by Dianne Drake
“It’s personal, but you lived through some of the ups and downs of it, so you have a right to know.”
She came around the curtain, with her hair up in a ponytail the ways she’d always put it up at night, but instead of the cute nightwear she used to wear—short shorts, barely there belly shirts—she was wearing knee-length cargo pants, a baggy T-shirt and boots. Still cute, in its own special way.
“She tried legally for partial custody, but Eric’s father wanted his legacy and my mother was only the means by which he could get what he wanted. After he had his son, he didn’t need her, so he kicked her out. Then after she tried to maintain a place in Eric’s life—let’s just say that in my own dad’s earlier days he wasn’t a saint. He smoked some weed, was arrested a couple of times—although he has no convictions.
“But Eric’s dad found out and used that to threaten my mother—told her he’d expose her husband, my dad, and by that time she’d had me and he also said he’d expose her as an unfit mother for allowing me to be raised by a man like my dad. Things were different back then. My mother was afraid of losing me, and afraid my dad could lose his medical license, even though there were never any real charges brought against him. Eric’s dad had a lot of power and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Also, because she’d been so abused by Eric’s dad to begin with, she simply didn’t have the wherewithal to fight him.
“So, because she feared losing both my dad and me, after she’d already lost Eric, she walked away.” He paused, then sighed. It was a sad sigh that resounded loudly through the hut, filling it with the same sadness. “My mother wasn’t a fighter, Layla. She was a very quiet, undemanding person. And after all she’d already suffered...”
“I’m so sorry,” Layla whispered. “You didn’t know this when we were—?”
He shook his head. “My dad only told me the whole story a couple years ago. He kept my mother’s secret for a long time, then finally decided it was time I knew everything.”
“And you told Eric?”
“He had a right to know. He was settling into his new life and I knew he harbored a lot of resentment for our mother, but because his son was our mother’s grandchild, I thought for Riku’s sake—that’s his name—everybody needed to know the truth. And I did want my nephew to know how amazing his grandmother was. She was part of his heritage and he deserves to know the good about her. Eric didn’t want to know, but for the sake of his son I had to tell him.”
“I wish I’d known. Wish I could have helped you. Some things are so difficult when you’re alone. I really am sorry for that.”
“Well, the good news is Eric now has memories of a mother he can be proud of, and Riku has a grandmother who would have loved him more than life itself. He’ll understand that when he’s old enough. Eric will make sure.”
Layla wiped a tear siding down her cheek. “And your father?”
“In Cambodia. Doing well. Running a little clinic in a tourist area.”
“And I thought I had it bad because while I had my parents’ time, I never really had their love. At least, love in the sense that I think parents should have for their children.”
“Maybe they did the best they could, the way my mother did.”
“They do,” she admitted. “But that understanding comes as an adult, not as a child who was simply lonely. Anyway, I’m going to get some sleep. It’s been a long, full day and since Chauncy has vacated my bed now, I think it’s time.”
This time, Arlo lay awake long after Layla was asleep, thinking back on the day. This morning, he’d known someone was coming. Hadn’t known who but wasn’t surprised as Ollie would have sent him only the best. And Layla was the best. It concerned him she was here, but he was also looking forward to the next couple of months with her. No deluding himself about anything, though. She was still Layla, and Layla didn’t belong here. On top of that, she didn’t want to belong here. But over the course of the years there’d been many, many times when he’d wondered what it would be like, having Layla at his side.
Well, for a little while he had that chance, and he was glad about that. What he wasn’t glad about were the feelings that would hit him again once she’d gone. He’d been through that and had been nearly crippled by emotions he’d never expected. It wasn’t until he’d left her that he’d truly realized how much he’d loved her. This time he was smarter. No hearts involved meant no hearts broken. And she was clear that her heart was in her career and nowhere ese. But his? Where was it?
“Damn,” he muttered, as he blew out the kerosene lamp and turned over on his side. Winced because of his back. Then turned again.
“I really do need to look at that,” she said from the other side of the curtain. “Tomorrow. I’ll pencil you in as my first appointment of the day.”
He smiled. She never gave up. That may have been one of the things he’d loved most about her back then. But now?
* * *
“Baby’s on the way...”
Layla didn’t open her eyes when Arlo’s voice wafted over her. It was a dream. They were cozy in their apartment, cuddled up, studying. Maybe some playing mixed in. And he was explaining...
“Contractions just a couple of minutes apart, Layla.”
“Dilated?” she asked, her mind still all snuggly on a sofa back in New York.
“Has been since yesterday, when I checked her.”
She loved his voice when it was all serious. It was deeper, sexier. “Epidural, I’m assuming,” she said.
“We don’t do epidural out here.”
“Better call anesthesia.” He should have already done that. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t.
“Do you want to come with me, Layla?”
“Where?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“To deliver a baby.”
This time her eyes shot open and she realized where she was. Not in Arlo’s arms, studying the basics of childbirth, but in a jungle hut with a patient who was ready to deliver. She bolted upright. “Who’s with her?” she asked, sliding off the cot and running over to the door to grab her boots.
“Empty them first,” Arlo warned. “I can’t handle a delivery and a snakebite at the same time.”
Reality. This was her reality for a while. She shook the dream away totally as vigorously as she shook her boots. “How long has she been in labor?”
“Off and on since yesterday. I checked her earlier, when I was making rounds, and contractions were still about ten minutes apart. But it seemed to have sped up.”
“How long have I been sleeping?” she asked. The fact was her sleeping was so erratic, she often didn’t know.
“About two hours.”
“And you’ve been working...”
“About the same.”
Layla grabbed her medical rucksack and rushed out the door. Arlo followed, amused by the way she went from sound asleep to at the ready. She’d always been a little bit difficult to wake, but once he’d succeeded she’d been on the spot, bright-eyed and ready to go. “Her mother’s with her. And her grandmother. Also, there’s a midwife, and she’ll do most of the work.”
“So what will we do?” she asked.
“Respect the traditions. I just thought you might want to see how this works, since we’ve got at least a dozen more pregnant women in the village and you’ll no doubt be called to watch but not participate in the birth unless there’s a problem.”
“I know a lot of places in the world don’t welcome outside interference. Is this one of them?”
“No. They love having a hospital. It’s the only one around for nearly a hundred miles, so they take pride in having medical services here. But they also have their traditions, which I don’t interfere with unless they become a problem.” He pointed to a well-apportioned hut, one with a door, at the end of the road. “It’s bigger than yours,” she said, following him up the path to the front door.
> “Because I don’t have my parents, grandparents and children living with me. Family is a large part of their tradition.”
Which she saw for herself when she and Arlo went inside. There were women cooking, children playing, men talking. And in the doorway to the area where the bedrooms probably were stood an old woman holding a tiny bundle in her hands. “I see they didn’t really need us,” Layla said, pushing her way through the crowd to look at the newborn. The old woman, named Hanni, immediately put the baby in Layla’s arms then headed off to the area where the food was being prepared. In her medical practice Layla didn’t deal with children and, in all honesty, she hadn’t even handled one since her rotation through Pediatrics during her residency. And this one—he was so tiny. Red, wrinkled and screaming for all he was worth.
“They named him Arlo,” Arlo said, stepping to her side.
“Even though you didn’t deliver him?”
“It’s a tribute.”
“So, how many little Arlos are running around the village?”
“At last count, five. This Arlo makes number six.”
“Well, if ever there was a village legacy...” Layla grinned, reaching down to take baby Arlo’s tiny fingers. “Suppose you have a son someday and want to call him Arlo? What then?”
“Just accept the fact that he’ll be one of the many.” He pulled back the blanket to have a better look at the baby. “You look good with a baby. Ever thought that maybe you might...?”
“I haven’t changed on that,” she said. “I told you back then I didn’t want children, and I still don’t. I’m the living proof of how badly it can work out when the parents are all about career, and I’d never want that for my child because, in my family, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, even though the career tree is different.” She handed the baby over to him. “Think I’ll go look in on the mother to make sure she’s getting along OK.” And to get away from the cozy feeling of home and family that was coming over her.
“I’ve got another house call to make after this,” he called after her. She heard him but didn’t respond as she ducked out of the room and found an empty room down the hall where she could hide long enough to gather her wits. And will her hands to stop shaking. Of everything that was going to be difficult here, this might be the worst. Because she’d had these thoughts before. Although she’d never told Arlo. What was the point when their directions were so vastly different?
* * *
It was mid-afternoon when they caught up again. Layla had taken the hospital calls while Arlo had done rounds in the village.
It was nice having her here to help him. While his assistant was good, he wasn’t a doctor so his duties were limited. But having two doctors here—the way his parents had been—would be nice. Even after only a day and a half, he was getting spoiled by it.
But not spoiled enough to let himself believe the other doctor would be Layla. Because, as they said, a leopard didn’t change its spots. Neither did Layla. One look at the baby and the almost panicked expression on her face had said it all.
“I’ve got a house call to make. It’s out some way, so I thought you’d like to go with me to see some of the countryside. And if you don’t, could I borrow your SUV?”
They were both back in the hut, getting tidied up for the rest of the day. When Arlo peeked around the dividing curtain to talk to her, he had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. Chauncy had managed to find his way onto Layla’s lap, and she was simply sitting cross-legged on the cot, petting him. Normally, he wasn’t quite so friendly with strangers, but Layla did have a way about her. Especially considering that Chauncy wouldn’t even cuddle up to him that way.
Somehow, seeing a gray, ring-tailed raccoon-looking mongoose-rat creature all cozy with her caused a lump to form in his throat. This was the other side of her, one he’d loved as much as he’d loved her harder side. There’d been times when she’d just snuggle into him for no reason and simply exist in his embrace. No kidding, no anything else. Just touch. Sensation. And he’d enjoyed those moments as they’d felt so caring. So consuming.
“What do we have?” she asked, plucking a quartered mango from a bowl next to her and handing it to Chauncy.
As the juice dribbled down her arm, Arlo could almost imagine himself kissing her arm along its trail. Stopping at her neck. Kissing it...he loved the way she was so ticklish there. As hard as she’d tried to fight it, she couldn’t. And the fight...it had always led to more. A little shove back onto the bed, some pillow play, clothes flying everywhere... But these were dangerous thoughts, as he began to experience the stirrings of feelings and emotions he hadn’t had in a long, long time. And while they were sexual, they weren’t purely sexual the way they had been before. “It’s dengue fever. Two members of one household.”
“Hemorrhagic?”
Arlo raised his eyebrows in bold appreciation. “I see you know your dengue fever.”
“A little. I did some reading on the plane. Not enough, but as much as I could to give me a good start here.”
“Well, then—no. It’s not hemorrhagic. But it did come on in the typical symptoms: high fever, headache, vomiting, muscle and joint pain, and a characteristic skin rash. We’re at the end of it, too. This will probably be my last trip out there, which means the house calls on this one will be yours in the future, because dengue can relapse. So rather than having me do a daily check, you can do one every three or four days for a couple of weeks.”
“Your treatment choice?” she asked.
“Supportive, for the most part. It’s a mother and her five-year-old daughter. The rest of the family is fine.”
“And by supportive you mean force liquids and treat other symptoms as they occur?”
“Exactly. Since it’s a virus, that’s about all we can do. Kanika and her daughter Achara went home from the hospital yesterday morning. They’d been here the week prior, and now Kanika’s mother will be taking care of them until they’re fully recovered. People here really opt for short-term stays. Or home care, when they can. So, from here on out it’s mostly just rest and proper nutrition. And better mosquito netting.”
“Do you see much dengue out here?” Layla asked.
“A fair amount, but not epidemic-sized. There have been efforts by the government to control the mosquitoes, but some of the remote areas such as this don’t get a lot of help. I’ve petitioned for more netting and was allocated some, but not enough.”
“Then I’ll get some. How many do I need and who do I contact to make arrangements?”
“I’ve already petitioned for it, Layla. It will get here in due course.”
“Could I get it here faster?”
“In the jungle, patience is a virtue. We get what we need, but sometimes we have to wait.”
“And in the meantime people are being exposed to mosquito-borne disease. Why would you want to be patient about that?”
This was the same old Layla. Impatient for results. Impatient to move up. Impatient to get to the next thing on her list. He’d gotten used to it but coming from a place where impatience produced ulcers more than it did results, he’d never been one to indulge. And he worried that she did as it increased the chance that she would continually be dissatisfied in her life.
Impatient people risked feeling overwhelmed. They set themselves up for failure and got down on themselves when it happened. And they burned out easily. Layla was too bright to burn out, but her impatience was leading her straight down that path. He’d warned her over and over when they’d been together. She hadn’t listened. Or maybe she’d thought she was somehow impervious to the pitfalls.
He didn’t know which, but the Layla standing here with him right now hadn’t budged from the Layla of the past. “Because that’s the way it is here. We get what we need when it’s available and always keep in mind there are twenty-five regions here, and each one has several hos
pitals just like ours, all needing the same things we need. Everybody gets served, but we have to realize that we’re not the only ones in line.”
“But what if I can cut that line?”
“I can’t stop you. I never could. But be careful that cutting that line doesn’t cost you somewhere later in your career. We’re not impatient people out here, Layla. And we don’t see the stress-related disease brought on by impatience here the way so many doctors see it in the more civilized societies. But you already know that.”
“So what you’re saying is you wouldn’t support me trying to use my connections to get you what you need?”
“What I’m saying is we all do what we have to do. If buying netting from a private source is what you must do, then do it.”
“And in return I’ll get to listen to you complain.”
“No. I don’t complain about anything anyone donates, Layla. In fact, I’m grateful for it. And if you buy netting, I’ll be grateful for that. But you do need to know what you’re facing since you’ll be working here for a while. It’s rewarding and frustrating, in that order. And if you let it, it will tear you up.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Arlo.”
He smiled. “Sometimes I wonder about that myself. But, for the most part, it works out. And I’ve got five hundred people living in the village and the same number living just outside who support me and help any way they can. And they’re not impatient when they have to wait. I’m also not treating one ulcer in my whole practice.”
“Point taken. But I still want to support you with some netting.”
Ah, yes. The stubborn Layla got the last word. He’d expected it. And back when they’d been together, the making up that had come afterward had almost been worth the disagreement. It had always been more—intense. Arlo smiled, remembering. Almost missing those times. “And let me thank you in advance, because mosquitoes are a huge problem. So, tell me. Does your impatience get in the way of your medical practice? And I’m not trying to start something here. More like curious about an aspect of you I’ve always known.”
