About the Baby. Tracy Wolff
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’MTHINKINGOFLEAVING 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