Читать книгу Take It To The Grave Bundle 1: Take It to the Grave parts 1-3 - Zoe Carter - Страница 10

Maisey

“Say ‘Ah,’” I said, pulling my mouth into an exaggerated O and crossing my eyes in an attempt to relax my young patient. It worked. It gave me a slight headache, but it worked. The little boy sitting on the examination table giggled, and his mother smiled briefly. She held the boy’s baby brother, and for a moment I was distracted. The skinny legs pumping in his mother’s arms reminded me of another baby, another time. I shook my head, surprised by the unexpected memory. I returned my focus to my young patient. Arinya, the Thai nurse I’m training, smiled. She was tiny, slender and so stunning, with dark brown eyes and long dark locks that should have looked sweaty and lank and tangled in this heat, but didn’t. Not for the first time I envied not only the length of her glossy hair, but her built-in air-conditioning that didn’t allow her to wilt in the humidity.

I grinned, then winked. “Ahhh.” I tried again, crossing my eyes harder (cue stronger headache), and the little boy obediently opened his mouth, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he tried to copy me. I used the tongue depressor to quickly scan his throat and tonsils, and nodded as I disposed of the thin wooden stick, not for the first time thinking I should have bought shares in that tongue depressor factory—we went through so damn many of them.

“His throat looks good and healthy, no spots, no redness,” I told Arinya, who quickly noted the details on the boy’s medical chart.

I winked at the boy again. “Good job, dude.” I reached for him, tickling his ears as I gently felt around his throat, easily locating his lymph nodes. I chuckled as the kid squirmed. “Hey, you have to sit still,” I told him, tickling him some more, and his mother laughed as he let loose with a peal of giggles.

“Glands are fine,” I said to Arinya. I conducted the rest of the examination as quickly as I could, trying to make the boy laugh at every opportunity. This was his first-ever visit to a health clinic, such as it was, and I wanted to make the experience a positive one. We wanted this new program to work. That meant people needed to come back. I decided I’d hold off on breaking out the syringes for his inoculations until his next visit. No sense traumatizing the poor kid—or his mother, not on the first visit. No, that stuff was best introduced slowly. Suck the locals into a false sense of security, I say.

The sounds of hammers and saws, men’s voices speaking in a language I still could not master and the dull wash of waves on the shore a short distance away permeated the elevated hut. No, clinic. I had to keep correcting myself. We were making this place a clinic. I eyed the gaps in the wall between the reeds of bamboo. It rained a little every day, and then the temperatures soared north of thirty-five degrees Celsius, which I automatically convert to ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit in my head. Today was hot, and I could feel the prickle of heat, the slide of a drop of perspiration down my spine. I loved it. Give me a cold beer and a hot guy on a sandy beach, and I’m in heaven. I looked at the reflex handle that Arinya was holding out to me and smiled. Plenty of time for that later. Right now, we had a little champ waiting to see what the weird lady was going to do with this funny-looking hammer.

After testing his reflexes, then letting him hit me with that damn reflex hammer, and after measuring his height and weight, head circumference and general health overall, I finally nodded, giving the kid a thumbs-up signal. I pulled a lollipop out of the rear pocket of my denim shorts. Out of all the supplies I’d arranged to have shipped over, it was the candy that seemed to be the item in most demand. And soccer balls. Candy and soccer balls.

“You’re in good shape, young man,” I said. The kid was cute, shy and a little too skinny, with a grubby smile that could melt your heart. He needed good, regular meals, and regular baths wouldn’t hurt, but he was in a lot better shape than some of the other kids I’d seen. I glanced at his mother briefly. He may not be well fed, but it was clear he was well-loved. I wondered briefly what that would feel like, then shook off the self-indulgent thought as I turned to Arinya. “Invite his mother to the nutrition classes, but tell her I think her little man is doing fine.”

I listened absently as Arinya spoke quickly in Thai to the mother. In the few months I’d been in Thailand, I’d managed to pick up hello, goodbye and thank you—and not much else. Okay, maybe some scorching swear words. The Learn to Speak Thai app on my phone seemed like such a great idea, but only worked if I had reliable access to a phone network, which I didn’t, out here in a remote coastal village that was closer to Malaysia than it was to Bangkok. Still, the singsong sounds were relaxing as I packed up the items I’d used, and prepared the treatment room for our next patient—whenever they chose to appear.

It was still a challenge to get some of the locals to trust us enough to come for a checkup—but we were gradually breaking down their resistance. Some of the people here had never seen a doctor, which was something that I, as a nurse, found difficult to relate to. Although as far as I was concerned a good nurse was better than a doctor any day—but I’m biased. I smiled. The main building was almost finished, Arinya and two other nurses had nearly completed their training, and it wouldn’t be long before the clinic was operating in earnest. Another successful build. I straightened my shoulders. Yep. This program was going to save lives, and I was darn proud to be part of it. It felt so good to do good. I rubbed my neck, tilting my head back to stretch my muscles, and looked up at the ceiling. Well, maybe ceiling was a stretch.

Our temporary clinic was located in the barely used village school while the main building was constructed. The roof was thatched from what looked like banana leaves, palm fronds and some mud-like ingredient that could easily have been dried cow manure. I wasn’t going to look too closely.

“Hey, Lucy, that order of bamboo has arrived, and the builders want you to tell them where to start with it.”

It took a moment to realize someone was talking to me. I turned. Jake Danning, one of the backpackers helping with the construction, stood in the doorway. From his expression, he’d been waiting a little while for my response. Damn it, after all these months, I still forgot my name. Luckily, all supplies and equipment were addressed to Nurses Without Borders, so no one here knew my real name. I’d managed to laugh off most hesitations with some casual comment, but I knew I’d given a lot of these people an impression of being quite the ditz sometimes. Fortunately, I’d managed to prove myself with the program setup, training and implementation, so I wasn’t seen as a complete ditz.

My eyebrows rose as Jake’s comments registered. “You’re the site manager, why don’t you tell them?”

He folded his arms as he leaned against the door frame. I’m surprised it held his bulk. The blond American was considerably taller and more solid than his Thai contractors, and this hut looked like the next typhoon could wash it away.

“They want to talk to the nice lady,” he drawled, then chuckled.

I tried to frown, but my lips curved. Right. The builders wanted a break, and this was the most expedient way of getting one.

I gestured to the door and followed him and Arinya out to walk along the raised veranda. The sun was bright, the humidity thick, the sea breeze pretty much non-existent. As I trotted down the stairs to the ground below, one of the village kids cried out, and I waved back. These interruptions were becoming a habit, but I didn’t mind. Everyone seemed to work on a relaxed schedule, and I’d learned it was easier to work with it than against it. I may be here in my capacity as nurse and trainer, but I’d also discovered some unique negotiating skills to get builders and tradespeople to do what needed to be done—in due time.

“Some of the gang are organizing a Fourth of July party...” Jake commented casually, referring to the rest of the team of travelers involved in the health clinic program. “We weren’t sure if you’d be here, or back home in...?” His voice trailed off, and I didn’t miss his obvious attempt at getting more information out of me. At least Rich was more subtle, kept me on my toes. Jake was easy to handle.

“Oh, that sounds fantastic, what a great idea,” I exclaimed, neatly sidestepping the question. “You know I’m always up for a party—any excuse will do.” I turned my attention to greet Chatri, the local man in charge of the build. It took several minutes of gesturing and intent listening, deciphering, laughing and finally translating with the help of Arinya to communicate where the bamboo poles should go, and I brought Jake into the conversation as we turned to look at the newly formed building.

The concrete slab for the new health clinic had been poured, and most of the cinder blocks were already laid. I walked over to the newly delivered bamboo poles that would be used to partially frame up the roof, and spent the next half hour discussing the structure with the local men involved on the project, along with the university students, backpackers and medical professionals who were using their break to contribute to the remote Thai communities who very much needed this clinic.

Something slammed into my butt, and I whirled. Four kids giggled, and I could see more running up behind. A baby crawled in the sand behind them, and once again a startling memory of another little baby, crawling along the ground, slammed into me. Just as quickly, it was gone. It’s okay, don’t worry, the soothing voice in my head whispered.

One of the boys bit his finger, then pointed to the ground and I looked down. A sad little soccer ball in need of inflation lay at my feet, and I grinned.

“Oh, it’s on.” I kicked the ball back to them, then ran up, trying to sweep it out from between their feet. It wasn’t long before we were playing an impromptu game of soccer on the beach.

The rest of the day passed in a blur—much like every other day here.

* * *

I tilted my head back as the hot breeze teased my short hair, listening to Jake’s gentle guitar strumming. It was nine o’clock, the sun had long since set, but the heat and humidity were unrelenting. So unrelenting that Rich’s arm around my shoulders felt more like a hot clamp than a gesture of affection. The campfire was low, and I could see the stars twinkling in the night sky. Only the light from the fire illuminated our group, and there was an intimate feel to the evening, cloaked in darkness. Or maybe that was the alcohol, bringing us together, lowering our inhibitions, our filters. My current flame tugged me closer, and I tried to get comfortable, reminding myself that a cold beer and a hot guy on a sandy beach were supposed to be my idea of heaven.

“I miss my bed,” Rich said as we shared our secret longings to stave off homesickness. Okay, they shared their secret longings; I just listened. I wasn’t homesick. One needed a home to get homesick about. Rich rubbed my arm, waggling his dark brows suggestively. “It’s huge, with just the right amount of bounce.”

I shook my head, grinning. “And you probably change the sheets maybe once a year, right?” I joked, and the others laughed, including Rich. He may be great in the sack, but he was little help outside of it, at least when it came to housekeeping, I’d noticed. He was great on the building site, not so much in the hut we now shared.

“I miss my mother’s pumpkin pie,” Stacey, a college student from Sacramento, commented.

“Oh, my mom used to make a fantastic pecan pie,” Harry, a young med student from New Orleans, interjected. I moaned at the thought of a slice of good old pecan pie—with lashings of whipped cream.

The tie of my bikini top dug into the back of my neck, and I lifted the cotton tank top away from my chest, trying to allow some of that breeze to brush against my skin, no matter how heated it was. It was hot, and my head was beginning to feel just the slightest bit fuzzy. I wasn’t sure if it was dehydration, drunkenness or a pleasant mix of both.

The breeze shifted, and some of us sitting around the campfire moved to get out of the way of the smoke. I tried to shift, too, but Rich sidled up alongside me, that heavy, hot arm tugging me closer to that solid, heated body. He was doing that a lot lately, as though signaling to all and sundry that we were an item. Normally I don’t mind public displays of affection. Kiss me, hug me, get me hot and panting, but this was beginning to feel just a little bit more than a casual PDA. I raised my glass to my lips and took a big sip of the home brew Chatri had left for us. I still couldn’t pronounce its name, but I’d acquired a taste for it. This was my fourth and I was feeling a pleasant buzz. Well, almost. I could also feel the suffocating weight around my shoulders. I swallowed some more. Yep, there’s that buzz now. I relaxed into the warmth that spread through my chest. Chatri’s home brew could pack a punch, if you let it. It made it easier to forget.

“I miss my sister,” Stacey said softly. “There are so many things I’d love to tell her about this project...”

Nope. I wasn’t going to think about my sister.

Harry nodded. “My dad would love this whole thing,” he murmured, staring into the flames. “He’s an awesome handyman, too. We built this bookshelf together for my mom when I was twelve, for the fabric she uses for patchwork.” His expression turned sombre. “She died a few years ago.” He blinked, then smiled. “But that bookshelf is still standing.”

I sure as hell wasn’t going to reminisce about my mother. I forced myself to focus on the bookshelf part of the story.

Jake put down his guitar. “I miss my dog,” he said, staring morosely into the fire.

I chuckled. “You are such a country song.”

Jake grinned, and Rich twisted slightly to face me.

“What do you miss, Lucy?”

I kept the smile on my face, and raised my eyebrows. “What?” I asked, pretending to not hear the question as my mind raced for an answer. Okay, maybe raced wasn’t the right word. It lurched at a sluggish pace.

“Who or what do you miss from home?” Rich repeated, framing his words too clearly for me to play dumb a second time. Damn it. He was experiencing a brief moment of clarity, of purpose, when I was concentrating really hard on not letting my head loll back. Not fair.

“Ketchup,” I responded, broadening my smile. Ah, good one.

My fellow campfire huddlers groaned, and a line appeared between Rich’s brows. For the first time, my glib response wasn’t cutting it with the group. With Rich.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You’re always joking, always laughing, but you never really tell us anything. About you, anyway.”

For a moment, I wanted to argue, wanted to point out that revealing my heretofore unrealized passion for table condiments was me sharing something personal, but the intent look in Rich’s eyes, the earnestness, interest and puzzlement I read there, his eagerness to learn about me, to connect with me... It was seductive. Exhausting. Tempting. I blinked. Slowly. Chatri’s home brew was burning through my system, calming me. Lowering my defenses. Careful, that little voice inside my head whispered.

“Come on, Lucy. Can you tell us something about yourself? Anything?” Rich urged in a quiet, pleading tone.

I glanced briefly around the campfire. Everyone stared back at me, waiting, anticipating. These were people I’d practically lived with for four months, worked shoulder-to-shoulder with, laughed with, shared meals with, raged at the bureaucracy with, celebrated with, cried with... I glanced back up at the man who held me so tightly, so closely, and who stared at me so hopefully.

I looked him straight in the eye. Well, in his four eyes. I saw two of him, at the moment. I blinked. Nope. There were still two of him. “My real name is Maisey,” I blurted. The soft gasp inside my head was a belated warning bell. You idiot.

Rich blinked, then pushed me away a little. I swayed, coolness washing over me at the loss of contact, the surprising distance that yawned between us. “Shut up,” he exclaimed in disbelief.

I may have been slightly drunk, but even I saw the faint horror, the hurt, in his eyes, the slack-jawed shock. I heard the crashing silence around the campfire. I felt the brittle coolness of our separation like an Arctic blast that was more effective than a cold shower could ever be, freezing the effect of Chatri’s hypnotic potion in my veins, and I saw the crystal clarity of consequences unraveling in my mind’s eye, and what I had to do to avoid them. Fix it, now.

I reacted. Curling my hand into a fist, I slugged him playfully on the shoulder. “‘‘Course it’s not, you idiot,” and laughed as I’d practiced for years, injecting levity that bordered on hysteria, but was apparently enough to void my brief, insane moment of honesty. Rich guffawed as he slung his arm over my shoulders again, tugging me off balance. I kissed him briefly on the lips to shut him up, and Jake started strumming his guitar again as Harry reminisced about his dad’s jambalaya.

I settled back against Rich, pasting a smile on my face as I surreptitiously tipped the rest of my drink into the sand, letting that truth serum poison soak into the beach, never to betray me again.

I let the conversation ebb and flow around me as I stared into the golden flames. That was close. Too close.

* * *

An hour later, I stumbled as Rich leaned on me, but managed to catch my balance before we both face-planted in the scrubby brush that formed a natural barrier between the sea and the village. Rich sniggered. I fetched my phone from my shorts pocket and used the light to illuminate our way back to our hut.

“You would love my mother, you know?” Rich slurred into my ear. “An’ she would love you.”

I almost wished I was drunk enough for this conversation, but I’d stopped drinking after my stupid-ass confession, and my brain function was nearly back to normal. Well, as normal as I could get, anyway. And I was hearing way more than I wanted to. God, I can’t believe I slipped up so badly back there. Moron. I didn’t do sharing, I didn’t do intimacy, I didn’t do truth or dare and I certainly didn’t play happy families. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Was I blind as well as stupid? Or was I so desperate that I was willing to fool myself into a facade of a relationship with Rich?

“You know, Lucy, when we get back home, we are going to have so much fun,” Rich breathed in my ear, his hand sliding down my back to cup my butt. “Not that we’re not having fun now.”

I shot him a sidelong glance, then turned my attention to where I was going to put my feet without twisting an ankle. “I like fun, too, Rich,” I replied. Maybe he’d get the hint. Fun and games, no strings.

“We’ll buy a house, something that backs onto a beach, great views,” he said, gesturing widely with his arm. “An’ a ham—” he hiccupped “—hammock. In the yard. And we can swing and watch the kids play.”

I stumbled again, my stomach twisting in a coil that threatened to expel Chatri’s homebrew. “Kids?” I tried to keep my tone casual, but Rich was apparently too drunk to notice the high-pitched panic in my voice.

“Yeah, at least two, so they can play together. I’ve always wanted four, but I’ll settle for three. Yeah, three...” Rich nodded, then lurched and had to brace himself against the trunk of a palm tree to prevent himself from falling down.

I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. Three kids. Oh. Dear. God.

“You’re great with kids, you know,” he murmured, pulling me closer and kissing me on my cheek. “You’re going to be a great mom.” That voice inside my head gasped, then choked with laughter, rejecting the concept immediately. Instinctively.

I blinked. No. No, no, no, no. I’d make a horrible mom. I’d make a horrible wife. How could he not see that? I was not settle-down material. The very idea of creating a home, one that couldn’t be packed in twenty minutes and hauled over my shoulder in a backpack at a moment’s notice, was enough to make me want to puke, then cower in the fetal position in the dark somewhere, in a place where I could hide and never be found.

I took a deep breath. It was time to move on.

I sighed in relief when our hut came into view, and I managed to help Rich up the stairs. He was too involved, too invested, in what should have been a trivial, unimportant, fun little hookup. I had to leave.

Overwhelming sadness made me halt in our doorway. I watched Rich stagger toward the mattress on the floor. He was cute. Sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes and a physique that had made me drool when I first met him. He was also nice. Really, really nice. Not complicated, he said what he thought and was casual, laid-back. Where had this serious attachment come from? When had it flared? And why hadn’t I quashed it before now?

Now, he wanted a home by the sea and a hammock we could swing in to watch our three kids play. Talk about suffocating strings.

Rich turned to me, and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, are you coming in?” he asked, and despite the fear clenching my stomach, I had to smile as he swayed his hips suggestively. See—this was fun. He peeled his shirt off his shoulders with an expression that told me he thought he was being sultry and erotic, but in reality looked like he was having a seizure.

I stepped forward and helped him get rid of the garment. He really was a beautiful man, and I knew that as much as I hated doing it, I was going to hurt him. I hated him for putting me in that position, and I hated myself for doing it.

He cupped my cheek, his face going from sexy to concerned in a matter of a few drunken blinks. “Hey, why so sad, sweetheart?”

I opened my mouth. Hesitated. For a moment, Rich blurred, and the memory of Pedro and the orphanage in Belize flashed through my mind.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Pedro cried, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t.”

“Please, Pedro. This was only ever going to be temporary. No strings, remember?”

“No strings?” His voice rose, and I winced at the pain and anger that seemed magnified by the tears welling in his eyes. “That was ages ago, mi amor. We have shared so much, done so much—” he took a step toward me, his expression pleading “—loved so much.”

I swallowed, fighting back my own tears. “I’m so sorry, Pedro. I—I just can’t do this.”

“This? This!” Pedro beat at his chest, and I flinched at the raw pain in his face as his tears fell. “This is my heart—my love! I thought we were good together.”

I closed my eyes against his agony. God, this is not what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to hurt him... For a moment, I thought of nodding, of just running to him and hugging him, easing his pain and whispering that everything was going to be all right. I’d made a stupid, horrible mistake. But the thought made goose bumps rise on my arms, and my stomach heave at the thought of living this life with him, day in, day out, trapped by a man’s love.

I couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Pedro. I have to leave. It’s not you—” I stopped talking. I couldn’t trot out that trite little speech that had been so useful so many times before. Pedro deserved better. “I’m broken, Pedro. I’m damaged goods. You deserve better than that.” Better than me.

Pedro shook his head, reaching for me. “I’ll fix you,” he whispered, and I tried to dodge his hands, to turn away and leave, but he caught me, pulling me in close. “Let me help fix you. Our love—we can fix anything, mi amor.”

His arms felt like tight bands of steel enfolding me, crushing me, suffocating me. I struggled, and I could feel his tears soaking the back of my shirt.

“You can’t fix me, Pedro,” I whispered. I couldn’t be fixed. I broke free of his grip and scooped up my backpack. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

I ran to the door before he could grab me again. I slammed it shut behind me, and felt the door shudder as he hit it on the other side. I flinched, and stepped away warily, my gaze on the doorknob.

He hit the door again, and then I heard the rustle of fabric as he slid down to the floor on the other side, sobbing. I backed away, tears streaming down my face. I turned and fled.

I smiled shakily at Rich. That memory was a shock. I’d happily avoided it, and had only really taken stock when I was out on the street, stunned to find myself operating on autopilot. At the time, it had felt like a gap in my memory, but every now and then, something would surface, something from the black void that hid so much that I’d gotten used to its murky protection. I bit my lip gently. I wasn’t going through that again. I didn’t want another scene. It was cowardly, it was pathetic and it was the only way I could do this. I learned from experience. I tilted my head into his touch, and closed my eyes. I’d leave in the morning. Before he woke.

“It’s nothing,” I said, finally meeting his gaze, masking my pain, my intent. My pathetic cowardice. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

He drew me closer, his muscled arms enfolding me ever so gently. “Are you...too tired?” he murmured, dipping his head to nibble at my ear.

I blinked back tears. I shouldn’t, but I’m selfish. I’d be gone tomorrow, but we still had tonight. “No, I’m not...too tired,” I whispered, sliding my arms around his neck.

He moved his head, trailing his lips from my ear to my mouth, and kissed me. I hated myself, but I kissed him back. He tasted of home brew and coconut, responsibility and obligation. He tasted of dreams, and for one night I was going to cheat forever, and grab my happily-ever-after and have it right now. For one night, I’d indulge Rich, I’d indulge me. The cruelest of sweet fantasies, I was going to pamper that daydream. Tomorrow, with all its regrets, remorse and recriminations, would come. But tonight, right here, right now, tomorrow could kiss my ass.

Rich scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his hips as we kissed, long and languidly. Even drunk, Rich was a fantastic kisser. I writhed against him, and he panted as he turned and lowered me to the mattress. I hit it a little harder than I’m sure he intended, but I didn’t mind. A perverse voice in my head whispered I didn’t deserve softer, kinder consideration for what I was doing.

I pulled the tank top up over my head, gasping as Rich pulled my bikini top aside and bared my breasts. I moaned, arching my back as his hands lifted and molded my breasts, and he tweaked my nipples as he took my mouth in a scorching kiss.

I raked my nails down his back, and he lifted his head briefly, groaning in delight. I fumbled for the waistband of his shorts, unbuttoning them and sliding the zipper down to grasp him, already hard, in his boxer briefs.

He groaned. “God, Lucy, I lo—”

I moved up to kiss him, to stop him from uttering words that couldn’t be unsaid, from using that name that wasn’t mine. It was like unleashing the beast. He growled, his fingers sliding into my short hair, angling my head so he could deepen the kiss.

He rocked his hips against mine, then ran his hands over my body. We twisted in the sheets, dragging at each other’s shorts. When we were both naked, I rolled over on top of him, straddling his hips. He glanced up at me, a sexy, goofy smile on his face, as he slid his hands over my hips. I dipped my head and kissed him, caressing the dark hair off his forehead, then gasped as he rolled us over and slid into me.

It was beautiful, it was hot and it was so bittersweet. Every sigh, every muscle clench, every caress, was laden with tenderness, with an unspoken farewell.

When it was over, Rich rolled to the side, breathless, his arm lying across my chest.

“Good night, Lucy,” he murmured, his eyelids flickering as he tried to stay awake. I watched him lose the battle as his chest rose and fell evenly, and his eyelids slid shut.

“Goodbye,” I whispered when I knew he was asleep.

You’re doing the right thing, Maisey. I frowned at the voice inside my head. Sometimes, doing the right thing sucked.

I slid from the bed and gathered my things. Twenty minutes later, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, grabbed my wallet and passport and slunk out into the night.

I didn’t look back.