by Tracy Wolff
“Are you kidding me?” Lucas demanded. “I want to talk about what’s going on with you and you want to go play in the sandbox?”
“Swings, not sandbox,” she said, tossing her shoes over the fence before grabbing onto the fence and starting to climb. “Try to keep up.”
“I would if you weren’t completely insane.” He paused. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked, reaching for the top of the fence and pulling herself up. “I can’t leave my shoes here—those are my only pair of Jimmy Choos.”
“The park is closed!” he hissed.
“And your point is?”
“My point is, it’s closed. You can get arrested for trespassing, you know.”
“Give me a break. It’s a public park.” Hiking her dress up to the tops of her thighs, she climbed over the fence, careful of the iron spikes, then dropped down to the grass below. “Are you coming?” she asked, picking up her heels and pretending she didn’t care if he followed her or not.
Lucas sighed heavily and she could all but see his eye roll as he said, “Of course I’m coming. This is downtown Atlanta. God only knows what could happen to you in there.”
As he pulled himself up and over the fence in a couple of smooth, well-coordinated movements—much smoother and well-coordinated than her own—she refrained from reminding him that she’d managed to survive on her own in places a lot rougher than Atlanta. But the last thing she wanted was to bring her job into the conversation, not when she’d done everything in her power to avoid talking about it.
He dropped to the ground beside her. “So what do you want to do now?” he demanded, his voice put-upon. But he couldn’t hide his grin—or the dimple in his left cheek that only came when he was deeply amused by something.
“We’re in a park, Lucas. What do you think I want to do?” She grabbed his hand and took off, running full out down the grassy hill that led to the playground equipment. But about halfway down, she tripped over a sprinkler head. As she stumbled, Lucas tried to stop her fall and somehow they got all tangled up together. They hit the ground, hard, and then they were rolling down the hill, Lucas instinctively wrapping his arms around her to protect her.
They came to a stop against the side of a small gazebo, a few feet from the bottom of the hill. Lucas hit with an oomph, though she wasn’t sure if that was because he’d born the brunt of the hit or because she had landed on top of him.
Certain she wasn’t helping matters, she struggled to climb off him, but was so dizzy from the roll that she ended up straddling him, her head on his chest as she tried to keep the world around her from spinning. She glanced up at Lucas, who had a very disgruntled look on his face—like he couldn’t imagine that he had somehow been a part of anything so undignified. The absolute shock, mingled with the sight of his expression, made her throw her head back and giggle like crazy.
Immediately, his hand shot up to the back of her head, his fingers probing her scalp. “Did you hit your head?” he demanded, trying to sit up. Which wasn’t easy considering she was stretched out on top of him and laughing like a hyena.
“If you could see your face,” she sputtered, “you’d laugh, too.”
His left eyebrow rose in that adorably sardonic way of his, which only made her amusement harder to control. Within moments, he joined in and the two of them laughed themselves silly.
This was what she missed the most when she was working on location. Kara rolled onto her back and looked up at the slightly wider expanse of sky above them. She decided it wasn’t Chinese takeout or her big feather bed or access to a regular shower that she missed most—though a shower did run a close second. No, what she missed more than anything was Lucas.
Spending time with her other friends and colleagues was never as much fun as spending time with him. Oh, he walked the walk of the rich, Southern gentleman, but inside that smooth, slightly reserved exterior was a wicked sense of humor and an incredible capacity for fun. He didn’t show it to many people, and she couldn’t help being grateful that she was one of the chosen few he could let down his guard with.
“What now?” he finally asked when their laughter had quieted. “You want to fall off the monkey bars, maybe break your collarbone? Or should we go for something more sedate, like riding the merry-go-round till we puke?”
She reached over, rested a finger against the right corner of his mouth and pressed upward. “You need to smile when you say that stuff. Someone who doesn’t know you might think you’re serious.”
“I am serious. If we try hard enough, maybe we could hang ourselves on the swings.”
“Make fun of me all you want,” she said, swatting his shoulder. “But you have to admit this is a lot better than that stupid gala.”
“So is a root canal, darlin’, so don’t get too full of yourself.”
She went to smack him again but he moved lightning fast and caught her fist in his hand. His face turned serious. “You’ve been running an awful lot tonight, Kara. It’s time to settle down and tell me what it’s all about.”
Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the concern on his face, but in the end she couldn’t do it. Not when he was still holding her hand, his thumb stroking softly across the back of her palm.
“I can’t breathe. I just—I can’t…” Her breath caught on a sob she could no longer swallow down. It had been sitting there for days and weeks, maybe even months, waiting to escape. She tried to stop it—and the ones that came after it. The last thing Lucas needed was for her to turn into a basket case. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the surge inside of her.
“Aw, baby, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured, sitting up and pulling her onto his lap.
She went without a struggle, letting him rock her as she sobbed out all her pain and frustration and fear. Her last few trips—to Colombia, Somalia and the Sudan—had been awful. So awful that there was a part of her, despite what she’d told Lucas earlier, that couldn’t imagine going back.
Sure, she could map the outbreak of the disease, figure out where it started and why. That helped people in the long run—she understood that. It was why she’d chosen to be an epidemiologist to begin with. But it didn’t do anything for people in the short-term and she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore, to watch people die terrible deaths in the hope that somehow she could save others two, five, ten years down the road.
Finally, she wore herself out, the crying subsiding to the occasional shudder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his tuxedo shirt, ashamed of her loss of control now that she was coming back to herself. Lucas had enough on his plate—the last thing she’d wanted to do was burden him with more.
For long seconds Lucas didn’t answer, just stroked her hair softly. She had pretty much given up on a response when he said, “You don’t need to be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
This time she was the one who took long seconds to answer. And when she finally did find her voice, the only words that came out were, “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start at the beginning, baby.”
She would, except at this point, she had no idea when that was.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M THINKING OF LEAVING the CDC.”
He knew she was waiting for an exclamation of surprise or denial, and though he was shocked, he made sure not to show it. Instead, he just looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
“You know, I became an epidemiologist because I wanted to help people. I could have taken my medical degree and joined the Peace Corps or For the Children, but I wanted to do more than only treat the victims after the fact. I wanted to track viruses, to figure out how they start so we could prevent outbreaks from happening in the future.”
“And you don’t want to do that anymore?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to do that. It’s just—” She tried to find a way to explain what she was thinking. “You know, the locals have a phrase down there, one all the relief workers and mercenaries and warlords have adopted in the last few years. TIA. Do you know what it means?”
He shook his head.
“This is Africa.”
This time when she pulled against his arms, he let her go. It cost him, though. “I’m guessing that’s not a statement of pride?”
Her laugh cut like broken glass. “Not quite. Africa is…Africa. No matter what happens, no matter who tries to help or hurt, nothing really changes under the surface. One revolutionary group seizes control and another rises up to fight them. One drought ends and another natural disaster starts. One horrific virus goes dormant and another one takes its place. It’s a damn nightmare, one I’ve been caught in for ten years now.”
“I’m so sorry.” It was inadequate, but he had no idea what else he was supposed to say.
She didn’t answer, simply shrugged, shivered. Though he knew her trembling had more to do with her memories than it did the breeze in the night air, he slipped out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, anyway.
“Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again but expecting a different result,” she finally continued. “I wonder what he would say about our policies in Africa. I wonder what he would say about me. I do the same tests, run the same research, teach the same classes. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. There will always be war, always be poverty. And there sure as hell will always be disease.”
She stood, walked over to the man-made pond at the center of the park. Looked out over the dark, rippling water for long seconds. Even as he wondered what it was she was seeing out there, she added, “On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about losing my job anytime soon. Unless, or course, I totally flip out.”
“Are you worried about that happening?”
“Sorry—did I make the doctor nervous?” She glanced at him. “I’m fine, Lucas. No nervous breakdowns or splits from reality in my future.”
Her voice dropped and he had to strain to hear as she muttered to herself, “No matter how much I wish there was.”
The aside was one more blaring signal of her disillusionment. It was painful to listen to, especially when he remembered the wide-eyed girl she’d once been, determined to make a difference and ready to take on the whole world to do it. Usually he could still find that idealistic girl under the pain and cynicism that came with ten years of public health work, but tonight she was MIA. All he could see when he looked at Kara now was the horror that came from taking on disaster after disaster—and losing, again and again and again.
Not that he blamed her for being tired or angry or heartsick. It had been years since he’d set foot in
Africa—he’d made the choice to put all his efforts and resources into his clinic instead—but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember the utter hopelessness and heartbreaking beauty of the people and the place. The two years he’d spent there, fresh out of medical school, had been the best and worst of his life. He’d often wondered how Kara held it together so well. Now he knew—she didn’t. She just looked like she did.
It was the last thing he wanted for her.
“I’m sorry, Kara,” he repeated, knowing even as he did that it was a useless sentiment.
She shook her head. “It is what it is.”
“What it is, sucks.”
“Yeah.” She started to shrug it off, but even in the dim light of the park, he could see when she decided not to. There was a change to her face, an opening of it that he hadn’t even realized was missing until he saw it happen. “It hurts. The children—” Her voice broke. “This time was bad, Lucas. It was really, really bad.”
“I know, baby.”
“You don’t know. You can’t know what it’s like.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Because the sickness isn’t the worst part. I can deal with the death, deal with the pain of not being able to save everyone, as long as I have the chance to try. But lately, I haven’t even been allowed to try.”
“You’re right,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t understand.”
She laughed, a harsh, painful sound that hurt to listen to. “Yeah, neither do I. I mean, we’re a scientific organization, right? It’s our job to control disease—shit, it’s in our name and our mission statement, so why is it so hard to get people who aren’t doctors or scientists to understand?”
“What people?”
“Politicians. Accountants.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be back yet. There’s still way too much to do in Somalia. Education efforts are just beginning—the conditions at most of the refugee camps practically breed cholera and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“You know, when I started at the CDC, the team leaders had more control. They said when an epidemic was contained. They said when it was time to go home. Now, politicians tell us what to do. What to say, where to go, how long before we have to get out…
“I’m one of the best damn epidemiologists in the world and I know I haven’t found the roots of this outbreak. Just like I know that, while our efforts are making a difference in Somalia, I needed another six to eight weeks to really make sure the education was working, that the conditions were changing.
“A week ago, I was in the hardest hit area of Somalia, fighting that damn disease and convinced that I actually had a shot at beating it. But then my boss called and here I am. The government has decided that it doesn’t want us in Somalia right now, because of some political problem I don’t know about or even care about. I tried to explain that this had nothing to do with politics, that we were really getting a handle on things and just needed a little more time. It didn’t matter. I was on a plane headed home a few days later. While cholera is loosely contained in Somalia, it will make a comeback in less than three months. I guarantee it. And when it does, it will have spread beyond Somalia’s borders and be ten times harder to contain than if we had just been allowed to finish our jobs in the first place.
“I’m so sick of putting bandages on festering wounds instead of actually fixing the problem. I mean, I know politics are a necessary evil. But sometimes, human decency has to exist outside of them, right? Because if we can’t do our jobs, then these viruses are going to keep spreading and keep killing people, people who wouldn’t have to die if I could just finish what I started.”
She turned away from the pond and walked along its edge in her bare feet. “That’s what I can’t take. Not the deaths we couldn’t prevent, but the thousands of deaths we can prevent and are being told not to. I can’t help people, can’t do my job, if they won’t let me. And if I can’t help people, why am I doing this job? Why am I putting myself through the pain and the risk and the abysmal conditions if nothing I do is going to matter?”
She looked at him then and he realized she was waiting for an answer. Too damn bad he didn’t have a clue what to tell her. What she was talking about was one of the reasons he’d gotten out of the game, one of the reasons he ran hi
s own clinic now. There was no one around to tell him he couldn’t treat people who couldn’t pay. No one to tell him he had to stop caring for a patient that needed his help.
“The CDC isn’t the only game in town, you know. You have other options.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about. The thing is, I love my job. I’m really good at what I do.”
“Then they should let you do it.”
She smiled sadly. “Yeah.”
“When are you supposed to go back into the field?”
“Who knows? Two days, two months? Whenever the next epidemic hits.”
Everything inside him rebelled at her diving back in so soon. “You can’t do that,” he said. It was dangerous and she was obviously exhausted. “You need some downtime, a chance to get your perspective back. You need to rest for a while, decide what you want to do.”
“Oh, really?” She turned on him. “Is that what I need? To go on vacation and regain some perspective? And here I thought what I needed was to find a way to keep people from dying.”
“You’re not God, you know. There’s only so much you can do.”
“Which is why we’re having this conversation. I’m trying to decide if I can keep helping the way that I am, or if I need to walk away from the CDC and find another avenue where I can do my job. I suppose I could always track the flu for the Department of Public Health.”
While her statement had enough sarcasm to insure he understood her contempt for tracking the flu, he didn’t think it was that bad of an idea. At least until she got some distance from Africa and the CDC and could make a reasonable, logical decision. He didn’t say that, though, refusing to get drawn into an argument that neither of them would win. She didn’t say anything either and an awkward silence stretched long and taut between them, their easy camaraderie disappearing in the face of her hurt and anger.
He let her stew for a few minutes, and tried to compose an apology in his head, even though he hadn’t said anything wrong. Now was not the time to antagonize her, when she needed a sounding board and a friend.
