by Alice Ward
As I watched him stitch up the uterus that was still lying on the outside of the patient’s body, my hand went to my own scar, caressing the long line of puckered tissue that ran down my side.
Maybe I’d find beauty in my scar one day too.
CHAPTER TWO
Langston
“Langston, sweetheart, are you sure this is what you want to do?”
I looked into my mother’s honey-colored eyes and gave her a kiss on her soft cheek, inhaling the Clive Christian fragrance she favored. “Absolutely sure. The time will pass in a flash. I’ll call every week, I promise.”
She waved a hand in front of her face, as if she could wave the threatening tears back into her eye ducts, the growing pinkness from her nose. I bit back a groan and held the tiny but formidable woman to my chest. I loved my mother dearly and hated to see her genuinely sad.
I was a lucky son of a bitch. I’d hit the lottery at birth, had been given the golden ticket just by being born. Not just in wealth and privilege, but by also having a mother and father who adored me, who only wanted the best for me. And if they attempted to steer my life a little too much… it was a small price to pay to know that, no matter what, I was genuinely loved by at least a couple of people on the planet.
“I know,” she said with a delicate sniff as she reached into her sleeve for one of my grandmother’s antique handkerchiefs she kept there. “It’s just so surreal. You were away at school for so long, and then moved around so much. I thought for sure you’d finally move back home to take over your father’s practice. Then this…” She sniffed and blinked harder, but a tear escaped this time, sending a shot of guilt into my gut as she gently dabbed it away, careful not to distort the public persona she’d so carefully crafted over her fifty-eight years.
She was right. I had been away at school for a long time, but that had all been part of the master plan conceived by my parents long before my actual conception thirty-six years ago. To a letter, I’d followed their wishes. Well, for the most part, anyway. Four in the exclusive boarding school I’d been thrust into for my high school years. Then another four at my father’s alma mater, Columbia, then another four in medical school. That was followed by five incredibly grueling ones in the residency program, years that sleep deprivation had pretty much evaporated from my memory.
I only strayed from my parents’ path when I’d chosen a two-year fellowship in a busy inner-city trauma surgery program instead of quietly stepping into my father’s established New York City surgical practice. I wasn’t yet ready to deal with the cushy but sterile life of treating high society gallbladder attacks and appendectomies. I wanted more action. That was what I loved. Getting my hands dirty while patching people back up, pulling them back from the brink of death, and giving them a few more years on this earth while riding the high of a stress-induced adrenaline rush.
Following the fellowship, I’d spent the past couple years as locum tenens, floating around the country, practicing wherever I was needed, moving between inner city and remote rural as necessary. After spending my entire life in practically one place, I’d enjoyed the variety of different cities and towns, mountains and deserts — and the lovely ladies with different accents was a bonus, especially the southern ones. But it still wasn’t enough. I wanted to explore the country a bit before settling down on the East Coast permanently. I wasn’t ready to plant myself in any one place. When I was approached by Doctors Beyond Borders, I’d jumped at the chance to spend more time away from familial obligations. Because I knew, once I took over my father’s practice, it would all be over.
The travel.
Freedom.
Flying under society’s radar.
All my life, I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped I would at least be forty before that noose slipped around my neck. At thirty-six, that deadline was looming close, then after that, there would be the pressures of settling down and continuing the family lineage, as my parents hadn’t been blessed with a spare to take that pressure off.
“I just miss you,” Mom said and straightened her face. “When I knew you were in the States, it was an easy flight to come visit. Now…” She shivered, and I knew she was envisioning wild animals and mosquitos and dirty conditions of living in huts with no running water. She wasn’t far off.
“Just think…” I said, trying to reassure her, “when I return after my time in Maiduguri, I’ll never want to leave the comfort of the carriage house again.”
Her eyes brightened, as I knew they would when talking about me actually having purchased a place in which to settle down, then she tapped her lips with a finger. I knew what was coming next. My mother, as delicate looking as she appeared, was a shrewd businesswoman and loved to “tinker” in real estate, as she called it, increasing her astounding inherited wealth exponentially over the past few decades.
“Are you quite sure you wouldn’t be happier with a Central Park view, darling? Sting’s penthouse is on the market and word on the street is that I could snap it up at fifty-two.”
It was hard not to roll my eyes. In my mother’s world, fifty-two million dollars was a bargain she could easily write a check for. I remembered how she’d just looked at me like I was some alien being zapped into her life when I purchased the 1903 carriage house and began the process of bringing the old building back to life. It wasn’t finished yet, but the contractor and decorator I hired came well recommended and promised to have it completed months before I returned from overseas.
“You should drop into the carriage house and see the work they’ve already done,” I said to distract her further. “They’ve pulled down the ceilings to find the most incredible beams. I can’t believe anyone in their right mind thought it was a good idea to plaster over them. And the floor will be the showcase of the entire building when they’re finished.”
The distraction worked, and Mom brightened, tucking the lace back into the sleeve of her twenty-thousand-dollar Versace gown. “Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll keep everything on track while you’re…” She sniffed again. Shit, the handkerchief was making a reappearance. “Gone.”
I was saved from the weepy look Mom gave me as a three-tier cake was wheeled into the room. I blew out a breath and forced a smile onto my face as the mayor clapped me on the back and a slice of the delicious cake was handed to me.
“The Big Apple is going to miss you, son,” the white-haired man said, and I set down the cake, knowing there would be no additional time to finish it. I shook his hand, then all the other hands that followed, saying the right things as the evening finally came to a close. My parents had thought it fitting to have me a “sendoff” party that had morphed from a small “intimate” dinner of twenty to a gathering of nearly two hundred in their expansive penthouse, or “city home” as Mom called it. The “country home” on King’s Point was simply too much of a drive.
“Can we leave yet?” Josh moaned as he handed me another whiskey. Best friend since boarding school, Joshua Latimer wasn’t impressed by this shindig either. Like me, he’d smiled pleasantly through many of them during his life.
I looked at my watch. “Half hour.”
“Thank the fuck.” He tossed the expensive drink back in one gulp and smiled as one of the supreme court judge’s daughters passed by, giving his tie a little tug. He winked at me. “See you in thirty.”
I snorted. “Five, if rumor is true.”
He flipped me off and followed the pretty blonde down the hallway, refraining to tell him she’d tugged my tie earlier. I hadn’t been interested. Hell, I hadn’t been interested in much of anything in the past couple months. The cottage house had been a nice distraction while I waited to step onto the plane and be gone from this place for a while. Truth be told, I was burned out. Or maybe I was just fucking tired and needed to sleep.
My last shift in the emergency room had been last night, and I hadn’t been able to save a little girl with three bullet holes in her abdomen and chest. She’d fought so hard. Just eight years old, she survived
the ambulance ride and had been so brave. Even as tears streamed in rivers down the side of her face, she hadn’t been able to voice her fear, just beseeched me with big brown eyes to save her.
I tried. I failed. And the wails of her mother as I told her the shocking news still rang in my ears.
Tossing back the whiskey, I forced the thought away. Forced away the thoughts of all those who had died under my scalpel.
I couldn’t save them all. I knew that. And I hated it.
It was good that I was going away.
I needed to get away.
Away from the gangs who killed innocent young girls over a pair of shoes. Away from the victimization that had become America. The pointing fingers. The lawsuits. The expectations.
God. The fucking expectations that threatened to suffocate the entire world, including me.
Once, in a philosophy class I’d been forced to sign up for at Columbia, one of the students had learned who I was and the wealth behind my name. During an open discussion, the pretty little brunette had snarled at how pathetic I was to not, in her words, “Share your billions with the rest of America, with the world!” Leesa was of the even distribution mindset and wore the “money is evil” t-shirt above her expensive True Religion jeans that she’d purchased with her daddy’s credit card to prove it — in her mind, at least. I’d shut her up when I pulled out my wallet and fished a five and three one-dollar bills from it, handing the eight dollars to her.
“What the fuck is this for?” Leesa had snapped, crushing the bills in her fist, eyes blazing.
I lifted a shoulder and spread out my hands. “Your share of my wealth.”
Her eyes had narrowed as she tossed the eight dollars at my chest. I hadn’t bothered to catch them, just let them fall to the floor. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No.” There had been twenty sets of eyes on me at that point, but I hadn’t cared. Even back then, I was tired of the big-dreams-with-limited-thinking mentality that had surrounded me. “But I think your rose-colored glasses have caused you to be mathematically challenged.”
Leesa stomped her foot. “I’m very good at math.” Then she snarled, “Even for a girl.” She was trying to turn the argument into the dirty waters of sexism if she could. I’d seen it before. Women were like that, twisting and turning every damn thing you said until you couldn’t remember the original words.
I hadn’t let her derail me from the point I was trying to make. “Terrific. How much money do you think I have in my trusts, investments, and accounts?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “The internet said over…” her nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad, “a billion ridiculous dollars.”
“You might want to double-check your sources. If I sold all my assets and cashed out my trusts, it’s closer to two point five billion,” I told her, being brutally honest. No way in hell was I going to have her do some vengeful fact-checking and accuse me of lying later. “There are over three hundred and twenty million people in the United States. If I distributed my wealth equally to all of them, that…” I nodded to the crumpled bills on the floor, “is your share. I hope you enjoy your caramel macchiato with it.”
She’d huffed and puffed as she absorbed that reality, then tossed out, “You could at least give it to the poor.”
I’d been waiting for that argument and had already done the math in my mind. “Alright, let’s do that. With the forty-five million Americans living below the poverty level, how do you suggest they utilize the fifty-six dollars they’d each get from me? I’m sure they’re eager for your suggestions on how they could best stretch those dollars while they work two jobs trying to put food on the table for their kids.”
She’d yanked out her calculator and tapped away before lifting her chin in stubborn refusal to face the facts. “It’s still disgusting,” she shouted and stood, tears in her eyes, and stomped on the bills on the floor before rushing out of the room.
I’d fucked her that night, when she came to my dorm to apologize for her outburst. I’d actually fucked Leesa a number of times, up until she began hinting that we’d make beautiful babies together. Until I caught her poking a needle into the condoms in my nightstand.
The memory made me shiver.
That had been the moment I lost trust in women completely. I’d spent the next several weeks ratcheted with anxiety that I’d gotten the conniving little bitch pregnant, appalled that someone like her could possibly have my baby. I had nightmares of how she’d hold our child over my head, using him or her to manipulate me for the next eighteen years.
I’d dodged that bullet, but the lesson had made me smarter even as it left a thick layer of ice around my heart. I hadn’t let many people get close to me after that. Josh had inched his way in, but only because his folks were equally as wealthy and his lighthearted way at looking at life shined a light into my otherwise dark existence. An existence that had me chasing adrenaline rushes, preferring to jump out of planes or digging my hands into the guts of humanity rather than deal with people face-to-face.
When I needed sex, I got it. There was always a woman up for a one-night stand, or even a few hours in a hotel room. Hell, a quickie in a club bathroom would serve many of them just fine. I never took them home. Never told them who I was, about my family, or that I was a doctor. I couldn’t stand the dollar signs that popped into their eyes if I did.
The judge’s daughter was back, and she yanked on my tie, pulling me back to the present. “Do I get a goodbye kiss, Langston?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at me. I could smell her sweat. Her sex. Very carefully, I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead. She pouted, her glossed lip sticking out. “Is that it?”
I wanted to shout at her. Hit something. Do something. Couldn’t she see how pathetic this was? Instead, I took a sip of my drink, attempting to wash the anger back down into my stomach. “Sorry, Emily. I know where your mouth has been.”
Her eyes widened, and I thought for sure she was going to slap me, and a large part of me welcomed the pain. She didn’t. Instead, she whirled around and stomped from the room. Yet another reason women were nowhere close to my radar. I simply didn’t trust their conniving minds.
Before the ring of her six-inch stilettos clicking on the marble floor faded, I spotted Josh coming down the hallway, straightening his tie. His grin took up his entire face as he lifted two fingers, then five. I gave him a thumbs-up for his bedroom prowess, wishing I had a little of his carefree attitude in me.
“Impressive,” I said as he came to stand by my side. “Hope you didn’t throw out a hip.”
He smirked. “Ready to blow this place? The club should be hopping by now.” I groaned, ready to give a million excuses as to why I didn’t want to go to any club, but he held up a hand, holding me off. “Shut up. You’re going. Just got to get you out of that penguin suit and into something that could get you laid, old man. It’s been forever since we went out, and from the looks of things, it will be forever until we get to again.”
Getting out of this suit was indeed priority one, but I really wanted to crash after that. “I’ve got a plane to catch—”
I surrendered to our twenty-year friendship as he gave me an exaggerated yawn, patting his mouth with his hand for added emphasis. “Come on. It’s your last night here. Live a little. Have some fun before malaria bites you in the ass.”
He had a point.
“All right. Let’s go but just for an hour at most. I need to get some sleep. Plane leaves early tomorrow morning.”
He hooked an arm around my neck. “All right, old man. Let’s get out of here and into some decent clothes.”
Looking around, I found my parents still talking to the mayor and his wife. Mom’s happy expression immediately fell the moment she saw me, the bright smile sliding off her pretty face. She sighed. “Is it time?”
I pulled her against my chest, then took the hand my father extended to me. “Yeah. I’m heading out, but don’t worry, the time w
ill go by in a flash.” I’d signed a commitment for six months but felt sure I’d want to stay longer. In my mind, I planned to be there for a year at least. Maybe longer. Or maybe I’d skip to a different country, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to keep my options open.
Out came the hankie, and she pressed it to her nose. “I’m just going to miss you so much.”
I kissed her hair, breathing in the familiar scent again. “I know. I’ll miss you too.”
“Son…” my father began, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You sure about this?”
I looked him in the eye, noticing not for the first time how tired he looked. I was a mixture of both my parents. Tall and dark-haired like him. Tawny-colored eyes and straight nose like her. I’d been their miracle child. After three miscarriages, they had almost given up when I came screaming into the world. There had been nothing but miscarriages after me, although they hadn’t given up until Mom was forced to have a hysterectomy when I was six.
They’d been married for forty years last summer and were still very much in love, even though critics hadn’t given them a chance with their seventeen-year age difference. Critics also didn’t like that my mother was an heiress while my father was a lowly general surgeon, who would have been just as happy in a little house as in this massive Central Park apartment.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m sure. I want to do this. Need to spit the silver spoon out of my mouth for a while.”
The mayor guffawed, as if I’d told a hilarious joke. His wife poked him in the ribs with her elbow, shutting him up. “Here, Harold, let’s go get some air.” She led the grumbling man onto the patio, giving us some privacy.
“Be careful, darling,” Mom said, rising onto tiptoes to press a kiss on my cheek, then using her thumb to wipe away the lipstick smudge. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay here for tonight? Gerald can drive you to the airport in the morning.”
I gave her another squeeze as I reminded her that, “I have to be up early and I’m staying closer to JFK. Already have my bags in my hotel room.”
