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“Geena, sweetheart, be brave. We will be together again someday, but for now you must go back.” Sonja’s voice was gentle, but again firm. “A child needs you. You’re going to be a mother.”
For the first time since Geena had arrived in this place, she felt utter disbelief. “I can’t have a baby. I haven’t had a period in over a year.”
“Goodbye, darling,” Sonja said, slowly backing away. “Tell Gran that Gramps misses her. But he doesn’t mind the wait. He has all the time in the universe.” With that, she went through the door and disappeared around a cluster of flowering shrubs.
Geena found herself moving through the tunnel at dizzying speed, away from the light. The light faded to a pinprick. Once again, everything went black.
CHAPTER ONE
IN A SMALL VILLAGE in the western highlands of Guatemala, Dr. Ben Matthews listened to the agitated outpouring of a Mayan Indian woman who clutched her ailing baby boy to her breast. Ben understood only a few words of her native language, but the source of her worry was unmistakable. “I’ll have a look at him.”
He rolled up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt, gently took the child from the mother’s arms and laid him on the examining table. The baby’s hot, dry skin, sunken eyes and dry mouth all pointed to severe dehydration. Using a combination of sign language, formal Spanish and a smattering of the local dialect, Ben questioned the mother. She confirmed his suspicions; the child had vomiting and diarrhea.
“Dysentery,” Ben explained. “He needs fluids.”
The mother nodded mutely, then watched anxiously as Ben prepared an electrolytic solution and hooked up an IV to let it drip into the baby. The poor tyke was too sick to cry at the needle or to laugh when Ben tickled him under the chin. Ben’s heart clenched. Two years of treating people ravaged by disease, malnutrition and poverty had not inured him to the heartbreak of a high infant mortality rate. This little boy had a chance, at least.
Ben gave the mother several packets of electrolytic solution. “Mix with boiled water,” he said, miming what she was meant to do with them. “Baby drink.”
She nodded again, then wrapped her baby and placed him in a colorful woven sling across her back. With a grateful smile that needed no words to be understood, she took her leave. From the doorway Ben watched her bare feet squelch through mud till she got to the hard-packed dirt road on a journey of perhaps many miles to her village.
Turning, he glanced at his watch, and his spirits lifted when he saw that the bus from Guatemala City would arrive soon. Eddie, his younger brother, had just finished his internship and at Ben’s urging was going to replace him here at the clinic funded by International Médicos.
Ben strolled through the narrow streets lined with two-story adobe houses to meet the bus, greeting villagers with a smile and a wave, sometimes pausing to ask after a sick relative. Underlying his eagerness to return to the United States was a sense of loss at the prospect of leaving the town and its people behind.
The gray clouds building overhead distracted him from the excitement of seeing Eddie. July was smack in the middle of the rainy season, and this year had been unusually wet. Ben’s main concern was the mosquitoes the river bred and the diseases they carried—malaria and dengue fever. But there were other dangers. The river was already high and threatening to flood its banks.
The bus arrived in a festive blare of marimba music spilling through open windows and lurched to a halt outside the cantina. Passengers spilled out. Ben searched the assemblage—Mayan Indians, Ladinos, backpacking travelers—and the odd goat—for his brother.
Eddie stepped off at last, dazed, his arms wrapped around a duffel bag and a backpack slung over his shoulders. His blond hair was mussed and his clothes wrinkled, as though he’d slept in them, which Ben knew he probably had.
“Eddie, over here,” Ben called, striding toward him.
Eddie saw him and dropped his duffel bag in the dirt so that Ben could embrace him in a fierce hug.
“Great to see you, buddy,” Ben said, leaving one arm draped over his brother’s shoulder. “How was the trip?”
“Interesting.” Eddie pulled a downy chicken feather from his hair. He looked at it, then at Ben, and grinned. “I can’t believe I’m here.”
“Believe it, bro.” He ruffled his brother’s hair. “Better cut that mop or you’ll find worse than chicken feathers in there.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie punched him in the ribs. “What’s with the face rug? Wait’ll Mom sees that.”
Ben stroked his carefully clipped mustache-and-goatee combo, smiling through his fingers. “I kind of like it. Gives me a certain polish, don’t you think?”
He picked up the duffel bag and started walking to the clinic, weaving through rusted-out cars, bicycles, mule-drawn carts and pedestrians. “How are Mom and Dad? Did you get to Austin to see them before you left?”
“Yep. They send their love. They’re looking forward to having you Stateside again, but aren’t too happy with you for dragging me down to this mountain wilderness.”
Ben gazed around him, at the Spanish colonial architecture, the Mayans in their colorful native dress, the pine-covered Sierra Madre. “I’ll never forget my stint here. It’s been a fantastic experience that I wanted to share with you.”
“I’m not complaining,” Eddie said. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Dr. Ben! Dr. Ben!” A ragged group of five or six children ran alongside the two men as they moved through the crowd.
“Hey, kids.” Ben broke his stride and gestured to his brother. “Dr. Eddie,” he said, then added a few words in the local dialect.
“Dr. Eddie!” The children crowded around him, touching his hand or his sleeve. Then they laughed wildly and ran away down the street, scrawny dogs chasing at their heels.
“What did you tell them?” Eddie asked with a wary grin.
“That you were my brother.”
“That’s obviously a recommendation. I hope I can live up to your reputation.”
Ben eyed him with affection. He almost wished he hadn’t urged Eddie to come here; he’d missed him, and now their separation would be prolonged further. “I’ve gotten attached to these people, especially the kids, but I feel better knowing they’ll be in good hands.”
“Thanks.” Eddie looked beyond the rooftops into the distance, at the cone-shaped mountain rising above the plain. “That a volcano?”
Ben nodded. “Volcán Santa Maria. It’s considered active. The region is also prone to earthquakes. We’ve had a couple of mild quakes during my time here but nothing to write home about.”
Ben stopped in front of the clinic, a low whitewashed adobe building with chickens pecking in the yard. A sign beside the door displayed a large red cross and the words International Médicos.
“Here we are.” Ben pushed open the door. “Clinic out front, residence in back. It’s simple, but it’s home.”
Eddie wandered through the clinic, surveying the meager shelves of medical supplies, the primitive equipment. “It’s a change from a big-city hospital,” he admitted in massive understatement. “What are some of the health issues you deal with?”
Ben perched on the edge of the small desk in the corner. “Oh, God, where to start. There’s dysentery, insect-borne diseases, outbreaks of cholera and hepatitis. Malnutrition is a big problem, especially among the children. I spend most of my stipend providing food for hungry kids.” He shook his head. “Infant mortality is high. No matter how hard you try there’s so much to battle—disease, poverty, ignorance.” As he thought of some of the little ones he’d lost, his voice became unsteady. “I hate it when the children die.”
He pushed off the desk and moved across the room. “There are bright spots, reasons for optimism. I’ve set up a vaccination program, one for oral hygiene, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I travel to the more remote villages and treat those who can’t come to me.
“Come and see where you’ll be living.” Ben pushed aside a curtain of woven fabric in deep blues and reds and led the way into his private quarters. One end of the room was fitted with a hot plate, fridge and sink, while the other end held a single bed that doubled as a couch, a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks and, Ben’s pride and joy, a turntable and speakers he’d picked up in Guatemala City to play his record collection. He put on Harry Connick, Jr.
“Man, our musical tastes never did coincide,” Eddie complained. “Don’t you have any Shaggy or New Radicals?”
Ben wrapped him in a headlock. “No, but I’ve got a cold beer. Want it? Say uncle.”
“Piss off.” Eddie hooked a foot behind Ben’s ankle in an attempt to bring him down, but he was laughing too hard.
Ben released him and went to the fridge, a relic of the fifties, and reached past shelves of medicines for a couple of long-necked brown bottles of Guatemalan beer. He flipped the caps off and handed one to Eddie. “Luckily for us, doctors have to store medicine. Refrigeration is a perk of the job.”
“Is that a fridge benefit?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow wryly. He unstrapped his backpack and pulled out a bottle of duty-free Jack Daniels and a newspaper. “Care for a taste of home?”
Avid for news, Ben bypassed the bourbon to pick up the recent copy of USA Today. The headline story blared in inch-high black print: Supermodel Collapses on Milan Runway—Miraculous Return From the Dead.
A photo, obviously taken before the model’s collapse, showed her draped in designer clothing and glittering with diamonds against a backdrop of an Italian palazzo.
“Will you look at that?” Ben said, shaking his head in disgust. Evidence of excess always raised his ire on behalf of his poverty-stricken patients. “That dress alone would likely supply vaccine for the whole western highland. Look how thin she is. No wonder she collapsed. I’ll bet she pops diet pills as if they were candy, then lets men take her to expensive restaurants and doesn’t eat. Meanwhile, kids here are literally starving.”
Eddie glanced over his shoulder at the newspaper. “She doesn’t look too good now.”
It was true. Below the first photo was an after shot of the woman in a hospital gown whose voluminous folds accentuated her prominent bones and gaunt features.
Like death warmed over, Ben judged grimly, and felt a spark of compassion. As ill as she looked, her beauty shone through, ghostlike and fragile, and something about her face compelled his attention. The farseeing expression in her tilted blue eyes seemed to hint at some profound knowledge. Life, the universe and everything, to quote a favorite author from his med-school days.
Losing interest, Eddie went to sprawl on the couch. “What else can you tell me about the place?” he asked, sipping his beer.
Ben tossed the paper aside, dismissing his ruminations as fanciful. A woman like that probably didn’t have two ideas to rub together, let alone any magic answers.
“Let’s see…” He sat on a wooden chair and tilted back at a precarious angle, sipping his beer. “Quezaltenango is the nearest big town—most Anglos around here refer to it as Quez. There are quite a few ex-pats scattered over this general area, a French doctor a couple of villages away, some nurses, teachers, agricultural aid workers, missionaries. You won’t lack companionship.”
“Hey, you don’t need to sell it to me. If you like it so much, how come you’re leaving?” Eddie asked.
“For one thing, International Médicos stipulates a maximum two-year contract, which you should know having just signed on. For another thing…”
Ben pushed to his feet and stood before the window. “I had a thing going with this British nurse, Penny. She was only here for a year. We both knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to last.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Ben shrugged and faced Eddie. “I’m tired of moving around, tired of temporary liaisons. I’m thirty-five. I’m ready to settle down.”
“Will you go back to Texas?”
“No, I’ve arranged a temporary job through a guy I went to med school with. He’s at Seattle City Hospital now and knows a GP in a small town north of there who’s looking for someone to take over his practice while he goes on sabbatical. Hainesville. Ever heard of it?”
Eddie thought for a moment then shook his head. “It’s probably just a dot on the map.”
Ben laughed. “As opposed to this bustling metropolis. The first thing I’m going to do when I get back is buy myself a hamburger with everything on it and a great big chocolate milk shake.” He turned to the window, filled with yearning for the good ol’ U.S. of A. “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling Hainesville will suit me just fine.”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you, happy birthday to you…”
Geena basked in the glow of the candlelit faces around Gran’s kitchen table as her sisters and their families helped her celebrate her twenty-ninth birthday. There were Kelly and Max and their four daughters, and Erin and Nick with Erin’s baby son and Nick’s teenage daughter. And of course Gran, looking smaller than Geena remembered, in her full gray wig and oversize blue plastic glasses but fighting fit despite her seventy-six years.
A month had passed since Geena’s collapse. She’d spent a week in the Milan hospital, followed by two weeks in a Swiss convalescent home, then a week in New York to pack her things and sublet her apartment. Finally, she was home, and it felt good.
Geena made a wish and blew out the candles. Everyone cheered. Kelly gave Geena an impromptu hug, her shiny brown hair swinging around her shoulders. “It’s good to have you with us, Gee, especially for your birthday.”
“What did you wish for, Auntie Geena?” asked Beth, Kelly’s eight-year-old daughter.
“Can’t tell, or it won’t come true,” Geena said, smiling as she cut the cake and passed it around. Gran opened the curtains, and afternoon sun poured in. Erin tucked her long blond hair behind her ears and attempted to dish out ice cream one handed while holding the baby.
“Let me take Erik,” Geena said, and reached for her nephew. She cuddled the baby in the crook of her arm and stroked the back of her finger down one soft cheek. “Hello, gorgeous.”
Magazine publishers paid thousands for Geena’s smile, but to her, Erik’s toothless grin was priceless. His innocent blue eyes, so trusting and sweet, stirred her maternal instincts. Would her wish—and her mother’s prediction—come true?
“Do you want chocolate or vanilla ice cream with your cake, Geena?” Erin asked, holding the scoop poised above the tubs of Sara Lee.
“Nothing for me, thanks.” She’d already pigged out on green salad and half a grilled chicken breast.
“What? Not even cake?”
“I’m going back to modeling once I’ve recovered completely. I can’t afford to gain weight.”
“But, Geena,” three-year-old Tammy said. “You’re skinnier than a Halloween skeleton.”
Kelly, who’d taken over serving the cake, frowned across the table at Tammy. “Shh, honey, that’s not polite.”
“It’s okay, Kel. She only wanted to make me feel better. Didn’t you, sweetie?” she said, stroking the girl’s long blond hair.
Geena saw her sisters exchange glances, and an awkward silence fell over the group. What the heck was bugging everyone?
Nick swallowed the last of his cake and pushed back from the table. “Hey, Max, want to go shoot a few hoops?”
“Sure thing.” Max, Kelly’s husband, set aside his empty plate. “It’s been a while since I whupped your ass.”
“Take your cake outside to the picnic table, girls,” Kelly said, shooing her brood through the back door.
Miranda, Erin’s stepdaughter, hovered in the doorway. At thirteen she often got lumped with the other kids when she wanted to be one of the women. She had auburn hair and a tiny stud in her nose.
“Come and sit down,” Geena said, patting the chair next to her.
Miranda, who was into clothes and adored her supermodel aunt, threw her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Erin set Erik in his car carrier seat and found a rattle to amuse him. Gran took up her knitting from the sideboard, and Kelly, never one to sit still for long, started to clear away dishes.
“Relax, Kelly,” Geena said. “I’ll do that later.”
“I don’t mind,” Kelly said, stacking plates in the dishwasher while the water ran in the sink for the pots from their barbecue lunch. Geena, realizing that Kelly wouldn’t sit down, got up to help.
“Have you seen the doctor yet, Geena?” Erin asked, spooning up the last blob of chocolate ice cream from her plate.
Geena searched the drawers for a tea towel. “No, I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Cameron tomorrow.”
“Dr. Cameron’s in Australia till Christmas,” Miranda informed her dolefully.
“Dr. Cameron’s son, Oliver, is a good friend of Miranda’s,” Erin explained to Geena. “She misses him.”
“Just don’t get too serious, too soon,” Kelly warned Miranda over her shoulder as she vigorously scrubbed the potato pot. “Or before you know it, you’ll have kids and you’ll wonder where your girlhood went.”
“We’re just friends,” Miranda protested. “Anyway, you and Uncle Max were childhood sweethearts.”
“Exactly.” Kelly rinsed the pot and handed it to Geena. “I hear the new doctor is quite a hunk. Indiana Jones with a stethoscope.”
Miranda snorted disparagingly. “Dr. Matthews is way better looking than Harrison Ford.”
“I’ve spent enough time around doctors lately, thanks very much,” Geena said. “Not that I’m not grateful to them for saving my life.”
“What actually happened to you in Italy, Gee?” Erin asked. “You’ve hardly told us anything. It was a heart attack, right?”
