Back in Dr. Xenakis' Arms

by Amalie Berlin

  And at that thought she’d begun to feel the weight of every atom in her body. Her movements had become jerky, sluggish, and even her smile had trembled when she’d tried to force it. The trembling was the worst part of this strange exhaustion.

  It was probably a blessing that today had been a travel day—she had something to blame for her exhaustion. Everyone had certainly put her oddness down to that today, and maybe they’d let that excuse carry for a couple of days if she was lucky.

  It was easy to control the expression on her face, but her body was out of control. That feeling of helplessness was how she’d lived for the duration of her pregnancy, and she’d never wanted to return to it.

  First seeing Ares again, then being watched by Theo and Chris, and all the while trying very hard not to think about Chris’s beautiful baby son—who somehow managed to look like his stupidly handsome father even whilst hiding Chris’s strong jawline under chubby cherub cheeks...

  None of that was within her control. Nothing felt within her control right now—no matter what she’d all but shouted at Ares about making her own decisions.

  She stared out the window at the play of light and shadow of the late-afternoon sunshine through the trees in the yard in an effort to control the trembling she felt inside. At least she’d gotten beyond the point where it showed in her face and hands, but it was still there in her belly, in her chest, deeper than anyone could see. Right where she’d always tried to keep everything hidden.

  Pretending that Chris was only babysitting felt immature and cold. Plus, it didn’t help. If he’d babysat for anyone, it would have been one of theirs.

  Theo’s future baby. Deakin’s future baby.

  She had no one to tell about her daughter, how she should have been a mother ten years ago. That she should be in the process of being driven mad by a willful tween who refused to listen, plastered her walls with posters of pop singers and thought her mother was an idiot.

  Theo’s extremely helpful big-brother thing meant she had nothing to do now but sit and stare. And think. And that was the thing that would drive her mad in the end. It broke all her rules about self-preservation. Thinking about the past and what she should have had: a daughter to love and protect and nurture. A decade of memories of bubble baths in the sink and frilly toddler bikinis, living in a world of pink.

  Erianthe had rebelled against all those girlie things when she was growing up, but for her daughter... She’d have done her whole house up in shades of pink for her daughter.

  She rolled to her side and stretched out across the bed. Chris would understand if she skipped dinner in favor of sleep—he’d looked at her with the same concern Theo had.

  Tomorrow things would be better—because she willed them to be so. This emotional malaise was just the shock of being back after all this time, and shock always eventually passed. Seeing Ares again had brought everything to the surface and triggered her annoyingly leaky eyes, but now she knew what to expect. Anger. Missing her child more than she’d have thought possible again. Fresh betrayal. And being alone—because at least when she was on her own she never had to hide her emotions from people who would be alarmed by tears.

  A night’s rest would help. In the morning she would remember—she hoped—how happy she was for Theo, Chris and Deakin. How she only wanted happiness and a fulfilled life of love and family for each of them. And maybe once this passed she’d be able to consider if she could ever want the same for herself. If she could ever be that brave again.

  A quick, light knock came at her door—the “Doctor’s Knock,” as she liked to think of it.

  She swiped her eyes and hurried to the bureau so she could feign unfinished domestic tasks, looking at the door sideways when Chris popped his head in.

  “Are you about to go to sleep?” There was an up-note at the end of his question, the sound of need and a hint of concern in his expressive blue eyes. “I know you’re tired, but if you’re going to be up for a few more minutes...”

  She slid the drawer shut and turned to face him fully across the room, her eyes dry enough that a faked yawn could explain the glassiness she knew he’d see there.

  The false upbeat voice she needed somehow appeared. “I no longer have a set bedtime. I’m footloose and fancy-free. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you watch Evan for a few minutes?” Chris stayed in the doorway and seemed to be blessedly unaware of her progressive state of unraveling. Maybe she was getting a grip on herself.

  “Of course.”

  “I hate to ask when you’re so tired, but then I remember you help bring babies into the world—so you probably love babies. He just woke up, and I really need a shower.”

  The back of her neck prickled, but she ignored it. It wouldn’t be a huge ask for anyone else. He’d agreed to let her stay without a second of hesitation, after all. And she did like babies—at least in theory. She just didn’t spend much time with them, and most of the time she did they were in utero.

  “I’m happy to. Do you need me to feed him or anything?”

  Happy to. Happy to. She sent the phrase around her mind like a mantra.

  Happy to—but she’d be even happier if she had some kind of task...something that would occupy her mind.

  A few minutes later she stood there holding Evan, who was looking up at her with that unabashedly adoring way babies had, and that maddening tremble returned to her arms.

  Chris had already fed him. Already bathed him—he had that powdery fresh scent as proof. She had nothing to do for him. Nothing but hold him.

  He wouldn’t judge her trembling arms.

  Maybe she should just sit with him?

  That seemed infinitely more reasonable—and responsible. Decision made, she gingerly placed the baby in his crib and set the mobile above spinning in the hopes of distracting him.

  She shouldn’t have been holding him with shaky arms anyway—she might have dropped him.

  The comfortable chair beside the crib sank with her as she eased into it, careful of squeaking springs or sudden movements—as if moving quickly would make him detonate, or cry, in the baby equivalent of an explosion.

  Relieved of her adoptive nephew, she felt the tremble in her arms abate. If she could get the tremble in her gut to go too, she’d feel even better.

  Laying her head back, she closed her eyes, once more counting her breaths. Just a few more minutes for Chris to finish his shower, and then she could sleep.

  Evan gurgled and she froze—then felt even more ridiculous. He was a baby, not a jar of nitroglycerin. And she was being selfish, self-centered. And horrible.

  Tomorrow things would be better.

  Breathe in.

  Sleep would be like a mental and emotional reboot. Turning something off and then back on again usually fixed it. It would work with her too.

  Tomorrow she would do better.

  Breathe out.

  The baby started to cry.

  * * *

  At seven the next annoyingly sunny and cheerful morning, after many unsuccessful hours during which he’d tried to convince himself it would be better if he pulled the cord on his emergency parachute and called the office, asked for redeployment instead of waiting for them to call him, Ares dragged himself into the taverna.

  He was legitimately exhausted. And still undecided about the call.

  What he did know was that he desperately wanted to leave, but he thought that would make him a coward or—worse—someone who abandoned his family when they needed him most.

  “Who bribed you to open this early on a Thursday?” he asked Stavros, stopping at the bar where the owner stood, scowling his way through the pages on a clipboard, his glasses on his nose.

  It was polite to stop and acknowledge Stavros, he told himself. It was certainly not him avoiding his friends on the first time they’d all been in one place together
in ten years. No pressure there.

  Stavros looked at him in stony silence for long enough that Ares almost spoke again to fill the gap, figure out what was wrong.

  Just when he’d opened his mouth to ask if the owner of the taverna was all right, the other man finally spoke, his voice surprisingly quiet and hoarse. “Tell your friends to keep it down. My head isn’t up to dealing with any nonsense from the lot of you this morning.”

  Something was off.

  Ares looked at Stavros closer, searching for signs of hangover or injury, but his eyes weren’t bloodshot, he wasn’t slurring his speech at all and he didn’t smell like someone who’d been on a bender. While he’d never been an effusive man, he was personable enough not to make customers wonder if they were welcome in the local taverna.

  Focusing on Stavros while his friends waited for him might have been something of a dodge, but now he had reason for concern, so he lingered and kept his voice low as he asked, “Are you feeling all right, Stavros?”

  “Headache.”

  A one-word answer—and not a request for medical advice or assistance. Ares nodded slowly. “If you need anything—”

  That was all he got out before Stavros cut him off. “Don’t expect me to serve anything. Kitchen is closed.”

  “Got it,” Ares answered, not asking about coffee. Or ouzo. Or anything else about the man’s head. He could appreciate him wanting to be left alone.

  Pushing off the bar, he finally wound his way to the large table in the center of the taverna.

  Ares was careful not to look at anyone too long—especially Erianthe. Brief glance. Look away. Make sure she’s keeping it together. Look away. Look once more to check for obvious signs of distress.

  Her cheeks had always flashed a deep red when she got angry—yesterday’s showdown included.

  “There’s the scarecrow!” Deakin joked, leaning back in his chair as he caught sight of Ares arriving.

  He could feel all eyes on him. Except hers. That wasn’t suspicious at all, was it?

  “No, he’s a fur model,” Theo corrected. “He grows a mean beard. Really, man. It growled at me yesterday. And the other day I think I saw it eat a bird.”

  The two of them were entirely too jovial for seven in the morning.

  “I usually feed it the souls of my enemies.” He tried to joke, but it came out flat and bored.

  He dropped into the chair across the table from Erianthe and to the left, so he wouldn’t be staring at her anytime he looked up, or accidentally touching her when he moved his limbs.

  “Stavros said to keep the noise down.”

  They all looked toward the taverna owner behind the bar, and Theo got a serious look on his face, lowered his voice. “He’s been grouchy for a while now.”

  “Maybe he and Maria are quarreling?” Deakin offered, as if that was the only reason for a headache—fighting with your wife.

  Regardless, they all went with the low-volume request and leaned in to keep their chatter lower.

  Despite Ares’s best efforts, Erianthe’s gaze pulled his like a magnet. No red cheeks or smiles. No talking that he’d witnessed yet either. She didn’t look away, for once, and the light shadows under her eyes said she’d had about as much sleep last night as he had.

  “No coffee. No breakfast. We should’ve met at Theo’s instead.” Deakin stretched and yawned, then settled into a comfortable lean.

  “Why are we meeting at all?” Ares asked grumpily, hoping to move things along.

  “Breakfast.” Chris finally said something. “But now Stavros has said the kitchen is closed.”

  “And because most of us have been back at one time or another, but we’ve not all met in one place in years.” Deakin kicked his foot under the table, giving Ares a look that said: This again? Really?

  Ten years. It was ten years. Almost exactly. But Ares didn’t correct him. It would make him seem... He didn’t even know what. Pathetic. Like someone who forgot everyone’s birthday—sometimes even his own—but who passed the sad anniversary of the last time he saw Erianthe by drinking anything that would blur the edges.

  “You stayed up all night anyway.” Deakin shook his head. “So I suppose you’re worthless today.”

  “You suppose right,” Ares confirmed. “I need to go home and get some sleep. Someone’s going to have to fill the gap if you have some kind of surgical emergency.”

  “Takes a bit of time to get here from your island,” Theo said, backing Deakin up.

  “Not that long in my boat.” They were on a small island, and his even more tiny island was visible from the main island if you knew where to look. “Or call Chris if it’s really urgent. He can do more than carve brains.”

  Chris snorted. “Impossible to get a babysitter on short notice. I had to ask Erianthe to watch Evan just so I could have a shower last night.”

  Ares looked at Eri, and as if on cue her cheeks paled and she immediately dropped her gaze. Yeah, I bet she enjoyed that.

  A quick glance around the table confirmed that no one else was watching her, so no one had noticed her discomfort yet, and he felt a need to keep it that way. Take their attention.

  “I’ll go to sleep in the on-call room, then. That’s as close as I can get without actually bunking down in the OR.”

  “How are Jacinda and the baby?”

  Erianthe broke in with a new subject, but her words were so soft he seemed to be the only one who’d heard her—the others had gone off on a tangent about staffing logistics.

  “Both fine,” he answered, and that did get their attention. Speaking about something important quieted them down. “I did a CBC in the night, and her white cells were already dropping. Did another blood draw before coming—it’s at the lab now. Her pain is better. Baby’s heartbeat is steady. Baby’s still not moving around a lot, but the general anesthesia takes a while with them. Or so I read last night.”

  “It does,” she confirmed. “Dodged a bullet there, I hope.”

  “Things certainly seem to have changed since yesterday.”

  Deakin lifted a pointed brow and Ares resisted the urge to shove him off his chair.

  “Keep it up and maybe you two won’t scare off the patients with your bickering after all.”

  Deakin was really going to get on his nerves today—which was the wrong reaction for him to have to that kind of brotherly ribbing. He always gave as good as he got—they all did. But Ares had always acted like the world was a joke back then. Before everything had stopped being funny. Today, he couldn’t tell the difference between being amusingly sarcastic and a bitter smart-aleck.

  “We only argue in front of anesthetized patients who are unaware of what’s going on and wouldn’t remember later on even if they did hear us,” he said.

  “We also argue when Ares is acting like he’s the boss of me.” She countered his statement with words she’d used so many times when they were children that it read playfully, like a joke.

  They all laughed.

  Just like that, the conversation eased a little, and so did he. Erianthe even seemed to relax a touch too. Maybe this would be all right.

  After ten years of never being in one place together, that old feeling of camaraderie and a sense of belonging settled over him. This was something he’d miss when he was gone.

  The conversation, which had originally been touted as a meeting, continued to be more about catching up. They shared crazy cases they’d worked on, compared what they’d seen at the clinic with different facilities.

  Theo explained how during the first forty-eight hours after the quake—when the clinic had become a hub for the injured and those looking for a place to go—he’d struggled to understand what had driven Ares into emergency medicine. Theo handled emergencies sometimes, but he liked being a GP—it suited him much better than emergency specialist.

  “It’s n
ot for everyone.” Ares didn’t try to explain the draw it held for him. Or why he chose the most extreme version of that practice—going to places with minimal hospital equipment and the worst need. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure himself why he chose the mission hospitals.

  “All I know is if we have something else like that happen, I don’t want my baby sister to be overwhelmed by what we might see,” Theo said, and then grinned at her and teased, “This is your first big-girl job!”

  She thumped her brother square in the chest, making him laugh and then lightly rub at the spot. Growing up the only girl among four boys, she’d learned how to communicate in boy language early and keep up with them. She hit harder than it seemed she would, and often harder than they ever hit one another in the few times things had ever gotten heated in their youth. But she’d only ever hit Ares that one time...

  “Seriously, I know you’ve been working at that fancy birthing center where you qualified as an obstetrician, but I’d feel better if you spent some time getting used to the emergency aspects of serving in the clinic.”

  The hair on the back of Ares’s neck stood up. Emergency aspects.

  “Might not be a great idea if we don’t want the two of them fighting in front of the patients,” Deakin said, and for once Ares didn’t comment.

  Erianthe didn’t either. Instead she turned toward Theo. “I’ve already done a stint in emergency—it was part of my residency, which wasn’t all that long ago.”

  “It was a few years ago.”

  “I still remember how things went.”

  She’d never liked being told to do anything—even indirectly. Or maybe she didn’t like being told by men. He hadn’t ever seen a woman try to manage Erianthe, even when her behavior had screamed for some management.

  After yesterday’s fight, the only question in Ares’s mind was whether she’d respond to orders from Theo differently than to orders from anyone else.

  “Are you two really incapable of getting along in front of patients?” Theo asked it as a serious question, but his laughing tone lightened what could have turned heated.

  Erianthe scowled her answer. Ares kept his face carefully blank. If they both strenuously objected, it would raise more suspicions.