Bittersweet

CHAPTER 25

FOR THE next two days, India and Paul did everything they could to avoid each other, but it was obvious to both of them that was impossible, and in the end more trouble than it was worth.
He sat down at the same table where she was eating dinner at the end of the second day, and looked at her in despair.
“This is hopeless, isn't it?” he said in a low voice, so no one would hear him. He would have left if he could, but they were doing important work. And he knew she was covering a big story. Neither of them could remove themselves. It was going to be a rough few weeks for her. And it was no easier for him. His heart ground to a stop every time he saw her. And she was everywhere. A dozen times a day, he found himself looking into her face. And every time he did, he felt even worse when their eyes met. There was something in her eyes, so deeply bruised and painful. Just looking at her made him want to cry, or reach out to her.
“Don't worry about it,” she said in her calm, gentle way. But there was no way he couldn't. It was easy to see what he had done to her. And her lip trembled as she looked away. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to feel the things he had awoken in her, but they had been there since the first time they met, and she realized with chagrin now, that they still were and perhaps always would be. She was beginning to believe this was a wound that would remain unhealed forever. He really was the love of her life. But even lost loves could be forgotten, she told herself. She had been given a superhuman challenge, and it had to be met. Somehow.
Within minutes, the others left the table, and not knowing what else to do, he looked at her, with worry in his eyes. “What happened to you?” he asked. She hadn't had the scar when he last saw her in New York, and it was very long and very fresh. And the day before, when he had seen her in the morning, she had had an orthopedic collar around her neck. She still wore it now and then when her neck hurt. And it had after the long trip. And now he gently touched the scar and she pulled away to avoid his touch.
“It's a dueling scar,” she said, trying to make light of it, but he was not amused. “I had an accident,” she said simply.
“In a car?” She nodded. “When?” He wanted to know all the details, what had happened to her since he had left her. He knew that all the other scars he'd given her were buried too deeply to see, unlike the one on her face.
“A while ago,” she said vaguely. But just looking at her, he knew, and he felt sick.
“Was it right afterward?” He was tormented by the thought of it, and felt even more guilty than he had at first. He knew just from looking at her that it must have been right after he ended it with her.
“That night” was all she said.
“That night?” he repeated, looking horrified. “On your way home?” She nodded. “I knew I shouldn't have let you drive. I had an awful feeling about it.”
“So did I,” she said, thinking of what he had done to her. She might have died. And nearly had. And wished she had for a while anyway.
“Was it very bad?”
“Bad enough.”
“Why didn't you tell me when you called the next day?”
“It wasn't your problem anymore. It was mine.” He remembered then how strange she had sounded when she had called him, giddy and out of it and a little incoherent. But he had assumed she was just terribly upset, which she was.
“I feel terrible. What can I say?”
“Don't worry about it. I'm fine.” But her eyes told him a different tale. She was trying to keep her distance from him physically, since she couldn't otherwise. But so far nothing had worked, and being so constantly close to him, and seeing what was in his eyes didn't help. She knew him too well, and knew his pain, just as he knew hers. And she could see too that he still felt all the same things she did. He always had. No matter what he had said to her, he hadn't stopped loving her. And she could still see it now. Somehow, that made it worse. It was all such a waste. He had wasted two lives, their happiness, their future. She wondered if that was why he had come here too. To escape. Just as she had come here to escape her memories of him. It was bittersweet irony that they had both come to the same place. God's little sense of humor hard at work again. Or destiny perhaps.
“How are we going to do this?” she finally looked at him and asked. There was obviously no way they could stay apart here. The circumstances were impossible, and looking at him made her realize how hopeless it was.
“Maybe we just have to grit our teeth and live with it for a while,” he said, searching her eyes. “I'm so sorry, India. Never in a million years did I think you'd be here.”
“Neither did I. They just offered me this story a week ago. It sounded great, and Doug and his girlfriend agreed to take care of the kids.”
“Both of them?” Paul looked surprised. That was new since he'd been on the scene.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked, referring to the airlifts she knew he was organizing. She had heard from everyone in the camp what an extraordinary job he and his friends had done. Paul was the organizer, the chief pilot, and he was providing the lion's share of the funding.
“Since March,” he said quietly. “When I went back to the boat, I knew I couldn't just sit there for the rest of my life.”
“Where is it now?”
“In Antibes. I thought if I really got the airlifts going again, and one of the other guys to run them, I could go back by next summer. If not, I can always stay here.” It was a hell of a life for him, but he was doing a wonderful thing. “Anyway, I'll stay out of your hair as much as I can for the next three weeks. We've got a couple of runs to do this week anyway. Other than that, there isn't much I can do. They need me here. And they also need you.” The international press attention she was going to give them was necessary for the very survival of the project, and attracting funds. She was as important as he was. Neither of them could just leave.
“It'll be all right,” she said slowly, thinking about it. There had to be a way to make it work. They were both there with good intentions, there was no reason why they should be punished for their good deeds. And then she looked up at him sadly. For six months, he had given her so much hope, and then he had taken it all away. But now she had to find that for herself, and so did he. “Maybe this will sound crazy to you, it does to me a little bit,” and it hadn't been what he wanted, she knew. He had made that very clear. “But maybe we can be friends. That's where all this started, way at the beginning. Maybe that's where it has to end. It could be that's why this happened to us, that we found each other here. As though some higher power decided to make us face each other, and make amends.”
“You have nothing to make amends for, India,” he said fairly. “You never did anything to me.”
“I scared you. That's enough. I tried to lure you into doing something you didn't want.” But they both knew that wasn't true. He was the one who had told her he loved her. He had opened a door and invited her in. And then, within days, threw her out again, and slammed the door on her forever.
“I scared myself,” Paul said honestly, “you didn't scare me. I was the one who hurt you. At least remember that. If anyone should feel guilty here it's me.” She couldn't deny that, but in spite of that, she thought that it was simplest if they put it behind them. Whatever she still felt for him, or the hurt he had caused her, there was no room for any of that here.
“You told me long before you came home that you didn't want to be the light at the end of the tunnel for me. And you aren't. But you gave me fair warning, you made it very clear.” She remembered standing in yet another freezing cold phone booth while she listened to him. His words had seemed even colder to her than the air around her. The only thing that had confused her was that, in March, he had changed his mind. But only for a few days. That brief moment was an aberration, a shattered dream, a time that would never come again. And whatever hope she had now, she knew she had to find for herself. And so did he. She could no longer give it to him. And he didn't want it from her. He wanted his memories of Serena, his hold on the past, and his terrors all around him. And he didn't want India. She knew that very clearly. “We have to put what happened behind us. This is some kind of test, for both of us. We have to meet the challenge.” She smiled at him sadly, stood up, and touched his hand. But just looking at her, and listening to what she said, he was confused again. But he had understood the wisdom of what she'd said. “Can we be friends?” she asked him point-blank.
“I'm not sure I can,” he said honestly. Just being close to her was impossible for him.
“We have to. For three weeks anyway.” She was the one who had chosen the high road. He had preferred to close the door in her face, not to call her, or let her call him. And she had no intention of ever calling him again. But for the next three weeks, in whatever way she had to, she would be his friend. She held out her hand to shake his, but Paul refused, and kept his hand in his pocket.
“I'll see what I can do” was all he said, and then he stood up and walked away. He wasn't angry at her, but he still felt very badly, and seeing her only made it worse. He had also missed her desperately each and every day. And now, seeing her reopened all the same wounds. But he still belonged to Serena and he knew it. But he also knew that there was a lot of wisdom, and generosity of spirit, in what India had said. And now he had to absorb it, and decide how he felt about it. India already knew what she felt about him. And if they could no longer be lovers, for now, at least, she was willing to be his friend.
“Are you two arch enemies from a past life?” Ian asked her later that evening, as they walked back to their tents.
“Sort of,” she said, it was easier than saying they had been lovers, even if only for a few days. “We'll get over it. There's no better place to do it than here.” But as she lay in her sleeping bag that night, on the narrow cot that felt like it was going to collapse every time she moved or breathed, all she could think about was him. She had taken a lot of great photographs that day, and gathered good background information, but the thought that kept running through her mind was that Paul didn't even want to be her friend. He couldn't even give her that much. It was yet another blow to add to the rest. But she had done her part, and it had cost her dearly. Every time she had looked at him, or spoken to him, all she wanted to do was cry. And she did that finally, alone and in silence, as she lay in her tent sobbing.
The next day he went to Kinshasa for two days, and it was easier for her not to see him at the camp, and she concentrated on her work. She visited sick children and took photographs of them, and talked to orphans. She watched the doctors treat lepers with modern medicines that Paul had paid for and flown in. She seemed to touch everyone in the camp with her quiet presence and her gentle ways. And she saw deep into their souls, always looking at them with her camera. And by the time Paul came back, she had made a lot of friends, and seemed to feel a little better.
On Friday night, the nurses gave a party, and they encouraged everyone to come, but India decided not to, since she was sure Paul would be there. She had promised him her friendship, but he had walked away. She really couldn't face him and this was his place now, his home for the moment, she didn't need to go to a party where she was bound to see him. She was only there for three weeks. It was easier just to stay in her tent.
She was reading quietly by flashlight, propped up on one elbow on her cot, with her hair piled on top of her head in the heat, and she heard a gentle stirring outside, and a sudden sound, as she jumped. She was sure it was an animal, or worse yet, a snake. She pointed her flashlight at the doorway, ready to scream if it was an animal. And she found herself looking into Paul's face.
“Oh,” she said, relieved, but still frightened, and he was squinting in the bright light she pointed at him.
“Did I scare you?” He put his arm up to shield his eyes, and she pointed the flashlight away.
“Yes. I thought you were a snake.”
“I am,” he said, but he wasn't smiling. “Why didn't you go to the party?”
“I was tired,” she lied.
“No, you weren't. You're never tired.” He knew her better than that. In fact, he knew her much too well. And she was afraid that he would see into her heart. She had told him all her confidences for a long time. He knew what she felt, and what she thought, and how she worked.
“Well, I'm tired tonight. I had some reading I needed to do.”
“You said we could be friends.” He sounded dismayed. “And I want to try.”
“We are,” she affirmed. But he knew better. And so did she.
“No, we're not. We're still circling each other like wounded lions. Friends don't do that,” he said sadly, as he leaned against the pole that held up her tent, and watched her with haunted eyes.
“Sometimes they have to. Sometimes even friends endanger each other, or make each other angry.”
“I'm sorry I hurt you, India,” he said agonizingly, as she tried to keep him out of her heart, as she would have a lion out of her tent. But it was no easier than that would have been. “I didn't mean to. … I didn't want to. … I just couldn't help it. I was possessed.”
“I know you were. I understand it,” she said, putting her book down and sitting up. “It's okay.” She looked at him sadly. There seemed to be no end to the pain they caused each other, even now.
“No, it's not okay. We're both still dead. Or at least I am. Nothing has helped. I've tried everything except an exorcist and voodoo. She still owns me. She always will.” He was talking about Serena.
“You never owned her, Paul. She wouldn't let you. And she doesn't own you. Just give yourself time, you'll get it together again.”
“Come to the party with me. As a friend, if you like. I just want to talk to you. I miss that,” he said sadly, and there were tears in his eyes as he said it. Inviting her to the party was the only peace offering he could think of.
“I miss it too.” They had given each other so much for six months that it had been hard to get used to not having it anymore, and never having it again. But she had. And there was no point going backward. “It's probably better if we don't push it.”
“What's to push?” he smiled ruefully. “I already broke it. We might as well sit together and cry over the pieces.” He stood there looking at her, forcing himself not to remember what it had been like to kiss her. He would have given anything at that moment to hold her. But he knew that was crazy. He had nothing to give her. “Come on. Get dressed. We only have three weeks here. We're stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Why should you sit in your tent reading by flashlight?”
“It builds character.” She smiled at him, trying not to see the fact that he was as handsome as ever. Even in the light of her flashlight, he looked terrific.
“You'll get glaucoma. Let's go.” He looked as though he would refuse to leave unless she went with him.
“I don't want to,” she said stubbornly.
“I don't care.” He was more so. It was like playing Ping-Pong. “Get your ass out of bed, India. Or I'll carry you on my shoulder.” And with that, she laughed. He was crazy, and she knew she would always love him. And now she'd have to forget him all over again, but for three weeks, what the hell. She had already lost him. Why not enjoy a little time together? She had mourned him for two months. This wasn't a reprieve. It was just a visit, a glimpse of the past and what might have been.
She slowly got out of her sleeping bag, and he saw that she still had her clothes on, a T-shirt and jeans, and after checking her hiking boots for insects or snakes, she put them on and stood looking at him. “Okay, mister. We're buddies for the next three weeks. And after that, you're out of my life forever.”
“I thought I already was,” he grumbled at her, as they made their way back up the hill to the field hospital, where the nurses were giving the party.
“You sure gave a good imitation of it,” India said, looking at him, careful not to touch him. “That farewell scene at the Carlyle looked real to me.”
“It did to me too,” he said softly, and so did the scar she was wearing, he thought, as he gave her a hand over a rough spot. It was a beautiful night, and the sounds of Africa were all around them. Rwanda had its own special sights and smells. There were blossoms everywhere, and their heavy perfume was something India knew she would always remember. And there was always the smell of charcoal fires mixed with food in the camp.
They slipped into the party quietly, and Paul went to talk to some friends, and then chatted with his two pilots. He felt better that he had gotten her out, she had a right to some fun too, but he didn't want to crowd her. He felt as though he owed her something now, and even if there was no way he could repay it, he felt better being friendly at least.
India talked to the nurses for a long time, gathering more information for her article, and she was one of the last to leave the party. Paul watched her go, but he made no attempt to follow her. He was just glad she looked like she'd had a good time. He had a lot to drink, but he was still sober when he went back to the tent he shared with the other pilots. There was no luxury for any of them here. It was about as bare bones as it could get, even more so than her life in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. But she found it very comforting, and good for the soul, and it was so familiar to her.
The next day India was busy photographing some newly arrived orphans, and when she tried to talk to them in the little bit of Kinyarwanda dialect she'd learned, all of them laughed at her, and she laughed with them. She was slowly beginning to regain her sense of humor. She was busy all week, and on Sunday there were religious services in a nearby church that Belgian missionaries had built, and India attended with some of the others. And that afternoon, Ian, the New Zealander, invited her to go for a ride in the jeep, to show her the surrounding territory, so she could take more pictures. She hadn't run into Paul all day, and Ian told her he'd gone to the market in Cyangugu. At least they had a little space from each other, which was rare here. For the past week, they had been constantly running into each other everywhere.
And the next day, when she was getting dressed, there was a funny knock on the pole that supported her tent. She looked out the flap as she zipped up her jeans. She was standing there barefoot, just as they had told her not to do, and her hair was hanging loosely and framed her face with blond silk as she saw who was out there. It was Paul.
“Put your shoes on.”
“I am.”
“You're going to get stung by something.”
“Thanks for the warning.” It was still early and she was not in the mood to see him. He could see it on her face.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to Bujumbura for a couple of hours. We have to pick up some supplies there. You'd get some great pictures.” She hesitated, looking at him. He was right. It would be good for her story. But it was also a lot of Paul. She wasn't sure which she wanted, the pictures, or time without him. In the end, she opted for her story.
“Okay. Thanks for asking. When are you leaving?”
“In ten minutes.” He grinned. He was glad she was going with him. He even liked it when she was rude to him, it reminded him of Serena. She had always been feisty, and normally India wasn't. But it chafed her in a thousand ways to be in such close quarters with him, and most of them were still very painful.
“I'll hurry. Do I have time for coffee?”
“We can wait a couple of minutes. This isn't British Air.”
“Thanks. I'll meet you at the jeep.”
“I'll see you there,” he said, and then walked away with his head down. She had no idea what he was thinking. Probably about the supplies they were picking up, she told herself, as she picked up her camera, and hurried to the mess tent, which was a singularly appropriate name for it in this case. The food was the same every day. She knew she wouldn't gain weight on this trip. And Paul hadn't either. They were both thinner than they had been before, but for other reasons.
She grabbed a cup of coffee and drank it quickly, and a handful of damp crackers that tasted like they'd been there forever, and ran to meet him. He was standing with the black American pilot, whose name was Randy. He was from L.A., and India liked him.
He had been in the Air Force ten years before, and had gone to UCLA film school when he got out, and he'd done some work as a director. But he'd been out of work for so long, he had decided to use up his savings to come here, and do something for humanity for a change. Like so many others, he had been there for two years. And India knew he was dating one of the nurses. There were no secrets in camp. In many ways, it was just like the Peace Corps, only considerably more grown-up.
They were flying an old military plane Paul and his friends had bought them. And they took it off the ground easily as India sat in a jump seat behind them, shooting constantly with her camera. There were herds of rhinos on the hills beneath them, and she could see banana plantations forever. She was totally intent on what she was doing, and wished she could hang out of the plane to get better shots. Paul flew as low as he could without her asking, but she knew he was doing it for her. She also knew he took a long route for better pictures and she thanked him as they finally came in for a landing at Bujumbura.
The market was swarming with people, and she got some wonderful photographs, although they didn't really relate to her story. But they were background at least, and there was always a chance she could use them. She wasn't taking any chances. She shot everything she could get. And when Paul and Randy went to pick up supplies, she took photographs of them loading the plane, with the help of several Hutu in their native dress.
Finally they were ready to leave but first they sat at the edge of the airstrip and ate some fruit they bought in the market. And every now and then an armadillo lumbered past. She grabbed her camera a couple of times, and got the shot. But after a while, even she got blase about what they saw.
“It's incredible here, isn't it?” Randy said with a wide smile. He was a handsome guy and he looked more like a movie star than a director. But there was nothing arrogant about him. And it was obvious he liked India tremendously. By chance, he had read her piece on abuse in Harlem, and the one she'd done in London on childhood prostitution. And as he mentioned it to her, she remembered her calls to Paul then. Thinking of them made her heart twist. “You do great work, India,” Randy praised her.
“So do you. Here, I mean.” She smiled at him, and then thanked him. Paul had said very little to her since that morning. But at least he had invited her to come. It had been fascinating and she loved it.
They headed back to their camp after they'd finished eating. It was only a short flight, and this time she just sat back quietly and looked out the window at the sights below. Paul was sitting in front of her, flying the plane, and he didn't talk to either her or Randy. He was painfully quiet. And after they landed, and got out of the plane, she thanked him for the opportunity, and helped them unload until some of the men came to help them. And when the truck came to pick them up, she and Paul rode in it, while Randy drove the jeep home.
Paul had been looking at her strangely, and then pointed to the scar she had from her accident in March. “Does that thing hurt, India?” He was still curious about it. It was fading, but if you looked at it closely, and he had, when she wasn't watching him, it still looked very nasty.
“Not really. It stings a little sometimes. It's still healing. They said it would take a long time to fade, but supposedly it will. I don't really care.” She shrugged, but she was still grateful to the plastic surgeon who had closed it up. It would have been much worse if he hadn't been there.
He wanted to tell her again how sorry he was, but it no longer seemed appropriate. They had both said it too often, and it didn't change what had happened, what he'd done, or how he felt.
She walked into camp with him, and was going to take a shower and clean up, when one of the nurses hung out a window of the field hospital and called to her.
“We got a message on the radio after you left.” She hesitated for a fraction of an instant, while India's heart stopped. And she knew she wasn't wrong when she heard the message. “Your son is hurt, he got in an accident at school and broke something. I don't know what though. The message was garbled and I lost them.”
“Do you know who called?” India asked, looking worried. It could have been Doug, or Gail, or the sitter, or even Tanya, for all she knew. Or even the doctor, if someone gave him the number.
“No, I don't.” The young nurse shook her head.
And then India thought of something, and asked her, “Which son?” She shouted up to the window where the nurse was calling to her.
“I don't know that either. It was too garbled, and there was a lot of static. Cam, I think. I think whoever it was said your son Cam.”
“Thank you!” It was Sam then, and he had broken something, and she had no idea if it was serious. But she was very worried, and felt very guilty. And as she turned, she saw that Paul was still standing there, and had been listening. She turned to him with frightened eyes and his heart went out to her, and the boy who had sailed with him on the Sea Star, “How do I call home from here?” She figured he'd know that. He'd been there longer than she.
“Same way they called you. It's almost impossible to hear, though. I gave up calling weeks ago. I figure if something important happens, they'll find me somehow. If nothing else, they can call the Red Cross in Cyangugu. It's a two-hour drive from here, but they're wired into a real phone line.”
She decided to cash in her chips then. “Will you drive me?” she asked him with a trembling voice and he nodded.
He only hesitated for an instant. But it seemed like the only thing to do. She needed to know what had happened. “Sure. I'll tell them we're taking the jeep out again. I'll be back in a minute.” He was back in what seemed like less than that, and India hopped in beside him. Five minutes after she'd heard about Sam, they were on their way to Cyangugu. And for a long time, they both said nothing, and then finally, Paul tried to reassure her.
“It's probably nothing,” he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Even he was worried.
“I hope you're right,” she said tersely, and then, looking out the window at the landscape sliding by, she spoke in a strangled voice filled with guilt and panic. “Maybe Doug is right. Maybe I have no right to do this. I'm at the other end of the world from my kids. If something happens to one of them, it'll take me two days to get home, if I'm lucky. They can't even call me easily. Maybe I owe them more than that at this point.” She was feeling awful and he could see it.
“They're staying with their father, India,” he reminded her. “He can handle it until you get home, if it's serious.” And then, as much to distract her as out of his own curiosity, he asked her a question. “What's with the girlfriend? Is it for real?”
“I guess so. She moved in with him, with her two kids. My kids hate them, and her. They think she's stupid.”
“They'd probably hate anyone who came on the scene at this point, with either of you,” he said, thinking of himself and the dinner in Westport. At the time he had thought it was fun, and then afterward when he revisited it, he decided they had all hated him, and always would. In fact, it had only been Jessica who had been cool to him. The others had liked him. But he had chosen to repress that. And his son Sean's words hadn't fallen on deaf ears. The prospect of helping her raise four potential juvenile delinquents, all of whom were sure to wind up in Attica, according to Sean, had terrified him. Not to mention his casual suggestion that India might get pregnant, though apparently she hadn't. But it had all contributed to his panic. But now all he could think of was Sam, when he had stood on the bridge next to him, and helped him sail the Sea Star …and then afterward, when he lay on the couch in the cockpit, sleeping with his head in his mother's lap, while she stroked his hair, and talked about her marriage. And now they were here, in Africa, and Sam was hurt. Rather than calming her, she had succeeded in upsetting him too. And they were both anxious to get to the Red Cross in Cyangugu to call home.
In the end, with a herd of cattle crossing the road, a dead horse blocking it completely farther on, and a group of Tutsi soldiers at a makeshift checkpoint, it had taken them three hours to get there on roads that were gutted and had been washed out by the rains. And the Red Cross office was just closing when they reached it. India hopped out even before he stopped, waving frantically at the woman locking the door, and she explained what she needed from her. The woman paused and then nodded, as India offered to pay her anything she wanted for the call.
“bu may not be able to get through right away,” the woman warned. “Sometimes the lines are down and we have to wait for hours. But you can try it.”
India picked up the precious phone with trembling hands while Paul watched with a stern expression and said nothing. The woman went back to her office and picked up some papers. She wasn't in a hurry, and had been very kind to India. And at least the lines weren't down. It seemed like an absolute miracle when she heard the phone ringing in Westport. She had decided to call the house, for lack of a better idea where to call for information. She just hoped someone would be there. But mercifully, Doug answered on the second ring, as India fought back tears as she heard the familiar voice, and wrestled with another rising wave of panic about her youngest son.
“Hi, it's me.” She identified herself quickly. “How's Sam? What happened?”
“He broke his wrist in school, playing baseball,” he said matter-of-factly.
“His wrist?” She looked startled. “That's all?”
“Were you hoping it was more?”
“No, I just thought since you called me here that it was serious. I had no idea what he'd broken. I was imagining something truly awful, like a fractured skull and a coma.” Paul was watching her intently.
“I think this is bad enough,” Doug said, sounding pompous, “he's in a lot of pain. Tanya has been taking care of him all day. And he's off the team for the rest of the season.”
“Tell him I love him,” was all India could muster, “and thank Tanya for me.” She was going to ask to talk to Sam then but Doug had more to say to her, and it was obvious he wasn't happy with her.
“Tanya deserves a medal. He's not her son after all, and she's been wonderful to him. And if you were here to take care of him yourself, India, you could shoulder your own responsibilities and not expect us to do it for you.” Same old Doug. Same old story. Same old guilt. But it no longer hit her the way it used to. She had grown up in the past year, and although she still worried about her kids, Doug's hook on her had loosened. She no longer felt as guilty, except when something like this happened. And if it had been serious, she would have been devastated. But she thanked God it wasn't.
“They're your kids too, Doug.” She lobbed the ball firmly back in his court. “And look at it this way, you get three weeks with them.”
“I'm glad you can brush this off so lightly,” he said coldly, and her eyes blazed as she answered, and Paul watched her.
“I just drove three hours to get to a phone to call you, and I'll have another three hours to get back to camp. I don't think I'd call that ‘lightly.’” She'd had enough of him by then, and she was tying up the Red Cross phone, and keeping the woman who ran it from leaving, for nothing. Sam was fine, and it wasn't a big deal fortunately. “Can I speak to him now?”
“He's sleeping,” Doug said firmly. “And I really don't think I should wake him. He was up all night with the pain, and Tanya just gave him something for it.” Hearing that Sam had been suffering made her stomach turn over, particularly knowing she hadn't been there for him.
“Tell him I love him very much when he wakes up,” she said, as tears filled her eyes. Suddenly she missed not only Sam, but all her children. And with a six-hour time difference, with Westport behind her by that much, she knew the others were in school and she couldn't talk to them either.
“I would have thought you'd have called him yesterday, when it happened, by the way.” He threw in one last barb for good measure. And the tone of his voice made her so angry, it diminished her sense of sadness.
“I just got the message three hours ago. I told you messages would take a while to reach me. Tell him I'll sign his cast when I get home. Save me room.” She decided to ignore Doug's snide accusations.
“See that you call a little more quickly next time,” he said nastily, and she wanted to tell him something unprintable, but India didn't want to offend the woman from the Red Cross, who could hear them very clearly.
She hung up then and turned to face Paul with a sigh. “He's all right. It's his wrist. It could have been much worse.”
“So I gather.” He looked grim, and she thought he was angry at her for making him drive her so far. She didn't blame him. And, as usual, Doug had been a real bastard about it. Nothing new about that.
“I'm sorry to have made you drive all this way for nothing.” She looked embarrassed, but relieved, as she looked at him. In spite of everything, she'd been glad he'd been with her.
“He's still an a*shole, isn't he?” He could just imagine the other end of the conversation from the things she'd been saying.
“Yes, he is,” she sighed, “and he always will be. That's just the way it is. At least now he's Tanya's problem, and not mine. He never misses a chance to get a hit in.”
“I used to hate him,” Paul admitted. But it didn't bother him as much anymore, or it hadn't until then. He was removed now. He just felt sorry for India and the garbage she took from him. But he'd been impressed by how well she'd handled him. Doug was no longer tormenting her, or making her feel as guilty. He just made himself look stupid with the games he played.
“I used to love him.” India smiled. “Shows what I know.” She went to thank the Red Cross woman then, and pay for the call. She gave her fifty U.S. dollars and was sure it would amply cover it, and even include a small donation.
And then she and Paul got in the jeep and drove home. It took them even longer on the way back, on bad roads in the darkness. It was nine o'clock when they got to camp. They had missed dinner and they were both starving.
“I'd offer to take you to La Grenouille, but it would be a bit of a trek,” he said, smiling at her ruefully when they found the mess tent dark and the food cupboards locked.
“Don't worry about it. Any old frog will do,” she smiled back. She was almost hungry enough to eat one.
“I'll see what I can catch.” He looked exhausted, as they walked slowly out of the tent. It had been a long day for him, flying to pick up supplies, and then driving seven hours to find out that Sam had broken his wrist playing baseball.
“I'm really sorry for the wild-goose chase,” she said again. She had apologized several times on the way back, and couldn't stop from doing it again.
“I was worried about him too,” Paul admitted, as they stood in the clearing in the middle of camp, wondering what to do about their dinner. There was nowhere else to go. They were miles from any kind of civilization, and then India had an idea, and she looked up at him with an air of mischief.
“They must have food in the hospital for the patients,” she said, looking hopeful. “Maybe we can steal some.”
“Come on, let's try it,” he said, grinning, and hurrying toward the hospital with her.
They found several boxes of crackers that had grown soggy from the humidity, a box of Triscuits that had gone stale, hidden in a cupboard, a box full of grapefruits, several cartons of Wheaties that still looked pretty good and didn't have bugs in them, half a dozen huge bottles of milk, and a tray of slightly soft red Jell-O. They had crates of it, sent to them by a church group in Denver.
“Well, Scarlett …that looks to me like dinner,” he said, imitating Rhett Butler, as she poured the Wheaties into a bowl with milk, spooned some of the Jell-O into two bowls, and he cut up two of the grapefruits. It wasn't Daniel, but they were so hungry it looked good to both of them. They would have eaten the boxes the Wheaties came in if they had to. Neither of them had eaten anything since their picnic on the airstrip.
“Stale Triscuits or soggy Saltines?” she asked, holding both boxes out to him.
“You give me the nicest choices,” he said, pointing to the Triscuits.
They ate enough to curb their appetites, and they both looked more relaxed with each other than they had in a week, as they talked about Sam, and her other kids, and he told her about his conversation with his son Sean two months before, and this time he actually laughed about it.
“He said that at ‘my age,’ I really shouldn't need to date. And he seemed to see no reason why I shouldn't remain celibate to the end of my days, which he seemed to calculate as a hundred and fourteen.” He grinned. “At least I assume that's what he meant when he called me ‘middle-aged.’ Kids sure seem to have some strange ideas about their parents, don't they?” But he had a few strange ones of his own too, she knew, since he intended to remain faithful to the memory of Serena forever. But she didn't remind him of it. He looked too happy eating his Triscuits and his Jell-O for her to want to spoil it for him.
It was nice feeling at ease with him again. The crisis over Sam seemed to have broken the ice between them. And she didn't expect any more from him now, but at least they actually felt like friends. Knowing that was something she still cherished. It was where it all began for them, and they had shared so many confidences that it had brought them closer than some people ever were. It had been hard for both of them to lose that.
“What about you?” he asked, slicing another grapefruit for himself. She had had enough, but he was obviously still hungry. “Have you gone out with anyone?” It was a question he had been dying to ask her, and she looked startled by it.
“No. I've been too busy licking my wounds and growing up. Finding myself, I think they call it. I've been too involved with finding me to find anyone else. Besides, I really don't want to.”
“That's stupid,” he said bluntly.
“Oh, really? Who are you to talk? I don't see you out there on the singles scene, having dates with New “fork socialites and models. You're sitting at the top of a tree in Rwanda, slicing grapefruits and eating Jell-O.” It was a funny image and he laughed at it.
“You make me sound like half-man, half-monkey.”
“Yeah, maybe.” And then she wondered. “Or are you dating anyone?” She suddenly realized she really had no idea what he'd been doing. For all she knew, he was having affairs with half the nurses, but no one had said so. In fact, several people had made a point of telling her he was a nice guy, but a real loner.
“No, I haven't dated anyone,” he said, spooning the juice out of his second grapefruit. He looked boyish and comfortable, and as he had before, he liked being with her. She was smart and funny and easy to be with. The problem was, he knew he wasn't. Easy, at least. He had all the rest of the virtues in the universe sewed up, but certainly not that one. And then he said almost proudly,“I'm still faithful to Serena.” It was sad for him, but she understood it.
“How are the nightmares these days?” she asked cautiously. It had been a long time since she could ask him that kind of question.
“Better. I think I'm just too tired here to have them. I seem to run into trouble when I go back to civilization.”
“Yeah. I remember.” He had lasted exactly nine days the last time. And she had wound up with a broken heart, a broken arm, and a concussion.
“Why haven't you gone out with anyone?” he pressed her, and she sighed.
“I think the answer to that is obvious, Mr. Ward. Or at least it should be. I needed time to recover from you …and Doug. That was kind of a double punch for me, one disaster right after the other.” But in fact, it hadn't felt like a double loss as much as one very big one. She had actually lost Doug a long time before. But losing Paul had been the loss of everything she believed in and hoped for, the loss of the last of her illusions. “Maybe it was good for me. I guess it made me stronger in some ways, and clearer about what I want and need, if I ever have the courage to try again, which right now I doubt I will have. But you never know. Maybe one of these days, things will look different.”
“You're too young to give up all that.” He frowned as he listened to her. She sounded more hopeless now than he did. But she sounded stronger as well. She had grown subtly since he had last seen her. He had heard it when he listened to her talking to Doug from the Red Cross. She wasn't letting him walk all over her anymore. And in a way, she wasn't letting Paul do it either. She had finally begun to set limits. She didn't seem as afraid of losing the people she had once loved, but that was because she had already lost them. Other than her children, whom she would always love, she had nothing to lose now, and in some ways it made her braver.
“I haven't seen anyone out there I want,” India said honestly. Now that they were just friends, she could say things like that to him.
“And what do you want?” He was curious about her answer, and she thought about it for a long time.
“Either peace, and a quiet life by myself,” she said cautiously, “or if I stick my heart out there again, I want it to be for the right guy.”
“How would you describe him?” he asked with seemingly objective interest. As he had long before, he was playing the role of Father Confessor. He liked to do that with her.
“How would I describe him?” she repeated. “I'm not sure I care how he looks, although handsome is nice, but I'd much rather have nice, good, smart, kind, compassionate …but you know what?” She looked him squarely in the eye and decided to be honest with him. “I want him to be crazy about me. I want him to think I'm the best thing in his life, that he is so goddamn lucky to have me, he can hardly see straight. I've always been the one who's done the loving and the giving, and made all the concessions. Maybe it's time to turn the tables, and get some of what I've been giving.”
She had been madly in love with him, and had wanted to give him everything she had, including her kids, and he had been madly in love with Serena. In the final analysis, it hurt to know that. She had lost him to a woman who was gone and would never come back. He had preferred to remain with her memory, than to reach out and love India, and embrace her. “This may sound a little crazy to you,” she said, but not even apologizing for it this time, because she no longer owed him any explanations, nor did she have any expectations of him. “I want a man who would cross heaven and earth because he cared for me …come through a hurricane for me, if he had to. I guess what I'm saying,” she smiled at him then, and looked surprisingly young, and incredibly pretty, “the right guy for me is a man who really loves me. Not halfway. Not maybe. Not second best to someone else, not because he'd made a ‘deal’ with me, like Doug. I just want a man I love with all my heart …and who loves me that much back. And until I find that, I'd just as soon be here, taking pictures in Rwanda, and at home with my kids, by myself. I'm not settling for second best again, I'm not apologizing for anything anymore, I'm not begging,” she said, and Paul knew she didn't just mean Doug, she meant him, because he had told her he didn't really love her. He was pleased to see she still had dreams, although he wondered if she'd ever find them. But at least she knew what they were, and what she wanted. In that sense, she was a lot better off than he was.
And then she decided to turn the focus on him, and she asked him the same question. “What is it you want, Mr. Ward, since you asked me that? Now I'm asking you. Who is the perfect woman you're looking for?”
But he didn't hesitate as she had. He wanted to tell her it was her, and he was tempted to, because there were so many things he liked about her. But instead, he said a single word. “Serena.” And India was silent for a minute. The word still hit her like a fist, but she half expected it. She just didn't expect him to say it quite so clearly. “Looking back, I realize she was just about perfect, for me, at least. That doesn't leave much room for improvement.”
“No, but it could leave room for something, or someone, different.” And then she decided to be honest with him again. Maybe he needed to hear it, for the next one.
“I always felt I could never measure up to her, that I would always have been second best, if that …except for that one week. That was the only time I was really sure you loved me.” And he had, she knew. No matter what he had said afterward. It had been his fear that had been speaking when he told her he didn't love her.
“I did love you, India,” he said clearly, “at least I thought I did … for a week …and then I got scared, by what Sean said, by you, by your kids, by the commute … by my nightmares and my memories of Serena. I just felt too guilty for what I was feeling.”
“You would have gotten over the nightmares. People do,” she said quietly, but he shook his head as he looked at her, remembering all too easily why he had loved her. She was so gentle and so loving, and so goddamn pretty.
“I would never have gotten over Serena. I never will. I know that.”
“You don't want to.” They were tough words, but she said them very gently.
“That's probably true.” India also suspected that Serena had seemed far less perfect to him when she was alive, but she was afraid to say that to him. His memories of Serena had been tinged with angel dust and fairy wings and the magic of time and loss and distance. But the reality of Serena had been a lot harder for him to handle, and India suspected that somewhere in his heart of hearts, he knew that.
“Just for the record, too, as long as we're talking about it, don't let Sean mess up your life, Paul. He has no right to do that to you. He has his own life and family, and he's not going to take care of you, or hold your hand or make you laugh, or worry about it if you have nightmares. I think he's jealous of you, and he wants to keep you locked in a closet, by yourself, and make sure that you're not too happy. For your own sake, don't let him do that to you.”
“I've been thinking about that a lot actually since I've been here. About how selfish children are, at any age, at least in what concerns their parents. They expect you to give and give and give, and always be there for them, when they want you, whether it's convenient for you or not. But when you want a little understanding from them, they kick you in the ass and tell you that you don't have a right to the same things as they do. If my daughter-in-law died, God forbid, and I told Sean he should stay alone for the rest of his life, he'd have me locked up and say I was crazy.” There was a lot of truth to what he was saying, and they both knew it. Children at any age could be very selfish, and not particularly kind to their parents. It was just the way things were sometimes, not always, but certainly in Paul's case.
“I suspected he'd be upset about us,” India said quietly, not disagreeing with a thing he'd said, “and I wondered how you'd handle it.”
“The answer to that, India, is Very badly.'Just like I handled all of it. I made a real mess of it.” He knew it every time he saw her scar now, and was reminded of how it had ended between them.
“Maybe you just weren't ready,” she said charitably. “It was pretty soon after …” It had only been six months after Serena died, which wasn't long, but he shook his head then.
“I wasn't, but I never will be.” And then he looked up at her with a sad smile, they had come through a lot, the two of them, and he saw that now. But in the end, they had lost the battle. Or at least he had. “I just hope you find that guy who comes through the hurricane, my friend …you deserve him …more than anyone else I know. I hope you find him.” And he meant it. All he wished her now was love and freedom from the pain he had caused her.
“So do I,” she said sadly. She couldn't imagine how or where or when she'd find someone, she somehow thought it would be a long time before she did, if ever. She still had a lot of things to work out of her system. Like Paul. But at least they could talk to each other now, and have a friendly evening.
“Just make sure you're ready for him when he comes,” Paul advised, “and not hiding under your bed with your eyes closed, or far away in a place like this, as far away from the world as you can get. That's no way to find the kind of person you want, India. You have to get out there.” But they both knew she didn't want to, any more than he did.
“Maybe he'll find me.”
“Don't count on it. You have to make a little effort, or at least wave him in. It's not easy getting through a hurricane, you know, you've got high winds and bad weather and a lot of dangerous conditions to contend with. You've got to stand out there and wave like hell, India, if you want him.” They exchanged a long smile, and silently wished each other well, whatever it was they each thought they wanted.
It was nearly midnight by then, and Paul finally got up, and they cleaned up the mess they'd made. They'd touched on a lot of important subjects to them that day, and had spent a lot of good time together.
“I'm glad Sam was okay,” Paul said as she put the box of Wheaties away and nodded. And then he chuckled. “And by the way, when you find that guy who's willing to come through the hurricane for you, you'd better hide your kids somewhere, or he may run right back out into the hurricane. A woman with four kids is pretty scary, no matter how terrific she is.” But she no longer believed what he was saying. Her children had scared him, but they wouldn't scare everyone, and she said as much as they cleaned up from their “dinner.”
“They're great kids, Paul, as kids go. And the right guy is going to want me with them. They're not a handicap to everyone, and they'll grow up eventually.” Paul had made her feel like damaged goods when he sent her away, as though she wasn't good enough for him. She didn't measure up to Serena, and she had too many children. But broken down, one by one, they were nice people. And so was she. And she was even beginning to suspect, remembering things he had said to her, that there were things about her that Serena might never have measured up to. At least it was something to think of.
He walked her slowly back to her tent, and then stopped and looked at her. It had been nice spending the day together. And it had been a turning point for both of them, a kind of farewell to what they had once shared, and a welcome to their new friendship. They had brought some good things along with them, cast some bad things away, and discovered some new things about each other.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Get some sleep.” It had been a long day, and they were both tired. And then he looked at her with a shy smile, and said something that touched her deeply. “I'm glad you came here.”
“So am I,” she said, and then disappeared into her tent with a silent wave. She was glad their paths had crossed again. Maybe it was destiny. They had both come a long way since they met, and had come over arduous roads, and rough terrain. And she was finally beginning to see the sun coming up over the mountains. But she knew, after listening to him, that he still had a long journey ahead. And she hoped that, for his sake, one day he'd get there.