Blind Ambition

by Gwen Hernandez

  “My parents blamed themselves, wondering if they had missed early signs, or fed her the wrong foods, or exposed her to some chemical without knowing it. It ate away at them, destroyed their marriage. My dad took off, and my mom found her comfort with Jim Beam.” He cast his eyes down. “I thought their divorce was my fault too. After all, I killed my sister. I ruined their relationship. I wasn’t enough to keep them together.”

  Alexa ached for that misguided little boy. “Dan…”

  “Thank God for my grandmother,” he said, his voice transformed by love. “She took in an angry, hurt twelve-year-old and made him whole again. I never would have survived without her.”

  “She sounds amazing.” Alexa loved her already. For saving Dan, and helping him become the incredible man he was now. “But Despina’s death was different.” Her voice had gone soft. “I really did set everything in motion.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “I finally get it.” He jerked his chin in her direction. “It’s your penance, right? But how many people do you have to save before it’s enough, Lys? Will it ever be enough?”

  “How could it be?” No matter how many she helped, her sister wasn’t coming back.

  “Exactly. And you’re not the only one paying the price.”

  “I know.” She cringed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  His face darkened and his lips went flat. “Don’t apologize to me. Just do something about it. You owe it to yourself—and to that little girl you plan to adopt—to find a way past the guilt. If you can’t, you’re going to poison everything good in your life.” His voice softened. “Even if you won’t be with me, I want you to be happy, Lys. You deserve to be happy. But only you can figure out how.”

  She stood mute, unable to form a coherent response before he walked away.

  An hour later, the sun shone brightly on the winding road to Sancoins, as Dan, Todd, and Jason drove the children in three separate cars toward an orphanage that had agreed to take them. Dan listened to Alexa breathe in the seat next to him. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was probably avoiding him.

  Other than the necessary communication to get Carter and Flore settled in the back seat, she hadn’t said a word to him since he walked away from her.

  What was she thinking about? He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to give up the guilt that she’d owned for more than a decade. And he finally understood why she thought she couldn’t have a long-term relationship with him—or maybe just anyone, because he wasn’t much of a catch—but he would not retreat back into his protective pride.

  If she understood that he loved her no matter what, would she be willing to get the help she desperately needed to move forward with her life in a healthy way?

  She loved him. He was almost sure of it. Or at least she would if she’d allow herself to.

  He sighed and tried to rein in his frustration. He was a fixer, a doer. A man who patched up broken people and got them to safety. But he couldn’t fix Alexa’s mind. He couldn’t do anything except keep her safe and hope she took his advice to get counseling.

  And wait. He had put all of his cards on the table. Her move.

  In the back seat, the children snuffled in sleep as the car—Kurt had lined up three sedans for them, complete with infant seats—bounced along the rutted, potholed asphalt. Within ten minutes, they were at the edge of town and Dan had located the address.

  The day was shaping up warm and humid—what a surprise—and the car didn’t have air conditioning. The smells through his open window changed from sea air and damp earth to wet asphalt, rotting trash, and enticing spices as they entered the haphazardly laid-out neighborhood with its mix of homes and small stores.

  All three cars killed their engines in front of the two-story, whitewashed cube of a house that perched on a hill at the top of the street, at least a hundred yards from its nearest neighbor. Jason hopped out into the sunlight, while the others waited, engines off.

  Toys were scattered around the front yard and laundry fluttered on a line off to the side of the house.

  A slim woman in a pale dress emerged from the building and met their emissary on the sagging front porch. Dan scanned the street for threats.

  “Where are we?” Flore asked from the back seat, her voice hoarse from sleep.

  Alexa’s eyes glittered with tears as she turned to the girl. “This is the new children’s home,” she said softly, with a glance at Carter, who slept at an awkward angle against the car door.

  Dan covered her slim hand with his own. Here he’d been thinking that she was acting weird because of their earlier conversation, not even considering that she was hurting because she had to say goodbye to Flore and the other children. Way to go, asshole.

  “I don’t want to go,” Flore said.

  A tear slipped down Alexa’s cheek and she put a death grip on Dan’s fingers, reaching for Flore with her free hand. “I know, sweetie, but this is the only way. I’m trying to speed up the process, and I’ll come visit every day until we hear from the adoption bureau. Okay?”

  The little girl frowned, but nodded, her face solemn. Jesus, she’d been through so much. He couldn’t help but admire her strength. If only there were something he could do to help her. To help all of these children.

  Maybe he understood a little of what drove Alexa. Not everything she did was about penance or reparation. Sometimes it was just about helping others. That he got. It was why he’d become a PJ. He hadn’t always succeeded at his work, but no feeling in the world could quite match saving a life.

  “How much longer?” Flore asked, her voice tight with angst. She coughed. “Will they be able to keep the soldiers away?”

  Alexa glanced at him, her eyebrows drawn together, then turned back to the girl and gripped her hand. “You’ll be safe here. The rebels don’t come into Sancoins.”

  That was mostly true. They occasionally staged small, targeted assaults in the city with one or two men, but so far they’d kept to the smaller villages where they found more support from the locals. Though with the assault on Terre Verte, they were stepping up the game. St. Isidore’s government needed to do something quickly or they faced a coup.

  Figuring out a way to bring jobs would go a long way. Gainfully employed citizens were generally too content to revolt. But how did you convince people to invest in a country that had so many problems? There was a Catch-22 if he’d ever heard one. He didn’t envy President Desmarais his job.

  Flore nodded at Alexa and looked down at her hands. She probably understood the fickle ways of the island better than either he or Alexa could imagine. There was a wisdom in her big, brown eyes that he wouldn’t wish on any child.

  Outside, Jason signaled to them. Dan climbed out of the car and opened the back door to remove the still-sleeping Carter from his booster seat.

  Next to the boy, Flore coughed and sucked in a wheezing breath.

  “Sweetie,” Alexa said. “Do you have your inhaler?”

  The girl shook her head. “They took it,” she said, her voice strangled.

  Dan caught Alexa’s gaze and her eyes widened. Maybe they had an inhaler in the orphanage. “I’m on it,” he said, hefting Carter and racing toward the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAN VAULTED DOWN THE STAIRS and sprinted to the car empty-handed. “Nothing,” he said. “We’re going to the hospital.”

  “You know where it is?” Alexa asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Same place it was three years ago.”

  “Let me get in back.” Alexa ran around the car, tossed Carter’s booster seat onto the grass, and scooted in next to Flore. As soon as the lock on her seatbelt clicked, Dan swung the car in a tight backward arc and then gunned it down the street.

  Flore’s breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she gasped for oxygen. The horrifying noise stopped Alexa’s heart.

  “Flore.” She leaned closer. “It’s okay, honey.” She laid her palm between Flor
e’s shoulder blades and gently stroked down her back. “I’m here, baby. Try to relax.”

  The girl looked up with wide eyes, her face gray under her dark skin. She had to be scared out of her mind.

  “Sweetie,” Alexa said, smoothing back Flore’s hair. “We’re going to get help. Just hang on.”

  Flore nodded and sucked in a desperate, groaning breath that made her sound like a zombie in a low-budget movie.

  Damn the guards for taking the girl’s meds. Alexa leashed her frustration—Flore would pick up on her angst—and continued her soft caresses. “I know you’re scared, honey, but this will pass. I’m here now. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

  If only she could keep that promise.

  She willed her voice to be steady. “Close your eyes and think of your favorite place in the whole world.” Alexa closed her own eyes and took a slow breath. “You’re there right now, smiling, happy. Breathing is easy. It’s like, in this place, your lungs want to open up wide and inhale all the fresh, wonderful air.

  “Can you feel your muscles relaxing? Can you feel your chest loosening to let in the sweet, pure oxygen?” Words weren’t medicine, but what other option did she have? Panicking amplified the effects of an attack, so calming should ease them, at least a little. Hopefully enough to give her and Dan the time they needed to get help.

  “Five minutes,” he said.

  A lifetime.

  Flore’s wheezing sounded painful but it was better than “silent chest,” a quieting of the harsh breathing due to increased airway constriction.

  Still, every breath the girl took gutted Alexa. Just like with Despina and Garfield, there was nothing Alexa could do but watch her suffer, a little piece of her dying with every tortured inhalation, every cough. All of her training and knowledge were useless.

  Had she really thought she could make up for her sister’s suffering by working for Hygiea? Go out and save the world? Who was she kidding? She couldn’t even save this little girl.

  But she had to try. So she kept talking and stroking and soothing, doing everything in her power to calm Flore.

  She ignored how they bounced and jostled on the crappy road and focused all of her energy on the child who’d stolen her heart. The child she selfishly hoped wouldn’t have any extended family to claim her, because Alexa wanted to take her to the States where she could provide the reliable medical care—and clean environment—Flore needed.

  Maybe she was a hypocrite, trying to save the rest of the children from the very fate she wanted for Flore. But those kids had families who wanted them back. And they didn’t have special medical needs that couldn’t be met in St. Isidore. They needed food and clean water, and the island needed its children to secure its future.

  But Flore was different.

  Dan screeched to a stop under the portico of a dingy yellow two-story building perched behind a line of palms. He shot out of the car and opened Flore’s door. The second Alexa had the girl unbuckled, he lifted her into his arms and ran through sliding glass doors, calling for help.

  Alexa dashed after him, her legs shaky. Please let Flore be okay.

  The emergency department sat nearly empty, aside from a chubby white-haired man with a red nose getting his finger wrapped. A young, petite woman in blue scrubs directed Dan to one of five beds that lined the wall, and he laid Flore gently on her back as he relayed her condition in confident, clear, urgent tones.

  Thank God for him.

  Alexa gave Flore’s hand a gentle squeeze before she was pushed out of the way to make room for the staff who raced in. They hooked Flore to a pulse-oximeter and set up a heart rate monitor.

  “Wait over there.” One of the staffers pointed to a bank of plastic chairs that lined the far wall, and pulled a curtain partially around Flore’s bed, cutting Alexa and Dan out of the scene.

  Alexa stared at the puckered beige fabric, fighting the cold that stole into her veins as voices behind the flimsy barrier called out for Albuterol and IV steroids, and read off the girl’s O2 saturation levels.

  Strong arms embraced her from behind. “Come sit down,” Dan said, his voice gentle as a summer breeze.

  Her feet were made of lead.

  He came around and faced her, rubbing her upper arms with warm, callused palms. “She’ll be okay.”

  More than anything in the world, Alexa needed to have faith, so she followed him to one of the flimsy chairs and sat down, her body suddenly weighing a thousand pounds.

  He squatted before her and gripped her hands, as if he could pull her back from the emotional quicksand. “You were great with her in the car.”

  Alexa stared at their hands. “I haven’t felt so helpless since…” No. She gave her head a little shake. “Her O2 sats are low. What if…?”

  “The doctors and nurses are doing everything they can, honey. They’re taking care of her.” He pushed her hair behind her ear. “Your job is to sit right here and send Flore your love.” He stood and kissed her forehead before settling on the seat next to her, the chair protesting with a high-pitched squeak. “My job is to sit right here and give you mine.”

  Her stomach dipped and she blinked until she regained control. She didn’t deserve Dan’s devotion, but he gave it to her anyway. Damned if she knew why. But she wasn’t foolish enough to reject his help. Not with Flore’s life on the line.

  A plump woman with black and gray hair twisted into a bun bustled over to them with a clipboard. According to the badge clipped to her shirt, her name was Lily, a delicate name for such a sturdy lady. “Are you family?” She had a wide gap between her front teeth, almost large enough to fit another tooth. That distracting window into her mouth made her look friendlier somehow.

  “No.” Alexa straightened. “I work for Hygiea.”

  Lily’s gaze raked them both from head to toe. She frowned. “You have money to pay?”

  “Yes. No problem.”

  The woman nodded and handed over the clipboard and a pen. “You put your credit card information there.” She jabbed at the paper. “It must process before you leave.”

  Just like that. Alexa gave the woman a placating smile. “That’s fine.”

  But it wasn’t fine. She couldn’t even keep her hand steady enough to fill out the form.

  Dan snagged the clipboard and pen and laid them in his lap. “Just breathe.” He massaged her neck with strong, knowing fingers, and she closed her eyes.

  Was this more punishment for Despina? Was the little girl she loved suffering for Alexa’s mistakes? She didn’t have any specific religious beliefs, but if there was any kind of karma or higher power in the universe, she appealed to it now.

  Spare her. Take me, punish me, but please, please, please save Flore.

  Dan stood and resisted the urge to rub his rear end. The hospital waiting area chairs were starting to feel more like cement than plastic after three hours. Jumping jacks and maybe a few lunges would feel great right about now, but he was pretty sure the staff—especially the battleax named Lily—wouldn’t approve.

  Alexa had been up and down probably a hundred times since they’d arrived with Flore, asking about her condition, trying to get a glimpse. The doctor—a soft-spoken woman named Evangeline Smithson—had introduced herself once the girl was stable, and patiently fielded Alexa’s questions. The girl was responding to the treatments, and the doctor would release her soon. But the woman wasn’t comfortable letting Flore leave with Dan or Alexa, since they weren’t family.

  Soon after their arrival, Alexa had called the St. Isidore Adoption Bureau to make sure the director knew the children had been recovered and that Flore was at the hospital. Dan was pretty sure she was also hoping he’d shortcut the waiting period and give her custody. The island wasn’t that big. If they were going to find any relatives for Flore, it would have happened by now.

  The director said he was on his way.

  Dan twisted from side to side and looked down at Alexa. Despite the dark circles under her eyes and her r
umpled clothes, she still took his breath away. “Do you want a coffee? Or a soda?”

  She glanced up and shook her head. All of her concern for Flore was written in the set of her eyebrows and the pinch of her lips and the way she rubbed her left wrist. He’d give anything to be able to ease her worry.

  Across the room, the glass doors slid open, admitting hot, sticky air that battled with the a/c. A tall, thin man with dark skin and close-cropped black hair stepped inside. He wore a gray pinstripe suit, complete with a green silk handkerchief tucked into his coat pocket. Classic hot-weather wear.

  A middle-aged couple in their Sunday best followed on his heels. The woman’s shoulders were rigid and her eyes swept the room in a wide arc. The man peeled her fingers from his plaid shirtsleeve and directed her to a bench near the door.

  Dan had thought the couple was with the slick forty-something in the suit, but maybe not.

  Alexa glanced toward the new arrivals and launched to her feet. “Mr. Armeaux.”

  Ah, the man from the adoption bureau. Dan glanced at the couple again, his brain spinning.

  She rushed forward and took Armeaux’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  Dan hovered behind her, not wanting to interfere in something that had nothing to do with him, but reluctant to leave her unattended.

  “I wanted to speak to you in person,” the man said, his voice a deep, resonant bass, reminiscent of James Earl Jones, but with a combination of island accent and British lilt.

  She nodded eagerly, her body tense, her shoulders high. “As I mentioned two weeks ago, everything is already cleared on the U.S. side of things. Once I get the paperwork from you, the embassy in Barbados will issue the documents I need to take Flore home.”

  Armeaux frowned. “There has been a development.”

  Alexa’s entire body stilled.

  “We found Flore’s next of kin,” he said. “In fact, they are here to take her home as soon as she is released.” He gestured to the couple who sat stiffly by the door.