Long Time Running (2 page)

"I promised him he could watch Kung Fu Panda tonight -
you want to come over for pizza?"

"Is Lilly coming?"

Eric gave a small shake of his head. "We decided to end it."

"Of course you did," he replied with a snort.
"More like she didn't live up to the ghost and so you ever so politely and kindly told her to take a hike."

Andrew was unapologetically blunt. After all, as he had told him more than once, the benefit of being Eric's best friend for over two
decades was that he was unafraid, even entitled, to call him out on the situation when he felt he was using his past as a shield.

"She's not a ghost" he answered tightly. The muscle in his cheek flickered. "She is not dead."

"She might as well be. It's been seven years Eric. If she were coming back - for him or for you - she would have by now. I don't know why you bother hanging on when it's clear she doesn't care."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "You've never been in love" he pointed out sharply. "You have no idea what it's like to give your heart to someone and watch them leave with it. Trust me, I have
railed at her, cursed at her, and hated her. If I could stop thinking about her I would. But it's a little hard when he has her eyes and every time I look at him, I see her."

Taking a deep breath Eric stared at the laughing boy.
"And he depends on me."

"And when are you going to finally claim him as your own - when you are going to tell the world that you are really his father?"

"Don't put your baggage on me, Drew," he bit out.
"The world doesn't need to know. That's between Jack and I."

"I own my baggage, Eric. So should you," Andrew retorted with little emotion. "He's going to find out one day. And it
could be ugly." Silence surrounded the two friends as they watched Jack zoom down the slide with only the freedom the young possess." You worry about him breaking his head open - what about breaking his heart?"

"Never" he whispered. "I won't let that
happen."

He may never have wanted children but he had fallen in love with Jack from the first moment he held him and he wasn't going to let anything - or anyone - hurt him.

#

Mbamba, Tanzania

As the ceiling fans hummed above doing their best to dissipate the stagnant air, she stood in the supply closet trying to remember exactly what it was she had come in looking for. She tiredly rubbed the back of
her neck, briefly closed her eyes and exhaled. There was an ever present dull pounding in her head she was convinced was brought on by the humidity. Even after all these years in Africa there were some things that still took getting
used to.

She gently fingered the gold locket that hung round her neck. A constant companion, she was sure its grooves were worn into her skin.

"Doctor Grant, you have been here for 36 hours, it is
time for you to go home."

She jumped at the sound of the soft, lilting voice behind her. Turning, she smiled wearily at the nurse.

"Mylea," she replied quietly, "I still have patients to see. I just came here to get something."

"Oh?"

"I'm drawing a blank" she admitted sheepishly.

"It is because you are too tired," the older nurse
remarked. "You should be at home with your dashing journalist."

"Keith knows the hours I work," she protested softly as if that fact provided absolution.

"He may know them but I doubt he likes them. Go
home," she encouraged, "spend some time with him. None of the children need your attention tonight."

While technically Mylea was right, all of Nathalie's patients were stable at Saint Mary's hospital, there was always someone who
needed something and there were never enough hands to do it all. Added to that there was Nathalie's constant fear that she would be needed and her failure to meet those needs would result in more loss.

With all the time she had spent there, Nathalie was as much
a fixture at the hospital and in the town as some of the elders. They had been slow to accept her when she first arrived on the heels of her fellowship. It was easy to dismiss her as just another Westerner wanting to assuage some kind
of deep-seated guilt. But she had embraced their culture and worked tirelessly in the hospital. The longer she spent with them, the deeper their respect for her grew.

Mbamba was her home now. When people asked where she was
from her answer was Tanzania. Chicago - and all the memories there - were her past. This was her present and her future. And somewhere deep inside she believed if she just worked hard enough or long enough it might actually be
true.

"I just have one more patient to see" she said, squinting as she tried in vain to remember what it was she needed from the supply room.

Mylea clucked her disapproval. "We may not be a big
hospital Doctor Grant but we do have other pediatric-" The words died on her lips as Nathalie gripped her head and swayed.

"Nathalie!" she cried, reaching for the young doctor and taking hold of her. She guided her to a chair in the room and gently
sat her down.

"I'm fine" Nathalie gritted, her face still scrunched up in pain.

"They are becoming more frequent," Mylea observed. "You need to be looked at."

Nathalie knew very little escaped Mylea's watchful eye in the hospital; not the sadness that framed her hazel eyes, not the way she would grip the locket around her neck any time she felt stressed nor the increasing
number of painful headaches she was suffering from. She had told her once that in all the years she had worked with Westerners she had seen many doctors pass through but the only ones who stayed did so because they were afraid of what was waiting for them at home. She knew what Nathalie was afraid of though it
remained unspoken between them. She had been there that night seven years ago and every night after and she had seen first hand the price the beautiful doctor had had paid.

And the price she continued to pay. Nathalie was sure that
these headaches, these pains that could stop her cold, were part of the payment.

Nathalie smirked as she slowly opened her eyes. "You know Mylea, before I became a generalist, I was a specialist - a neurosurgeon
in fact - I know when it's a headache brought on by the heat and when it's something more. It's just the heat."

Or penance, she added silently.

"Of course" the nurse replied flatly. "At
least go home - you need some rest Nathalie."

Nathalie knew that if Mylea was calling her by her first name at work then she was really worried. Not wanting to upset her friend further she acquiesced. "Yes ma'am" she said.

Unsteadily, she got to her feet and pulled her stethoscope from her neck. "Maybe I'll be really lucky and Keith will have cooked."

With the older nurse waving her out the door, Nathalie
headed down the worn stone steps at the front of the hospital and down the road home.

As she opened the front door she was greeted by a warm, sweet curry scent floating from the kitchen through the house. She smiled to
herself as she closed the door behind her. Keith was definitely here and her favorite dish was stewing on the stove. She felt spoiled.

Keith Wilson was a freelance journalist working in Tanzania who had come to the hospital a year ago to do a story. Nathalie had been taken
in by his intelligence and warmth. Not much taller than she was, he had a great shock of red hair and warm friendly brown eyes. Quiet and thoughtful, he had trailed her for a week, peppering her with questions. Nathalie had seen the
interest in his eyes but had been unable to respond in kind. Too much of her soul had been given away. And the rest was too damaged to be given.

Relentlessly he had refused to let her hide and after many
late dinners, he had been rewarded with a kiss. Nathalie had been rewarded with a man who was loyal, engaging and deeply compassionate. What she felt for him was not the gravity-defying love she had experienced before but he was a good man and he loved her and that was enough.

"You cooked" she greeted him, sliding her arms around his neck and brushing her lips against his.

"You're late" he remarked softly quickly returning
her kiss. "I thought your shift ended hours ago."

"You know how it is" she demurred. "Anyways I'm here now and dinner smells amazing."

"I'm glad" he said, stepping out from her embrace.
"I tried to wait for you but I was too hungry so I went ahead and ate. I'll get your plate."

Sensing his disappointment she exhaled slowly. "Keith I'm-"

"-sorry" he finished for her. "I know. You're
always sorry, you're just never here."

Her green eyes widened in surprise.. "I'm never here? You were gone for a week to Cape Town to cover the AIDS conference."

"I was gone for two weeks" he corrected sadly.
"Two weeks. But you're so wrapped up in your work you don't even notice. It's hard enough not to have all of your heart" he told her as he gave a withering glance to the locket around her neck. "But I really wish that
wish that you would at least make an effort."

Nathalie took a step back, stung by his words. "Keith-"

He raised his hand, shaking his head. "Nathalie, I'm
tired, you're tired, let's table this for another day. Have a seat and I'll prepare you a plate."

Her heart sank at the resignation in his voice; she cared for him deeply and hated hurting him in any way. She smiled sadly and nodded.
"I'm just going to wash my hands."

Heading down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, she closed the door and turning on the taps, reached for the soap. She bowed her head momentarily in an attempt to regain her composure; the ache in her heart
transmitting itself through her entire body. As she did so, her hand trembled and small beads of perspiration formed on her forehead.

"No, no, no, no" she muttered, glaring at her
reflection in the mirror. It was but a moment before the tell tale pounding in her head began and as her legs shook, she gripped the side of the sink trying to ride out the coming seizure. An alkaline taste formed in her mouth and her vision went blurry before finally going black crumpling her.

Leaning against the door of the living room Eric smiled to
himself as he watched Jack pressed up against the corner of the chocolate brown leather sofa. Deeply engrossed in the book he was reading, the young boy was pulling absently on his bottom lip; it was a move he was all too familiar with
as he often struck the same pose while reading or studying.

Jack was the very best he and Nathalie had to offer. He was bright and curious; he laughed easily and was incredibly stubborn once he made
his mind up. While he mostly saw Nathalie in him, every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of himself in his son and it still surprised him at how fulfilling that feeling was.

Eric Smitherman Senior was a difficult man with exacting
standards and where most fathers loved their sons, he merely tolerated his. From the time he was a small child he had felt the burden of expectation and the bitterness of disappointment. His father had had grand plans for him and expected him to do exactly as he told him to, without question. Eric's house
had not been one filled with love or laughter. His mother had lived in fear of his father and his father used his approval - or his son's need for it - as a weapon. He had considered it nothing short of a miracle that he had been able
to fall in love and be a good partner. Feeling his father's imprint on him, he had believed it impossible to offer the same to a child. He was shocked at just how wrong he had been.

"Hey buddy, you almost ready? Aunt Sarah will be here
soon."

Looking up from his book Jack nodded. "Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Am I sleeping over on Friday?"

"Not this weekend Jack - I'm working. But I've booked next weekend off and I got us tickets to the Yankees."

His green eyes widened in shock. "You did?"

Grinning, he nodded. "Andrew is coming and there's an
extra ticket for you to bring Stephen if you want."

"Like a guys' night out?" he asked.

Eric chuckled. "Exactly. A guys' night out at the game."

Scrambling from the couch Jack sprinted across the room and threw his arms around Eric, squeezing him tightly. "You're the best Eric."

Too overcome to say anything, he just hugged him back. A
sharp knock at the door broke the moment.

"That will be Aunt Sarah. Go get your stuff from your room."

"Okay!" he replied, running down the hallway.

Eric ambled to the door and opened it. Nathalie's sister
could not be more different from her. A district attorney, her dark blonde hair was kept short and while she and her sister shared the same eyes, there was little of Nathalie's humor or warmth to be found in them.

"Sarah," he greeted her.

"Is he ready?" she asked, looking past him down the hallway.

"Almost. You're welcome to come in."

"No, thank you," she replied perfunctorily.

It was the same pantomime as it always had been with stilted politeness and long, awkward pauses. They had never been close but the circumstances they now found themselves in seemed to strain an already tenuous
relationship. Nathalie had always tried to excuse her sister's coldness by stating that they had dealt with their parents' deaths when they were teenagers in very different ways. Nathalie had embraced life and those around her but
Sarah had seemed determine to hold the world at bay.

"Listen," Eric began, lowering his voice. "I want to revisit the issue of telling Jack I'm his father."

She violently shook her head. "No."

"Sarah" he replied, gritting his teeth, preparing himself for battle.

"Nathalie doesn't want this."