The Secrets You Keep

by Foster, Delaney

  “How is Johan?”

  “Healing nicely thanks to you. You’re very good at what you do. I watched you at the hospital yesterday. With the woman.”

  “Thank you. It’s a no-brainer for me. Helping people.”

  “Is that why you’re here? You travel the world saving lives?” Callan pinches part of his sushi roll between two chopsticks and places it on my plate. “Try this.”

  “You make it sound glamourous.” I dip the sushi in eel sauce. “This is my first time. But I’d definitely do it again.” A flirtatious smile flashes in my eyes when I say the last words. I’ll let him decide if I’m talking about the trip or what he just did to my body. I pop the sushi in my mouth, and he never takes his eyes off me as my senses take in the delicious flavor. I moan, and he narrows his eyes.

  “Why here? Why now?” he asks, his gaze still locked on mine.

  “A friend of mine, Naomi DeMarco, made the offer. She’s sort of this philanthropist, do-gooder type—”

  “I know who she is.”

  He knows Naomi? I guess it’s possible. She’s not exactly low profile.

  “She’s my sister,” he says, and I nearly choke. He clears his throat and tosses his napkin across his plate. “It’s getting late. I should get back and check on Johan,” he tells me as he nods to the waiter for his attention.

  It’s eight o’clock. That’s far from late. And he just said Johan is doing fine. I have so many questions. Naomi DeMarco is his sister? Is he trying to be funny? Why the mood swing? Maybe they don’t get along? If I had more time—if I was looking for more—I’d fight to find out why. But time is something that eludes me these days, and because of that, there’s no room for more. So, we ride back to the hotel in silence and he drops me off at the door without even walking me to my room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Callan

  Of all the people she could’ve known. Of all the names she could’ve said. When my sister’s name left Grace’s lips, I froze. If she knows Naomi, she probably knows our story—my story. And if she knows my story, she knows who I am and what I’m capable of. My sister hasn’t made it a secret that she doesn’t approve of what I do. I’m sure Grace knows that by now. She’s smart enough to put two-and-two together.

  I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted our connection to leave this place, to go beyond this moment. There’s Grace’s world, and there’s my world. And those worlds can’t intertwine. They just can’t. It was bad enough to learn she’s from Miami. Now she’s telling me that she’s friends with my sister—that Naomi is the reason she’s here, the thing that brought her to me.

  I don’t have time to process my reaction to what just happened. I can’t deal with this right now. It’s eight o’clock. I have a meeting with some radicals in an hour. If everything goes as planned, in an hour and ten minutes, they’ll have learned exactly who they’re dealing with, and I’ll be on my way back to the lodge with David in the passenger seat.

  ***

  Grace is on her way back to her room, and I’m on my way to an abandoned church outside of the city. For most of the thirty-minute drive, I curse myself for letting the night end the way it did. Once David is safe and I’ve taken care of business, I’ll find Grace and apologize. Maybe I’ll even explain. But right now, I have to focus on him. This is the gritty part of my job, the necessary evil. This is where being the man in charge means being the man with no conscious.

  We all knew what we were getting into when we signed on the dotted line. Every time we strap up our boots, we know we’re taking a risk. But nothing ever prepares someone for this. I made a promise to keep my team safe, and I won’t stop until David is tucked securely in the warmth of his own bed.

  The narrow, gravel road seems to go on for miles in the moonlight. When I finally reach the old, stone building, the cross on the steeple peers down at me in its desecrated state, as if it knows what’s about to happen and has suffered great pain because of it.

  A black SUV makes the curve in the road just before the driveway, killing its headlights as it turns. A tall man, much taller than I am, gets out of the passenger side.

  I sent a message of my own, and it looks like it was received.

  You want to avoid a battle? Meet me at 9:00 at the abandoned church off N1. Bring my man.

  I wait in the darkness of my own SUV, letting him take a few steps more before I make my presence known. The sound of crushed rock and dirt under the soles of designer shoes grows louder with each step he takes. I glance up at the cross and make my apologies for what I’m about to do. Then I open the driver’s side door and walk to the tail end of my vehicle, about ten feet from where he stopped.

  “You came alone. Are you sure that was a good idea?” he asks. His voice is thick with a threat that might intimidate a weaker man.

  “You did as I asked?”

  I don’t need his questions. I just need his word.

  His face is shadowed by the darkness, only certain features are illuminated by the light of the moon. But I catch the movement as he nods toward his SUV. He lifts a hand, motioning to the driver. Or another passenger. I have no idea how many people are in there. But the not knowing doesn’t distract me one bit. There could be ten of them, and it wouldn’t change why I’m here.

  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 shoots up a cloud of dust as he drags his ankle with every step. The tall man doesn’t offer David 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 or feel what I feel.

  Am I even going to see her again? Can I walk back into that world? Or should I just let her go?

  The loud slam of a car door clears my thoughts and brings 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, and I’m relieved when I find it empty.

  It takes me 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.

  I grit my teeth and look him in the eyes. “My turn to send a message.”

  ***

  I left the men 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. And if taking two lives saves ten, then that’s what I’ll do.

  Once we get back to the hotel, David drapes his arm over my shoulders as I carry him to his room. He didn’t speak a single 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.

  I reach into my back pocket for the room key and swipe it across the black magnetic keypad. 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.

  “Can I call my wife?” David asks.

  “Of course. As soon as we get you cleaned up.”

  “No,” he says immediately. “Now. I need to hear her voice.”

  There’s a desperation in his tone. As if he’s been poisoned and her voice is the anti-venom.

  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.

  I open the curtains and look out into the courtyard, giving David as much privacy as possible right now. I’m not leaving him alone until I know he’s not seriously wounded. I need to make sure that the wounds he does have are properly cleaned and treated.

  I look across the pool, past full green leaves and colorful wildflowers, through the open curtains of a sliding glass door. Grace’s long dark hair falls down the back of her curvy silhouette. Her plaid pajamas hang loosely over her frame. She walks across the room and clicks off her 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 Jenna 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 I can make a contribution, even if I can’t be like Grace and throw on a stethoscope and a white coat. 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. She leaves tomorrow, and I’ll never see her again. 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?” he asks.

  I glance down at my navy-blue tie and dress pants then back up 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 hold crying infants. Undernourished children with pale skin and sunken cheeks share chairs because there isn’t enough seating. Elderly men and women shake and cough uncontrollably. 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.”

  Me too.

  “Yeah, she’s something special,” I reply.

  Dawie smiles and nods then goes back to his stack of paperwork. I glance around the room behind us hoping to get a glimpse of her, but she’s nowhere to be found.

  “Is she here?” I finally ask.

  He looks up. “She’s with the babies today. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go back there.”

  Old ladies—fine. Babies—off limits. Got it.

  A well-dressed man walks into the main lobby holding a piece of paper. He’s attractive, maybe around my age, and he’s obviously not a patient—or a doctor. Time to pull out my checkbook and do what I convinced myself I came here to do. I probably wouldn’t know what to say if I saw Grace, anyway. Apologies aren’t my thing. They don’t come easy, and they don’t happen often.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Grace

  I haven’t slept in two days. After my last night with Callan, my body stayed awake feeling the aftershocks of what happened at dinner. My mind spun circles, trying to figure out what could have happened to suddenly turn him so cold. Then my heart reminded me that it’s best if I just forget about all of the above.

  Yesterday was my last day at Gateway. After four days, I finally got to work with the babies. I thought seeing the effects of HIV and drug usage during pregnancy was bad at home. That’s nothing compared to here. Here, doctors make choices every day—choices I don’t know I’d ever have the strength to make. There aren’t enough incubators for all the premature babies that are born. There aren’t enough ventilators for the ones who need it. Most of these babies won’t make it home, and if they do, they probably won’t live longer than a month or two.

  I fought back tears the entire shift. This place needs so much—much more than I can even give. But being here to help is a good place to start. Under different circumstances, I’d stay as long as they needed me. Most doctors contribute weeks or even months at a time. I can’t leave my father or Natalie alone that long. Maybe another time, in a different life…

  Dawie hugged me goodbye and told me Callan stopped by. When he told me the reason why, all the tears I’d been holding back all day fell down my cheeks. I wanted to stop by his room to thank him, even though I know what he did wasn’t for me. I wanted to look into his eyes, to hear his voice, to feel his touch just one more time before I had to go.

  But I didn’t. It’s better this way—easier. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Ebrahim is parked in front of the hotel at 5:00 a.m. sharp, just like he said he would be when he dropped me off last night. Between his smile and his chipper demeanor, I forget the sadness of leaving a place that’s felt more like home than Florida over the past week. Even with the crazy, machete-flashing madmen and the lack of resources at the hospital. Even though Callan and I parted ways without a word. Something about this place still 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 fi
lls 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 pulling close to 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.”

  ***

  On my first day back at work, Karen McCallister meets me at the coffeepot in the cafeteria. “So? Tell me all about South Africa,” she squeaks.

  “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 hotel I stayed at was cozy with just enough modern amenities 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 Callan. There’s no need. He’s exactly what I needed him to be. A memory.