“She’s fine. I think she’s getting a coffee. She’s been here the whole time, bossing the nurses and doctors around.”
“And what about Htet’s brother-in-law?” I couldn’t remember his name in that moment. Why couldn’t I remember his name?
Derek kept his voice low. “He’s in jail, Kate.”
“For the knife?”
“That didn’t help. But, no. The bloke was drunk when that other car hit us. His headlights were off. He drove into the other lane. He’s damn lucky no one was seriously injured. You got the worst of it. The window shattered when you hit your head. You have a concussion. They think it’s just a concussion. There’s no MRI machine here. We should get you to a place where you can be properly checked. Your left wrist is broken from trying to brace against the impact. They don’t think it’s a bad break. It should heal pretty quickly.”
“How long will Htet’s brother-in-law be in jail?” It scared me that I still couldn’t call up his name. “Why do the police want to talk to me?”
It suddenly dawned on me that I’d come into a foreign country to question a man about the whereabouts of a refugee I knew very little about. My disappointment at Karl not being there turned quickly to relief. The last thing I wanted was my husband to know how careless I’d been. I stared above me. A brown water stain formed a Rorschach blot on the popcorn ceiling.
“Don’t worry, Kate. None of us are in trouble. They probably want to make sure you’re not going to press charges. Americans love lawsuits. You sue McDonald’s when your coffee isn’t the perfect temperature,” he tried to joke. “Close your eyes and get a little more rest and I’ll go out to find Naw. She talked to the cop more than I did. They won’t bother you if they think you’re asleep.”
I needed to know more, but sleep sounded delicious and inevitable.
“Just a few minutes,” I whispered, my eyes already closed. “Just a few minutes.”
• • •
The next time I woke, Naw was snoring gently in the chair next to my bed. She wore a dark teal velvet embroidered top that reminded me of my grandmother’s couch back home in Wisconsin. I swiveled my head to the other side of the bed expecting Derek and released a cry of fear.
I stared directly into Nanda’s intense black eyes. He was close enough to the bed that he could reach over and grab me, that he could finish what he’d started in the car.
“Help,” I rasped. I struggled to sit up. The room was too small. I was too injured. I couldn’t escape.
Naw startled awake. The man who tried to kill us continued to sit there, looking intently at me. My brain flashed back to the memory of the smoldering tip of his cigar, the glint of the knife.
“Kate, Kate . . . you are OK. You are OK.” Naw’s hands were on my shoulders, trying to press me back into the mattress. Nanda’s eyes softened and he looked almost frightened.
“Kate, this is Naing. This is Naing. This is Htet’s husband.”
When I gasped for air a sharp pain assaulted my ribs, like something was broken. Naing? She said it again and then again. The insistent monitor beeped to remind me to try to stay calm. “You’re alive?” As I looked at him again I noticed that his features were softer than his brother’s. His hair was shorter. His clothes were worn but neat. Naw spoke to him in Burmese. Whatever she said made him smile and when he smiled he looked nothing like his brother.
“His English isn’t so good,” Naw explained. “But he wants to talk to you. He wants to hear about Htet and his girls.”
“Where has he been?” I tried to focus on Naing and Naw at the same time so as not to cut him out of the conversation.
“He’s been here,” Naw said. She placed a hand on my good arm and gave it a strong squeeze. “He’s been driving a taxi, same as his brother, and selling roasted nuts to tourists on the side of the road.”
“But why hasn’t he responded to any of Htet’s letters? She thinks he’s dead.”
Naw spoke again in Burmese, her words getting faster, her hands gesticulating wildly, hugging her arms around her body at one point and rocking softly from side to side, perhaps to imitate an intimate hug. Naing hung his head and wept. Naw pulled him toward her and pushed his face into her massive breasts in an embrace. They stayed like that for a few minutes.
When she finally turned to me both their eyes were wet with tears.
“His brother never gave him any of Htet’s letters. He didn’t know how to get in touch with her. He knew he needed money if he wanted to go find her. He has been working and saving and paying his brother money for rent. His brother didn’t want to give it up so he hid the letters from him and said he never heard from Htet.”
“Does she know?” I was yelling. “Does she know now?”
Naw shook her head. “Not yet. Derek hasn’t gotten through to Mia yet. But Naing is scared. He is ashamed. He is ashamed he didn’t do more to find them. He is ashamed he gave up hope. He is worried she will not want him.”
“No,” I yelled. “No. That’s not it at all. She wants you. She needs you.” It wasn’t lost on me that I felt the exact same way. I’d been gone too long. Too much time had passed. My family didn’t want or need me anymore. But then I thought about Htet and how desperate she was just to have all of them together again, how it was slowly destroying her to have him gone. “You need to go home. Will you go home?”
Naw translated for me. I saw Naing’s expression change. A flicker of something, maybe hope, crossed his eyes. I couldn’t believe it—it was the happiest of endings. We found him. Naing was alive; Htet would get to reunite with the husband she worried she would never see again.
I collapsed back on the bed, exhausted and in pain, but it was all worth it to imagine Htet’s reaction, how happy she would be to learn her prayers had been answered.
I finally felt like my time here had been worth it.
• • •
“Katharine?” A heavily accented voice said my name.
“Yes,” I said without opening my eyes.
“I am Dr. Duwa. I want to speak to you about your condition.”
“My wrist is broken,” I said. “They told me. When can I go home?”
“Your wrist is broken. And two of your ribs are cracked. You also have a concussion, and I am concerned you could have some internal bleeding, but we do not have the resources to check. I would like to recommend that you be sent to a bigger hospital that can give you an MRI.” His English was impeccable.
“I can do that back in New York. I am going home to New York.” I opened my eyes. Dr. Duwa was a short, thin man with a small head, a wide nose, thick gray hair, and Coke-bottle eyeglasses. He wore a starched white doctor’s coat and pants that were just an inch too long for his legs. His stethoscope was slung around his neck like a scarf. He looked down at a clipboard in his hands.
I continued. “If you can give me my chart and the results of any tests you’ve taken here I’ll check into a hospital as soon as I get home,” I said. “Where’s my purse? Did someone get my purse out of the car? I have my insurance card. Let me give you my insurance card.”
“Katharine.” The doctor paused after each of the syllables in my name in a way that let me know he was about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. “A nineteen-hour plane ride is not a good idea for you in your condition. I am worried about possible swelling in your brain. That swelling could be made worse by a prolonged change in pressure.”
My heart raced and my stomach lurched.
“I have to go home.” Panic crept into my voice.
The doctor shook his head and scratched his left eye with a long bony finger. “Perhaps if it were a shorter flight or if you could go directly. I am most concerned about the takeoff and the landings. From here to New York there would be at least two, maybe three flights. And one of them would be long, almost twenty hours. I cannot tell you what to do. I hope maybe you will listen to your husband. I have been talking to him.”
How could this doctor have gotten in touch with my hu
sband when Derek couldn’t? “No! You talked to my husband? You talked to Karl?”
Confusion crossed the doctor’s face. “I talked to Dirk.” He looked out into the hallway, and I knew he meant Derek.
“Derek isn’t my husband.” My voice rose by several octaves and I realized I sounded like a madwoman. “My husband is Karl.”
He cleared his throat. “I talked to the man who is with you. I am not saying there is no risk, but there is much less of a risk with a single, shorter flight. He said that he could take you to Darwin, Australia. You can drive to the airport from here and take one plane. There is a good hospital there, a modern hospital with excellent doctors. They can check you. It is still not ideal, but it would be better. Less risk.”
Now that I’d had the chance to see the room, I could tell that it was more of a clinic than a proper hospital. He was right. I couldn’t stay here. I could see Derek just outside the door, his expression sheepish, like a hound dog caught chewing his master’s shoe.
My head ached beneath the bandage. Whatever pain pills they’d given me had worn off. I thanked the doctor. It was useless to argue with him. I caught Derek’s eye and gave him a pleasant smile I hoped would soothe his nerves and persuade him to help me make a plan that would get me back to New York.
“Come back in,” I called out.
The doctor, clearly still confused about my relationship with this much younger man, averted his eyes in disapproval but quietly left to give us privacy.
Derek spoke quickly, nervously. He kneaded my sheet with his hands, arching and flexing his knuckles. The sound of them cracking was surprisingly more pleasant than the indignant beep of the monitors. “I had to say I was your husband, Kate,” Derek explained in a rapid staccato. “Or they weren’t going to let me stay overnight and we didn’t want to leave you alone.”
“And Australia? You want to take me to Australia. Was that part of the ruse too?”
His features hardened. “No. I was serious about that. You can’t fly around the world by yourself right now. Come home with me. I’ve already checked with Mia, and she agrees with this doctor. My sister is the most badass woman I know, and if she thinks it’s risky to let you go all the way back to the States right now, I believe her. You can talk to her if you want. We can call her right now. My uncle Bob is a doctor at Darwin Private Hospital. He’ll get you to the right people who can check you out properly. You can heal and then you can travel back to the other side of the world. You don’t want to go back like this.”
It made sense, even though I didn’t want to admit it. What if I got on the plane to New York by myself and something in my brain burst? What if I just passed out with no one to care for me? My wrist was broken. My ribs were cracked. I could hardly lift a finger, much less carry a bag. I would need help to get anywhere.
Then there was the other option. I could call Karl and tell him what happened. I could beg him to come here to get me, to take care of me, to nurse me back to health. He’d have to say yes. He’d have to forget everything that happened between us. He’d have to get on the plane.
No. I couldn’t do that.
I didn’t want him to know that I’d put myself in danger, that I’d been irresponsible and reckless.
“I need more medication,” I whispered to Derek. “I hurt. Everything hurts.”
He grabbed my hand. His palm was warm and surprisingly soft, his fingers almost dainty like a young girl’s.
“Think about it. Come home with me. We’ll take care of you. You’ll get strong and then you can go home and face all your demons in fighting shape.”
A nurse walked in then and plunged a syringe filled with clear liquid into my IV. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, and I imagined her eavesdropping and thinking I was a nasty American causing lots of trouble for lots of people.
“Morphine,” she said matter-of-factly. I tried to say thank you but she turned away from me and made a sound like a grunt as she exited the room.
“They aren’t shy about giving you the good stuff here.” I mustered a smile at Derek as the meds hit my bloodstream.
“We’ve got even better drugs in Aussie. I promise you. Come on, Kate. Say yes and you can have everything checked out properly within twenty-four hours. You can be in a real hospital with real medication and real doctors.”
“This looks pretty real to me.” My words were beginning to slur.
“This isn’t a real hospital. They only built it to fix bumps and bruises for tourists who fall off their bikes.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to lure me to Australia to try to set me up with your frail old widower dad?” I suddenly thought this was incredibly funny and began to laugh, which caused my ribs to ache.
Derek smiled, but he didn’t laugh with me. In fact, his expression got twisted and strange just as I mentioned his father. He stroked my head as my eyes began to close.
“I’m not certain you’re his type.”
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
The phone rang at two in the morning.
At first it didn’t wake me. I thought I was dreaming, but when I opened my eyes I saw the screen beaming in my dark room.
KARL—OFFICE
It was my old phone, my iPhone, the one I’d brought with me from New York, the one that had ceased to properly work in Thailand. It worked here. I didn’t remember turning it on. Derek must have done it for me.
I managed to grab the phone off the nightstand and place it on the bed next to me. I poked at the speakerphone button. I didn’t have the dexterity to get it to my ear.
“Hello,” I spoke loudly down to the phone.
“Kate.” Karl’s voice sounded so clear he could have been standing next to me. “Kate, what’s going on? Are you all right? The insurance company called. They said there was a car crash in Myanmar.”
Dammit. The insurance card. Of course someone had called the house.
“What the hell were you doing in Myanmar? They said concussion, cracked ribs, internal bleeding. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days. I called the embassy in Thailand. I called that retreat center. I talked to an old woman named Buppy, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. I nearly lost my mind. How could she not tell me what happened to my own wife?”
Those three words. My own wife. They brought on an intense surge of love for this man. Hearing his voice was all I had wanted since I woke up in that hospital. I didn’t want him to worry. I wanted to come back to him stronger than when I left, not like this, not broken.
I realized then that Karl and I hadn’t spoken since the e-mail from his lawyer. I swallowed twice and hoped my voice sounded normal.
“It sounds worse than it is. I’m fine. I promise I’m fine. I went to Myanmar to help a friend . . . it was part of the aid work I’ve been doing. I was in a small car accident, but I’m OK. I didn’t know the insurance company would call you. I never thought they’d call you. I didn’t want to worry you. Do the girls know?”
I heard a rustling sound behind him and I tried to think about the time difference, but the calculations made my head hurt.
“No, no. I didn’t want to upset them. Where are you now? This phone is working again? I tried the other one, but it didn’t work. I’ve been leaving voice mails.”
My husband was the only person on the planet who still left voice mails, and in this moment I loved him for it.
I was embarrassed and a little ashamed to admit I was somewhere new, an entirely new continent, in fact. “I’m in Australia. In the Northern Territory. They had to get me to a better hospital to run tests. Mia, one of the doctors I worked with at the refugee camp, knew people here. The doctor in Myanmar didn’t think it was safe for me to travel all the way back to New York alone.”
The line was silent. I could hear his inhales and exhales. He sounded as nervous as I felt. I found that slightly comforting.
“That’s good. I’m glad you went somewhere they could take care of you.”
I wante
d to tell him that I needed him here to take care of me, that I had planned to fly home to New York before we got hit by that car. I wanted to tell him that we didn’t need to get a divorce, that we could work things out, that we could start all over again if he would just give me a chance.
But, that’s not what I said.
“The doctors here say they don’t want me to travel a long distance for about a month. My concussion was worse than they originally thought. The broken ribs make moving around painful, and my wrist is in a cast.” My voice faltered. “I’m falling apart.”
“Kate—” He stopped.
“Karl—”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
There’s something I need to tell you too, I thought. I love you. I miss you. I’m ready to come home.
“I’m . . .” Karl started. “No. Now isn’t the right time for this kind of conversation.”
What had he been about to say to me? Was it “I’m sorry” or “I’m still in love with you”?
Then he said the last thing I expected him to stay. “You should stay as long as you need to get well. We can discuss everything when you’re in better shape.”
My voice cracked. “I know we have a lot to talk about.”
“Stop. Your health is the most important thing right now. I can have Dr. Sullivan speak to your doctors there.” Dr. Sullivan was our family’s concierge doctor. We’d been with him for the past decade. He’d seen me through three pregnancies, two births, and a breast cancer scare. I was suddenly grateful for him and the money we had to keep someone like him on call. As much as I’d spent the past months feeling like an overprivileged ass, that privilege was nice when it could save your life. “He’ll make sure they have all your old records and charts.” Karl was often at his best when making a plan or managing a project. I once watched him organize an entire funeral for his great-aunt Betsy while stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway. But I didn’t want to be managed. I wanted to be loved. I couldn’t bring myself to puncture our polite discussion with my messy emotions. For the next five minutes I acquiesced to giving him the names of the doctors I’d seen in Darwin. We scheduled a time for me to talk to the girls the following day. “Don’t worry about them,” Karl said. “I told them you were going to be just fine.”
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