The Secrets You Keep Page 9

  “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

  Will I ever go back? Would I ever even have the chance? Once Naomi finds out I let her brother become intimately acquainted with my lady bits, she’ll file my name under “unprofessional skank” and never invite me to help again. So, I’ll take it for what it was: a onetime thing, a learning experience. Something that will stay with me forever.

  “It’s something everyone should do. Once.”

  What I mean to say is that I would love to go back. I’d book my flight tomorrow if I had the chance. But I don’t have the time… or the chance.

  Karen grabs a seat at the closest empty table. “How’s your sister?” she asks.

  I take a sip of my coffee then pull out a chair across from her. I haven’t seen Natalie since I’ve been back. I called twice, but she declined both times. As much as it hurts to see a relationship that used to be so close fall apart at the seams, I’d rather have her decline my calls than not be able to call her at all.

  “I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me since before the night I brought her in.”

  Karen reaches across the table for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Grace. You just have to trust that one day she’ll realize you’re only trying to help.”

  Callan’s words come back to me. “Not everyone wants to be helped.”

  But she’s my sister. And whether she wants it or not, I can’t just leave her alone.

  I tell Karen about the burning woman, and she has the same thoughts I did. Nerve pain, diabetic neuropathy, maybe. But with limited time and resources, she’ll probably never find out for sure.

  “I know you want to be here, Grace. And this is your home. But it seems like South Africa stole a little piece of your heart while it had you.”

  I think it was more than South Africa that stole my heart. I take the last sip of my coffee before getting ready to head back to NICU. I think about the woman, Ebrahaim, and little boys with no shoes. Sheer window panels blowing in the warm night breeze and welcoming courtyards. Ferris wheels on the harbor… and Callan. My stomach flutters as my body remembers his deep blue eyes and the way his touch felt.

  “Yeah. I suppose it did.”

  ***

  Three hours and twenty-three red lights later, I toss my keys onto the table in the foyer and kick off my shoes. “How is he?”

  My dad’s home health nurse finishes rinsing out her glass, placing it upside down on a dish towel, then rakes her fingers through her long blonde hair. “It’s been a rough day.”

  Renee is tough. She’s been with my father for over a year, and she’s seen some bad days. She’s suctioned his mucus and massaged his swollen legs. She didn’t panic the day his lips turned blue, and he forgot where he was. For her to say it was rough means she was probably about five minutes away from speed-dialing the hospital and calling me home.

  “Thank you, Renee. Go home. Get some rest.”

  “I can stay if you need to sleep.”

  She’s always worried about me and my sleep. She offers to stay every time. And every time, I send her home.

  “I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough,” I tell her.

  “He’s lucky to have you, ya know. So many of my patients are all alone.”

  My whole life, my father sacrificed. He provided. He did whatever it took to take care of me, my sister, and my mom. Taking care of him now is the least I can do to repay him.

  “I’m the lucky one. But, thank you.”

  She pulls her ponytail tight and grabs her bag from the seat of a dining chair. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Night.”

  “Oh. I almost forgot,” she says, stopping just before she reaches the front door. “A package came for you today. I put it on the kitchen counter.”

  A package? I don’t remember ordering anything, and it’s nowhere near my birthday. The large brown envelope is postmarked from the Greenleaf Lodge. Maybe I forgot something in my room?

  I grab a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and run the sharp edge along the sealed flap on the back side. It’s a frame. With a black-and-white photo inside. A woman. Her fingers are wrapped in her long dark hair as she pulls it up and tilts her head to one side, revealing the slender curve of her neck. The bottom of her round behind peeks out from a T-shirt and lacy panties, leading to a pair of lean thighs, parted just enough to see the crease in the fabric between them. Sheer curtains wisp across the bottom of the photo as she stands in front of her bed. It’s positively sensual in its simplicity. The way she’s standing, allowing herself to be seen like she knows he’s watching, and she’s waiting for his touch. It’s sexy. It’s seductive. It’s breathtaking.

  It’s me.

  I’m the woman in the photo.

  And Callan was the man behind the lens.

  I remember that night. I saw him watching from the pool. I waited for him to knock on my door. I wanted him to come in— to touch all the parts of me that I’d so freely shown him. He didn’t.

  I thought my seductive little display had no effect on him.

  Is this how he sees me?

  Can I be this woman?

  Seeing the moment through his eyes. Seeing myself this way. It does something to me. It makes me feel… powerful. All along I thought he made me fragile. The woman in this photo is anything but fragile. She’s confident. She’s sexy.

  For him.

  Because of him.

  Is Callan looking at this picture right now? Does he see the same things I do? Feel the same things I feel?

  My core throbs with need at the thought of it. The blood rushes through my body, heating me from the inside out. I remember his touch, his voice, his eyes. And I’d give anything to feel it all again. Just one more time.

  That’s a lie. One more time wouldn’t be enough. Just like the night at the restaurant wasn’t enough. I thought I could do it. I thought I’d have a little fun, do something adventurous, then come back home and only think about it when my body needed a release. I thought knowing I’d never see him again would make it easier. But I’m not wired that way. That’s not who I am. I’m not wired not to care. I’m not made to forget. Even though sometimes I wish I could.

  I take another look at the photo then slide it back inside the envelope. I check on my dad then take a hot shower. I don’t think about how Callan got my address. Or why he wanted me to see the picture. Or what made him take it to begin with. I try not to think about Callan at all. I can’t. Because he’s an ocean away, and nothing will ever change that.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Callan

  It’s been a week since Grace left. She didn’t say goodbye, and I can’t say that I blame her. I didn’t exactly leave her with that warm, mushy feeling. I’ve walked past her room at least a dozen times since she left. From the courtyard, I stare at the closed glass doors, the white curtains pulled shut, and remember watching her that night. The moment is frozen in time inside the memory of my photos. So, I take my phone to the nearest CVS, print two copies and send one to her before I delete them. Women don’t affect me this way. Ever. Relationships are a luxury I don’t indulge in. But somehow Grace has wiggled her way inside my head, and I can’t shake the thought of her.

  The Gateway isn’t protective of their volunteers’ personal information when you make a hefty donation, it seems. Her address wasn’t hard to get. It just took a few zeroes and a signature.

  I need her to see herself differently. I need her to see me differently. She’s more than a pair of helping hands and a kind heart. So much more. Underneath the compassionate doctor who lives to serve those in need lies a woman who yearns to serve her man.

  I can be that man. I want to be that man. I crave her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I broke her trust the night I made her feel like a fuck toy in a crowded restaurant, and now I need to earn it back.

  “You keep moving around like that, and someone might think you’re feeling better,” I tell Johan, who is currently walking towards my table.


  Breakfast and coffee on the veranda have become a peaceful part of my morning routine. Rays of brilliant orange spray across the morning clouds as the cool morning breeze brushes against my skin, a sign that the ocean is beginning to wake up. I start my day surrounded by the beauty of the sunrise to remind myself that beauty is still out there. If you look for it.

  “Well, someone would be right. It’s a little sore around bedtime, but other than that I’m good as new. Thought about hitting the clubs later. You in?”

  His sarcasm makes me smile. “If you’re talking about golf clubs, sure.”

  He laughs then pulls out a chair and unfolds the newspaper. Then he lays it flat on the table in front of us and points to the photo on the front page. Military forces line the streets, guns at their sides, as they claim their presence.

  “ARMY DEPLOYED AS CRIME IN WESTERN CAPE RISES”

  “Looks like the big boys are finally coming in to do their job,” he says with a smile as he notes the headline.

  I take a sip of my coffee. “We’ll see.” I’ve lived in South Africa most of my life. Change doesn’t happen overnight.

  “I think he’s ready to go home, Boss.”

  Johan’s right. For the past week, David hasn’t ventured outside of his room and the courtyard. The swelling of his eye and ankle has gone down, and the scrapes on his knees and fingertips are healing without infection. But I want him one-hundred-percent before I take him back to his family. They’ve worried enough already. I don’t want them to witness any physical evidence of what happened to him.

  He still wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. And he refuses to sleep in complete darkness. But overall, his spirits are high.

  “One more week.” I place my napkin on my near-empty plate. “Another week, and I’ll take him home.”

  Johan tilts his head and studies my face. “You’ll take him home? To Miami?”

  “That surprises you?”

  “A little. I guess I figured you’d want me to bring him. You know… just because.”

  He’s scared to say it. I left Miami swearing I’d never go back. “It’s just for a few days. I’ll bring him home. Make sure he’s settled. And I thought we could take a break. You know, breathe before the next round.”

  His eyes grow wide. “A break?”

  “Jesus, Johan. Am I stuttering?”

  He folds the paper and tucks it under his arm. “No, sir. A break sounds good for a change.”

  I can’t remember the last time we took a break. I haven’t spent more than a few hours off at a time between assignments in over a year. I know Johan is ready to see his daughters. His wife left him years ago. She couldn’t handle him being gone all the time. I guess we all make sacrifices for the sake of our priorities.

  I tap my hand against the table, then stand. “Good. I’ll make the flight arrangements this afternoon.”

  ***

  Over the next week, I managed to intercept a truckload of illegal weapons on their route to a privatized army and have a face-to-face visit with one of South Africa’s parliament members about shutting his shit down. Two down, at least a dozen to go. The war here is far from over. There will always be someone, somewhere with too much money and not enough conscience. Maybe one day I’ll end up back in Cape Town, but right now I have to be true to my word. So, Friday morning, bright and early, Johan is on his way to see his girls. And David and I are boarding the first flight to Florida.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grace

  It’s almost time for me to go home, so I stop by one of the incubators on my way out.

  “Hey, little strong one. I want to tell you something,” I whisper softly to the tiny infant as I reach through the porthole and let him take my finger in his hand.

  I see babies all the time. And I talk to them all. Every shift. New faces join familiar ones. Some of them stay for a day. Some of them for weeks. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian. Most of them tiny. All of them strong. And I remember every single one.

  “There’s a woman. Not far from here. In another room.” My breath blows across the hard plastic of the incubator when I speak. He’s sleeping again. “She’s waiting to see you, waiting to hold you. Her heart is so full. Full of love. Full of hope. Full of fear.” The alarm on a nearby monitor beeps but doesn’t distract me. “You’re probably wondering how I know that, huh?” I stroke my thumb against the back of his little hand. “I know, because not too long ago, I was in a bed just like hers. With a full heart. Hoping. Praying. For my own little one.” The pain of the memory makes my stomach cramp. “Let’s make a deal, you and me. You keep fighting. You stay strong. And I’ll keep doing everything I can to get you out of here.” I tap the outside of the incubator. “Deal?” He squeezes my finger as though he knows what I’m saying, even though I doubt he can even hear me at all. “Okay, then. It’s a deal. Be brave, little one. And sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ***

  The parking lights flash as I click the key fob and unlock my doors. It’s unusually cold for a Florida night in September. I hurry across the parking lot to get to my car. Our hospital is one of the few left that doesn’t have separate parking facilities for employees. One day I’ll upgrade. I laugh to myself. No, you won’t. And I’m probably right. I wouldn’t even know what to do at a fancy hospital with all the bells and whistles. Who needs a parking garage, anyway?

  I pull my arms against my chest and start to walk faster. A circle of people to my right grabs my attention. The second I make eye contact with one of them, he yells out.

  “Hey. Lady.” I stop moving but don’t answer. “Yeah. Doctor lady. Come here. Quick.”

  You had to make eye contact, didn’t you?

  My heart races. My hands are shaking. Think, Grace. My car is only a few feet away. A lot closer than the group of guys. Five steps. Maybe six. And I can crank it and drive away. They won’t chase me. Right? They can’t. I can do this. I can get away.

  My feet feel as though they’re full of lead as I take the first step. Then another. On the third step, a gunshot makes me flinch. I force myself to breathe. But my chest grows tighter.

  “Wrong way, gorgeous.”

  Howls of laughter fill the night air.

  My head is throbbing. Deep breaths, Grace. Just see what they want and get the hell out of here.

  Slowly, cautiously, I walk away from my car and toward the group of men. I mentally count how many there are, telling myself I need to remember as much about them as I can. Five. Two white. Three Hispanic.

  “Hurry up,” a different guy shouts.

  The first guy meets me halfway. His grip on my arm makes it nearly impossible not to scream. His fingers dig deep into my flesh while he pulls me toward the crowd.

  There’s a sixth man. On the ground. His shirt is covered in blood.

  “What happened to him?” I’m surprised I’m able to find my voice.

  “None of your fucking business, puta. Can you help him or not?”

  “Not if you don’t tell me what happened.”

  I don’t know where this boldness is coming from. Inside I’m trembling with fear. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. I don’t know. But it shuts the guy up.

  “He got knifed.” He raises the wounded man’s shirt. Just below a tattoo of the number thirteen is a trail of blood. A lot of it. He’s been bleeding a long time. There’s no telling how much he’d lost before they brought him here. I have to help him before he goes into shock. It’s so dark. I’m struggling to find the wound.

  “Does this bitch even know what the fuck she’s doing?” a voice spits from somewhere beside me.

  “Shut the fuck up. She knows more than you,” another one spits back.

  All the different voices make it hard to concentrate.

  “It’s too dark. I can’t see. We need to move him,” I say before I can think about how they’ll react.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” the first guy tells me. Then the heavy steel of a pistol digs into the
base of my neck. “J-Mac. Get your phone. Give her some light.”

  “Holy shit. It’s the Miami Boys,” one of them yells.

  The gun leaves my neck as their attention focuses on two cars pulling into the parking lot.

  “Fuck!” another one shouts.

  Miami Boys. I know that name. It’s a local gang. The tattoo. The number thirteen. I should’ve known. I’ve been sucked right into the middle of a gang war. And my only weapon is my brain. Which will probably be blown to bits in about two minutes.

  Two of the five guys lift the wounded man from the ground and throw him into the back seat of a pickup then speed away. The other three jump into a Mustang and drive off, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the parking lot. With two cars coming at me at full speed.

  What if they have guns? They probably have guns. I need to run, but I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can only watch as the cars get closer. They’re going to hit me, and they won’t even care. Probably won’t even stop. Oh, God. This is it. This is how I die.

  A black SUV cuts in between the speeding vehicles and my trembling body. The window rolls down. It’s dark, and my vision is blurred. I can’t make out the driver’s face, but I would never forget his voice.

  “Get in.”

  Callan. How?

  I don’t move. He reaches across and opens the door, almost knocking me backward. “Grace. Get in.”

  I climb into the passenger seat and close the door just as the two cars race past the front of Callan’s SUV. He follows them, ignoring red lights and bypassing stop signs. He touches the screen on his dash then starts rattling off numbers and letters.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Voice to text. I’m sending myself their plates.”

  “Why?” I ask. Although I’m not sure I want to know.

  “Did they hurt you?” He looks over at me. It’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the road since I got in.

  I almost melt in my seat. God, I’ve missed those eyes. “No.”