Chapter One
Taz
The sun is almost down when I spot the glimmer of the Congo River.
Another half hour or so in the dusty Land Rover and I can have a real shower, and roll in my cool sheets, for the first time in twelve days.
Bouncing around on oftentimes nothing more than a faint, dusty trail to get to some of the remote villages of the Democratic Republic of Congo gets old fast.
I remember when I first landed in Ghana, nine years ago. Then twenty-nine, everything had still been an adventure. Growing up in the tiny town of Eminence, in the Ozarks, I’d always hungered to see more of the world.
After getting my nursing degree at twenty-five—it took me a while to decide what I wanted to do—I’d first moved to Seattle, working as a triage nurse at the Northgate Kindred Hospital. I thought moving to the big city would broaden my horizons, but I was never able to get used to the noise and the crowds. I stuck it out for four years before the walls of my small apartment started closing in on me.
When my father was diagnosed with Parkinson’s I went back home, thinking maybe I could find something more local, but was quickly reminded why I’d been so eager to get so far away from Eminence in the first place.
I was there barely a month when an opportunity came along to work as a nurse for Doctors Without Borders in Ghana, and I jumped all over it. It had been perfect timing, since things at home were already going downhill fast.
I loved it. Loved the almost nomad type lifestyle of those first years. Living out of my duffel bag, never knowing where the new day would take me, and experiencing things I never imagined I would get to see.
After Ghana came Nigeria, then a short stint in Ethiopia, before I finally ended up in the Congo. That was four years ago. I’d only been back to the US a handful of times, and only one of those times visited home. That had been a mistake.
“Ntámbo,” Wilson, our driver, says in his native Lingala, pointing to the left where a pride of lions is having a drink at the river’s edge. Not an unusual scene to bump into here, but it never fails to impress me. I twist my head to keep the group in sight as we continue our bumpy path back to our home base.
My stomach is growling when Wilson pulls on to the road leading to the compound. The main building is a simple one-story structure housing the clinic. Behind it, partially hidden in the tree line, the small thatched roof living quarters are visible. The four clay huts called tukuls—three single and one double-occupancy—makes up staff lodging for the two physicians and three nurses with Doctors Without Borders stationed here.
This is a satellite clinic from where we service a large area, hundreds of miles of wilderness dotted with small villages depending on our medical care. The past week and a half consisted of delivering vaccinations to mostly women and children in the hard-to-reach areas, and dealing with whatever emergencies landed in our path.
I’m exhausted. Tired in a way that goes beyond twelve days of traveling under the harshest of conditions. I’m tired of the heat, of the constant dust and grime I seem to be covered with twenty-four seven. Tired of feeling like anything we do is merely a drop on a hot plate, the results barely visible. Too many children still dying of diseases almost eradicated in other parts of the world. Too many easy-to-fix injuries, which without proper medical care, end up in unnecessary and often devastating trauma.
Nine years of living under rough conditions has taken its toll, both mentally and physically.
I sigh when I see Paul walking out of the clinic, his eyes immediately drawn to our approach. Now there’s another reason I suddenly feel the weight of my life here heavy on my shoulders. When the very talented French physician arrived here, a little over a year ago, he’d seemed like a breath of fresh air with his charm, his clean good looks, and his apparent attraction to me.
I had a few brief sexual entanglements over the years, the most memorable one with Sven, a Dutch nurse. Six foot three of gorgeous lean mass, topped with a messy mop of dirty blond hair, reminiscent of a man I’ve tried to eradicate from my memory banks for the past nine years, without much luck. The moment I realized I was using Sven to live out that particular fantasy of mine, I’d broken it off.
There hadn’t been anyone since, until Paul Bonnaire joined our team. Just a scant few inches over my five five—dark-haired and smooth-tongued—he’d seemed like the perfect antithesis. Unfortunately, he also hadn’t held my interest long, and after a handful of less than satisfying sexual gymnastics in his tukul, I’d had enough.
Paul hadn’t.
He’s been trying to work his way back into my pants, unable to take ‘not a chance in hell’ for an answer. That too is wearing me down.
“Taz!” he calls out, walking up to the Land Rover when we pull into a parking spot. He has my door open before I have a chance to react. “Je vous ai manqué.”
Well, I didn’t miss you. In fact, some time away had provided welcome relief from the uncomfortably persistent man.
“Hey, Paul,” I mumble under my breath, as I try to squeeze by him—without touching—to grab my bag from the back of the vehicle.
“Let me get that for you,” he says, taking my duffel in one hand while throwing his other arm over my shoulder, steering me to my hut.
Rather than struggling fruitlessly over my bag, I shrug off his arm and rush ahead but stop, turning to face him outside my door.
“I wish you would stop, Paul. You’re not only making me uncomfortable, but the rest of the team as well. We’re done.” I wave my hand between us. “This is done. Let’s call it an error in judgment and move on.”
“Je ne comprends pas?”
I roll my eyes at his feigned ignorance and snag my duffel from his hand. “Please, you understand me well enough, but just to make sure—c’est fini entre nous.”
Noticing the flash of anger in his eyes, I’m relieved when Patti, one of the other nurses, comes jogging up the path.
“Did you give her the message?” she asks Paul when she reaches us.
“What message?” I ask, ignoring him and keeping my eyes on Patti, who suddenly looks too sympathetic for comfort. We have ways to stay in touch here at the clinic by phone and with spotty Internet, but once we leave the compound; we’re quickly out of range.
“Your friend, Kathleen, called the day before yesterday. It’s your sister.”
Mention of Nicky is followed by the familiar ache right in the middle of my chest. Only two years between us, my sister and I had been close growing up. They say opposites attract, and that had been a true statement for us. We were the perfect contrast, her light against my dark. Veronica had been the quiet and responsible child, whereas I’d always had a wild streak a mile wide and lived to break every rule in the book. The perfect yin and yang, until I left.
My sister put a smile on my parents’ faces when all I did was give them gray hair. I hardly think they miss me. Kathleen, my best friend, is the only person I have any contact with from back home.
“My sister?”
“I’m sorry,” Patti says, putting a hand on my arm. “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Rafe
Christ.
The past week has been an absolute nightmare.