An Open Heart (16 page)

“So you’re really worried about me tarnishing the hospital’s reputation.”

“It is my place to be sure that spiritual ministry is not hampered.”

“Shall I pack up and go home? Is that what you want?”

“What I want is for you to understand why you are working so hard. Are you trying to earn God’s favor? For what sin are you trying to atone?”

Jace shook his head. He’d heard enough Christian language.
Why not speak plain English instead of presumptuous, pious phrases?

But the last phrase did make him think.
Some sins deserve punishment.

When Jace didn’t respond, the chaplain turned toward the door. “I’ll let myself out. Enjoy the chapatis.”

16

Jace opened his computer and clicked on the “Get Mail” icon. After watching the twirling emblem for a long minute, he saw that he’d finally gotten a reply from Heather. The message was brief. And too polite.

Glad you’re safe. I hope that your time away is all that you need it to be. I know you want to figure things out between us. I’ve been thinking about the way it was in the beginning. We were young and full of hope, and determined not to end up like the rest of American couples who grow apart instead of together. So where did we go wrong? Can we find that hope again? I know if things are going to work for us, I need answers. Transparency, Jace. I need to know what was really going on between you and Anita Franks. I hope you get your equipment soon. If I know anything about you, you’ll feel lost without it.

Maybe that’s part of the problem. For the last decade your identity has been your ability to be cool when hearts were in crisis. Well, Jace, maybe this is a heart crisis of sorts for us.

Stay safe,

Heather

Jace shut his laptop and sighed. If only
he
knew what had really been going on with Anita.

Had
anything been going on? Had he slipped from comforting a patient’s family member into something else entirely? Had he crossed the line into dangerous territory with another man’s wife?

He knew that at one time, not too long ago, he had dreamed of doing just that.

It had begun innocently enough. An accepted invitation to talk, over lunch. Hands brushing, lingering a little beyond the friendly graze. A hug after walking her to her car. Comfort offered to a friend.

Then, in a parking lot outside the hospital, he’d handed her a card with his private cell number. He remembered the look in her eyes:
You are special to me.

“Thanks. I won’t misuse this,” she giggled. She leaned forward to offer him a friendly hug and her cheek touched his.

He inhaled her perfume. He felt heat. And desire.

A male voice interrupted their good-bye. “Mrs. Franks. Your car is waiting.”

Jace looked up to see the stern face of Ryan Meadows.

“Oh, Ryan, you remember Dr. Rawlings? We were just saying good-bye. He tells me the governor is progressing.”

“Of course.”

When Anita turned away, the chief of staff met Jace’s eye and kept his voice just above a whisper. “Step carefully, Doctor.”

Jace didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His conscience was screaming the same warning. Instead, he nodded at Ryan and watched as he took the first lady’s arm, escorting her to a waiting limousine.

Ryan helped Anita into the limo, then climbed in beside her.

Once alone and behind the tinted windows, Anita turned to him. “Drink with me.” She poured golden liquid from a crystal decanter.

Ryan sighed. “This has turned out so different than I’d imagined.” He watched the surgeon, still standing there, as they drove away. “For a while, I found myself imagining what would have happened if the governor hadn’t pulled through.” He looked back at Anita. “Then maybe we could have stopped hiding.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want to be with you. You know that.”

“Well, that’s a little impossible right now, regardless of what we might want. And I’m not about to break the news to the governor when he’s in the hospital.”

“I get that, Anita. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting more.”

She brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Nor me.”

He drained his small glass, enjoying the burn of the alcohol in his throat. “You should be careful. The local media is starting to speculate about you and your husband’s doctor.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Should I be?”

“Ah, Ryan. Always lurking in the shadow of the governor.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that
I
was touted as the party’s pick for their candidate.” He smiled. “That’s when you made your first play for me. When you thought I was going to be the governor.” He tapped his finger against the window, where a honeybee clung to the outside surface. “Maybe I would have made Stuart my chief of staff.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t have done it. Too proud.”

“Too proud to imagine his wife looking elsewhere? He’s a pig.”

“He’s your boss.”

He leaned over and kissed her earlobe. “Don’t remind me now. He’s still in the hospital. Anything could happen.”

That evening, Jace made a long-distance call to Gabriel Dawson. “Gabby, it’s Jace Rawlings.”

“Dr. Rawlings, the infamous African heart surgeon?”

“Very funny.”

“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I didn’t expect to need you this quickly. Gabby, I’ve got an urgent valve replacement to do. I’m going to need you sooner than I’d thought.”

“So how’s it going? Is everything set?”

“I’m working on that.” He paused. “So how soon do you think you can come?”

“I have some time off coming my way, but I’ll have to ask Evan. He makes the schedule.”

“I already talked to our cardiac anesthesiologist. Dr. Martin marked off the week after next.”

“You’re serious. I’m supposed to just drop everything and fly to Africa?”

“We talked about this. You said—”

“I’ll make it work, Jace. You sound stressed.”

“It’s been a little crazy. I had quite the adventure getting my stuff through customs. And everyone around here seems to want to size me up and figure out why I’m doing this.”

“So how is your sister?”

He paused. “That’s not funny.”

“What do you mean? Heather told me that the reason you left was because your sister had asked—”

“She told you that?”

“We’re friends, Jace. We went out to lunch. I thought it must be special. I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

“My sister’s dead.”

“Oh, Jace, I’m sorry. W-when?” she stuttered. “I mean, Heather just said—”

“She died a long time ago. When we lived here as kids.”

“You’re scaring me. Why would Heather say something like—”

He sighed. “Look, it’s complicated. I’m not crazy, okay?”

“What’s going on, Jace? If you expect me to come all the way to Africa to lend a hand, I need to know.”

Jace began to pace, using the full length of the stretchy phone cord to walk around his little kitchen. “I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

“No, Jace, I’m staying in Virginia unless you tell me.”

He ran his free hand through a tangle of uncombed hair. “Okay,” he said, starting slowly and picking his words carefully. “I’ll admit, this sounds a little crazy.”

“Try me.”

“It was during my accident. I don’t really remember much about it.” He paused.

“Heather told me as much.”

“But I have one memory that I’ve been reluctant to share. I don’t know how much Heather told you about my sister.”

“Apparently, not everything. I didn’t know she was dead.”

“She died just before we graduated. We were twins,” he said, “very close.”

“Jace, I’m sorry.”

“After my accident, well, I had some sort of vision. I guess that’s what I should call it. I saw my sister. I remember her face as I was lying on the side of the road. She leaned over me and said, ‘Come back to me, Jace.’ Clear as anything. She was crying. I know it sounds weird, but that’s what got me started thinking I was supposed to do something else with my life.”

“Other people say you’re running away from trouble.”

“Heather?”

“She’s worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, it seems everyone is worried about me.” He reached the end of the phone cord and turned around again. “What do you say, Gabby? There’s no way I can start this program without a good pump tech.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? What you just told me is creeping me out a little.”

“I’m okay. If it makes you feel any better, it creeps me out a little too.”

He heard her sigh into the phone. “I’ll talk to the boss. If he says I can go, I’ll work it out with Dr. Martin.”

“Thanks.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m not crazy, Gabby.”

Am I?

Simeon Okayo considered himself a modern professional. This, of course was in stark contrast to his dress, a tribal garment accented by a necklace of bone. He prided himself in his fluidity. He was as comfortable in a three-piece suit walking the halls of government in Nairobi as he was in the traditional garb he wore in his little duka in Kisii.

Tonight, he had reason to worry. The evening before, the elders in a neighboring village had blamed nine women suspected of practicing witchcraft for the lack of development in the area. Two of the women had been hacked to death, three burned alive in their homes, and four had escaped into the forest.

His anxiety wasn’t new. Witch doctors were feared for their power, loved for their blessing, and blamed for economic hardship. So far, his political ties had allowed him a bit of protection, but ties to men in power always came at a price.

Of course, politicians didn’t think spiritually. They wanted control. Curse this opponent. Assure this victory. But Simeon knew that the spirits demanded a resolution when a curse had been put in play. Someone wanted Dr. Jace Rawlings to die. A blood price had been purchased. But now, delays. Perhaps an animal sacrifice would provide a temporary delay on the spirits’ demand for blood.

He stepped around his shop’s floor, one ear attuned to the street and one listening for the chirp of his cell phone. Outside, a drunk threw aside a plastic cup and propositioned a young woman. The man’s mind must have been buzzed from the effects of chang’aa, the illegal brew so popular in the slums and villages of Kenya. Simeon wished for a sip of the fermented maize drink himself, hoping to stuff away his worries of the spirits’ unrest, but he wouldn’t buy it from a street vendor. The cheap drink boiled in metal drums was often contaminated by methanol and had earned a reputation as poison because it caused blindness. Simeon would purchase his stock from a friend in the Mungiki, the cult-like political group who owed the witch doctor more than a few favors for the protection he offered.

His cell phone sounded. He looked at the screen.
The MP.

“Jambo,” he said.

“You shouldn’t leave messages with my secretary,” Okombo said.

“How else am I to reach you? You do not answer your phone.”

“I will call you when it is time.”