if you should offer to go when Frank told me about his hip.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. Four, five days back. Is there any more of Emily’s stew?”
She carried Chris’s bowl back into the kitchen. “Did it even cross your mind to tell me about Frank?”
“Yes, Amanda. Of course it did.” He watched her deposit the second helping in front of him. “This is great.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Frank asked me to keep it quiet. The only reason he told me was I saw him limping and wincing while he cut his grass, and finished the yard for him.”
“Why do you suppose he didn’t want me to know?”
“He said he didn’t want a fuss at the hospital.”
“Well, he got one anyway. He’s still trapped at their not-so-surprise party.”
“He dreaded telling Emily. He figured they’d have an awful row. He was determined for her to go and equally set against going himself. He’ll be relieved to know you’re taking his place.” Chris pushed his plate to one side and breathed happily. “That’s it. One more bite and I’ll explode.”
“Then I suppose I’m really going,” Amanda said, and wondered at the sudden flutter of fear. It wasn’t the trip. She was honest enough to know that. It was the future. She’d spent a year focusing down tight as possible on just making it through each day. The idea of having something to actually look forward to left her feeling weightless.
Chris read her expression. “Aren’t you even a little bit excited?”
“Of course,” she replied quietly. “I’m thrilled.”
Eight days.
November and December were the finest months of Florida’s calendar. The weather was clear and cool and very dry. Amanda saw things she had spent a year ignoring. Flocks of birds were arriving from the north, bringing with them a rainbow of songs that filled the gardens and parks. The sweltering hurricane season was gone, and the tourist hordes had not yet arrived. People crooned their hellos. They had time for their neighbors and for a good laugh. The days were good, the sunsets magnificent. The parks were filled with families. Even the angriest dog lost its ability to growl.
Christmas was given a special welcome by Florida locals. Many imported traditions from other regions and countries. Families shared dishes and tales and rituals. Neighbors blocked off the streets with sawhorses, and block parties became raucous events. People involved in the tourist trade took a long friendly look at families and communities, because the high-season rush would begin the following weekend. For many this would be the last easy breath they drew until Easter.
The days leading up to their departure were both rushed and endless. Amanda regretted her decision and she could not wait to get away. One moment she was so excited she could not breathe, the next she lamented ever agreeing to this madness.
When she confessed as much to Emily, the older woman replied, “Oh, good. I thought I was the only one going crazy.”
Frank’s limp grew much worse, or so it seemed to Amanda. He did his best to hide any discomfort, clearly not wanting to trouble his wife. But twice Amanda heard a soft grunt as he pried himself out of a chair. When Emily was not around, he tended to swing with each step. Amanda realized he’d been hiding a great deal and told him as much four days before they departed. His only response was, “Don’t let on.”
At the hospital the new director’s arrival was delayed, and delayed again. Dr. Henri and the other two senior doctors served as interim administrators. Harriet checked in with Amanda every day. The afternoon before their departure, she called four times in the space of an hour. Finally Amanda complained, “If I were in the office you wouldn’t bother me with any of these things. If I’d even offered a suggestion you’d have bitten my head off.”
“All right,” Harriet relented. “This is positively the last time today.”
“For the next twelve days,” Amanda corrected. “You’re not to call me.”
“Don’t talk crazy.”
“I’m on vacation, Harriet.”
“But the sky might fall!”
“It won’t. And if it does, I’ll be too far away to do anything about it.” Amanda changed the subject. “Have you heard anything more about the new man?”
“Only that he’s a monster.”
“Oh, stop.”
“But a handsome monster. And he’s supposed to arrive the day after tomorrow. I’ll call you the instant he shows up.”
“Don’t. I’ll find out soon enough.”
“But—”
“Good-bye, Harriet. Be nice to the new guy.”
“Wait, wait. Dr. Henri wants a word. That’s actually why I called.”
Amanda sighed. “Put him on.”
The ER chief sounded impossibly cheerful. “I’ve spoken with Trevor.”
“Who?”
“Trevor Manning. Our new director.”
“Harriet says he’s supposed to be a monster.”
Dr. Henri’s laugh carried a rusty quality, as though it had remained disused for far too long. “He seems nice enough to me. A bit nervous, which is hardly a surprise. I understand we’re his first directorship.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I’ll let you know when you return. He phoned to as
k me my impressions of you.”
Amanda felt her pulse quicken. “What did you tell him?”
“That Moira Campbell would have not survived as long as she did without you. He apparently didn’t believe me, because he then called Dr. Frost.”
Dr. Frost was Amanda’s former boss, head of both the obgyn and maternity wards, an intensely intelligent and impatient man who lived up to his name. He still occasionally served as locum.
“And?”
“Dr. Frost said any hospital in the nation would be lucky to have you as senior nurse or admin chief. He also said the company should put you in as the new director.”
“He didn’t.”
“There’s more. Trevor called one of the other senior doctors who hadn’t heard you were going on leave. The poor man apparently panicked on the phone. He told Trevor to expect seismic tremors and catastrophic events. Then Trevor made the mistake of mentioning Moira’s comments. I’m wondering if Trevor’s delayed arrival is due to blisters of the auditory canal.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say.
Dr. Henri must have found humor in her silence for he went on, “I spoke with the poor man again this morning. I assured him we in the ER were trained to remain calm in the face of multiple crises. We would lurch on without you. But I couldn’t speak for the rest of the hospital.” His chuckle lurked just below the surface. “Have a wonderful trip, Amanda. And when you return, I have one bit of advice.”
“Yes?”
“Ask for a raise. A big one.”
“Is it too late to change my mind?” Chris asked.
They had decided they didn’t want to share their last night before her departure with anyone else. So Chris had stoked the grill with mesquite coals and slow-roasted quail he’d brought home from his last hunting trip with his brother. Amanda dressed the backyard table with a linen tablecloth and her best china. When the slow-motion Florida sunset finally gave way to dusk, she lit a dozen candles and formed a glowing island. The palms became sentinels protecting their haven, and from the oleander hedge a mockingbird sang the most plaintive tune Amanda had ever heard. She replied, “It is, and you know it.”
“I’ll starve.”
“You won’t. You cook better than I do.” She shifted her chair around so she could take hold of his hand. In the growing dusk, his face looked carved with eons of worry. “What’s the matter?”
He shifted in his seat. “I have a meeting scheduled with a new client. A Brazilian company, Campaeo, that’s moving into the area. I’m afraid it could be a disastrous connection for our group.”
Amanda stared at her husband. Chris was so strong, so self- reliant, it was unsettling to see him so worried. And he never talked about his work at home. It was one of the things she had often found irritating, at least before last December. Since then she had been grateful not to have anything else to deal with. She knew Avery Electronics was going through a very hard time. She knew they might go under. She also knew Chris would do his utmost to save them. “Why do they bother you?”
“They have a terrible reputation. I’ve checked.” He shifted again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Not the night before you leave. I apologize.”
Amanda found herself needing to make a confession of her own. She took a very hard breath and said, “I feel as though I’ve been asleep for a year.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” His eyes glittered in the dwindling light. “I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
“What on earth do you have to be sorry about?”
“I should have been there for you more than I was. You’ve been through so much.”
The sunset’s final remnants trembled and swam. “What about you, with everything you’ve had to go through at work.”
“I shouldn’t have let it bother me like I did.”
“You love your job. And the company.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“Of course it does. It’s not like I was the only one who lost the baby. We both did.”
“I know. But still.”
The mockingbird called again, silencing them both. Amanda felt as though she was struggling to bring her husband into focus. As though she had not truly looked at him for twelve long months. She saw the new lines of stress that the burdens of this past year had etched deep. He was a gentle soul, with a voice to match. But his was a tensile strength. He could bend, but he would not break.
Amanda wished she could speak what was on her heart, but a blanket of uncertainty stifled her. What if all she felt was merely a fleeting desire born of her coming departure? What if she returned to discover that the easy love they had once known was truly gone forever?
Finally Chris rose and said, “You need to get some sleep.”
Amanda followed her husband into the house. The unspoken words drifted in the night air, a lingering trace of conflicting emotions. I want to wake up again.
Later that night Amanda woke from a dream she could not remember. She felt gripped by a terrible fear. Cold, half-formed thoughts wrapped around her throat and threatened to cut off her air. She rose from the bed and silently padded from the room.
Chris’s words at sunset came back to her, along with the worry. He had seemed almost ancient as he spoke, a good man brought low by events beyond his control. With this fracture in the masculine wall he had built between work and home, she felt as though her world had tilted on its axis. The concern had unsettled even her dreams.
Her husband’s Bible was open on the kitchen table. Two mornings each week, Chris led a men’s study group at their church. He took the responsibility very seriously. She traced her finger along the text that was both highlighted and underlined. Her husband seemed very close to her then, as though he had risen from the bed to comfort her and read with her. She felt a swooping regret over leaving and flying off. Perhaps she should stay, call Emily first thing and . . .
A sudden memory flooded her, one she had not thought of in years. When she was seven, she had become caught in a riptide. She was an excellent swimmer and had heard the same lectures and warnings as every other Florida schoolchild. But nothing could have prepared her for the tide’s invisible strength. The current clutched her and swept her out to sea. One moment she had been ten feet from the beach, the next moment the people standing and pointing her way were tiny bits of color on the distant shore.
Even though she was terrified, Amanda remembered the lessons. She did not fight. She lay on her back and swam parallel to the shore, gradually drawing herself out of the current’s grip. She felt the instant the tide released her and she entered calmer waters. Soon as that happened, she turned so that she was now aimed back toward the shore. She remained on her back, because she knew if she turned over and looked to where her mother stood and shouted, she would panic. She’d start floundering just like the children in the film they had all been shown. So she remained on her back, doing as the instructors had said, swimming at a pace she could keep up for a long time. And she started singing to keep herself company. Over and over, one line from her favorite song, Jesus loves me this I know. It was a silly thing to do, singing the words while she paddled. But suddenly everything was just fine. And the calm stayed with her until the lifeguard arrived on his paddle- board and called her the bravest girl he’d ever met, and then said it again when they arrived back on the shore and her tear-streaked mother hugged her and Amanda finally gave in to the shakes.
That night she told her father that Jesus had met her in the water and stayed with her until the lifeguard came, so that she wouldn’t be alone or afraid. And her father had gotten tears in his eyes and he said that he was sure she was right.
Amanda closed the Bible and fingered its worn leather cover. Then she rose and went back to bed. She spooned up against her husband and shut her eyes. She knew the trip was a good thing. Important. How she knew this was less important than the sensation that her going was vital.
CHAPTER FIVE
An hour into the flight from Orlando to London, Amanda finally realized how exhausted the week’s events had left her. The flight attendant had delivered them little glasses of ice and Coke, and the cabin filled with the fragrances of their coming meal. Then she was out like a light.
When she opened her eyes, Amanda had no idea how long she had slept. The hands on her watch meant nothing. Her tray had been lowered, and a meal was there waiting for her. Emily must have decided Amanda would like the pasta. The sauce was congealed, but she was famished and ate it anyway. The shades were down on the windows. A few people read, while others watched the entertainment screens. The flickering images formed little beacons in the gloom and the rushing sound.
Most of the passengers around her were asleep. As was Emily beside her. Amanda knew her neighbor was sixty-three and had always considered her young for her age, but in repose the strains of life were very clear on her face. Amanda wondered at the course of events that had brought Emily to this place.
She lifted her tray, slipped from the chair, and took her meal back to the galley. She visited the washroom, then returned to her seat. The noise and the dark formed a cocoon around her chair. She felt disconnected from the world and everything that she had left behind. Even the events of the previous year were somehow removed, as though she had finally found a way to put them at arm’s length. The weight of regret was still with her, but lighter now.
Amanda pulled her small New Testament from her purse. She read, but was not held by the verses. She prayed, but the words formed a soft rush, like water passing through a stream that had neither beginning nor end. She shut her eyes and reveled in freedom at forty thousand feet. For the first time she found herself growing genuinely excited over what lay ahead, the ancient lands and the far dawn.