Over the Waters Read online

  Samantha patted her belly. "I could eat."

  "Me, too," Valerie said.

  "Sarah, how many children have we seen so far?" Samantha asked.

  The Haitian woman took the clipboard from Max and counted, whispering the numbers in Creole as she moved a slender finger down the row of names. After a moment, she looked up. "We have thirty-two on the list. That leaves forty-two yet to see."

  Max puffed out his cheeks and shook his head in frustration. At this rate, they'd be here until midnight. Of course many of the older children were caught up on their vaccinations and it wouldn't take as long to run them through.

  He halted at the thought. Run them through? It made them sound like cattle. In truth, that's how he'd thought of them that day at the airport, when the horde of boys had crushed against him begging for a handout.

  But he was deeply impressed by the children he'd seen here and at Madame Duval's. They were more polite than the majority of American children he'd been around recently, addressing him as "sir" and obeying Sarah's requests to the letter. He'd only had two screamers all morning.

  He could see why Samantha had fallen in love with the children of Haiti. He glanced at Valerie who was playing a silent game of peekaboo with a vivacious little girl swinging her feet from her perch on a folding chair. It looked as though Valerie was falling for these kids hard and fast.

  Joshua must have felt the same way. And knowing Josh, he probably thought he could save them all. Hot anger reared its head, as it had too many times since he'd set foot on this Haitian soil that had taken his son from him.

  Valerie's voice broke the trance the doldrums had put him in.

  "I'll go see about lunch," she said. "Why don't we eat out on the veranda...get a little fresh air? I'll meet you out there, okay?"

  "Let me help," Samantha said.

  They traipsed off to the kitchen while Max tidied up the tables and lined things up for the next group of children after lunch.

  When he was finished, he went to sit on the veranda. The sun beat down on his back and after a minute, he dragged the round patio table and chairs to a patch of shade cast by a large coconut palm.

  A few minutes later, Valerie and Samantha came out, each balancing a large cafeteria tray. They lowered the trays to the table and distributed plates of rice and beans with Creole sauce and some vegetables Max couldn't identify. Valerie set a serving bowl full of pudding on the table. It looked like tapioca. He wasn't crazy about the stuff, but he was hungry enough that he just might eat some. His sweet tooth hadn't been satisfied for days.

  Sarah came to the table carrying three old-fashioned longneck glass bottles. "Would you like Coca-Cola or Teem, Dr. Jordan?"

  He pushed his chair back and stood to help her. "Teem? I haven't had that since I was a kid. Didn't even know they still made it." He held a green bottle out to Valerie. "Which do you prefer?"

  "I like either one. You choose first."

  He took the Teem and handed her the Coke. Sarah gave the remaining Coke to Samantha.

  "What about you, Sarah?" He offered her the green bottle.

  "Oh, no, Dr. Jordan." She wagged her head in protest, her thick ponytail swinging from side to side. "The soda is for our guests. You enjoy it, please."

  "You're sure?"

  She smiled and nodded.

  The crimped cap had already been removed and rivulets of condensation ran down the sides of the bottle. Reluctantly, despite her reassurances, he took a swig. The cool drink was ambrosia to his parched throat.

  "Thank you, Sarah." He took another long drink. "Mmm, that hits the spot. I don't think I've drunk pop from a bottle since my grandfather used to buy it for me."

  Sarah took the chair beside him. Samantha sat to his left, Valerie across from him. He lifted his fork and dug in to the beans. He had to admit he'd eaten well in Haiti. Nothing fancy, and perhaps things only tasted so good because he'd done more physical labor in the last few days here than in the last five years of his life.

  He swallowed the tasty bite and looked up to comment on the food. To his chagrin, all three of the women had their heads bowed, their lips moving silently in prayer. The children had sung a song before dinner that he'd assumed was table grace, but apparently that hadn't sufficed for these ladies. He eased his fork to his plate, folded his hands in his lap and cast his eyes toward his plate.

  A moment later, as though they'd choreographed it, all three women mouthed an "Amen," raised their heads and began to eat with gusto. They seemed not to have noticed Max's gaffe, and ate in companionable silence for several minutes, the clatter of forks and spoons against pottery providing pleasant dinner music.

  Here in the shade with a plate of fragrant, spicy Creole food, a cool drink and palm trees and potted plants casting abstract shadows on the whitewashed face of the building, Max could almost imagine that he was sharing lunch with colleagues at a medical convention in some exotic locale.

  His little delusion evaporated at the sound of children laughing. He turned and looked out on the lawn where a group of boys were playing a rough-and-tumble game of soccer. A little boy of about five hobbled after them on grossly deformed legs, trying to keep up.

  Max watched the scene for several minutes, a strange ache in his gut. The boy stumbled and fell several times, and by the time he finally caught up with his teammates, the goal had been scored and they were off to the other end of the field. But the little tyke merely cheered belatedly over the score and staggered back down the field.

  Max wanted to cry for him. Why did they even allow him to play? How could his spirit not be crushed by the constant frustration and defeat?

  Valerie must have sensed his thoughts. "He's sure a trouper, isn't he?"

  Max turned to face her. "It's hard to watch."

  "It's convicting," she said, with a bob of her chin.

  "Convicting?"

  "I'm not sure I'd have the guts to keep at it the way he does. It makes my problems seem petty by comparison."

  Samantha followed their line of vision. "Oh, that must be Rocky. Do you know, Sarah? Is that little boy's name Rocky?"

  Sarah laughed. "His name is Roddy, but Dr. Josh give him a new name. He say he was like some Rocky in America."

  "Rocky Balboa!" Valerie and Samantha said in unison.

  Sarah shrugged. "From the movies. Roddy make us call him that all the time now."

  "It fits," Samantha said. "Josh told me about him. He fell in love with the little guy. Said he'd never seen such a fighter."

  Max turned to Sarah. "My Joshua? My son treated the boy?"

  The Haitian girl looked perplexed. "Dr. Joshua treated all the children here. I thought you know that, Dr. Jordan."

  "Well, yes. I--I just never imagined..." He shrugged, not willing to voice his thoughts. He'd pictured Joshua running the kids through a medical assembly line, the way he'd done today. Of the thirty-two children they'd seen in the clinic this morning, Max would be hard-pressed to call even one of them by name. But Sarah was saying that Josh had not only known the little boy's name, but he'd discovered enough about his personality to bestow a treasured nickname on him.

  Valerie touched his arm and spoke softly. "It must be really special for you to be here...meeting the same children your son worked with."

  Max didn't know how to respond. She was wrong, of course. It was anything but special to be here. It was painful and frustrating and infuriating. But he shouldn't have been surprised at her comment. Valerie Austin had surprised him at every turn. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone whose thoughts so consistently and diametrically contrasted his. It was almost funny. Wasn't her generation supposed to be cynical and negative? She was a veritable Pollyanna. It irked him. And yet it drew him. Why did her perpetual optimism attract him so, as though she'd cast some voodoo spell over him?

  He shook off the thoughts. He didn't like where they were leading. He had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't thirty anymore. Valerie was young. Probably not much older than Joshua had
been. And this wasn't a leisure trip enticing a summer romance. He was here on business. In more ways than one. And the sooner he went about it, the sooner he could get back home.

  He pushed his plate to the center of the table and scraped his chair back on the concrete patio. "I'd better get things set up for the next round."

  Chapter Twenty

  Valerie and Samantha exchanged worried glances as Max excused himself from the table. Valerie wanted to kick herself. Why didn't she just keep her big mouth shut when she was around this man?

  Sarah pushed her chair away and stood. "I will ask them to get the next group of children ready." She turned and followed Max into the dining room.

  "I feel terrible," Valerie whispered when they were out of earshot.

  "Don't worry," Samantha said. "You didn't say anything you shouldn't have. He's just having a hard time accepting Josh's death."

  "Yes, and I keep reminding him. I don't know how I manage always to say exactly the wrong thing."

  But Samantha shook her head. "It's not your fault. In fact, you're saying things he needs to hear. I'm sure being here in Haiti makes Josh's death all the more real for him. I just feel bad because it seems like he's taking his pain out on you. Honestly, I'm having a hard time believing that man is Joshua's father."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Josh was just...very different. He was always in a good mood, always thinking of other people first." A faraway look came to the young woman's eyes and a flush of pink bloomed on her cheeks.

  "You knew Josh pretty well then?"

  "Yes. We were...we were good friends," she said finally.

  "Oh. Were you...more than friends?" Valerie hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm sorry. There I go sticking my foot in my mouth again. I didn't mean to pry."

  "No, it's okay." Samantha bit her lip. "It feels good to be able to talk about it to somebody." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I was in love with Josh. He...he never knew...not for sure."

  "Oh, Samantha. How awful. You never got to tell him? I'm so sorry."

  "We did talk about it a little. In the hospital. He knew he was dying. He said--Well, I guess he had feelings for me, too."

  "Does Max know?"

  "No. And please don't tell him."

  Valerie shook her head. "Of course not. I won't say anything."

  "Max is having enough trouble dealing with things as it is. It would only complicate matters for him to know there was anything...Well, you know..."

  "I won't say anything," Valerie repeated. "Oh, but I'm so sorry for you, Samantha." She put a hand on the girl's arm.

  "I was supposed to be in the Bahamas on my honeymoon this week, so I think I understand--"

  "Oh, Valerie." Samantha's eyes grew wide. "What happened?"

  She waved her off. "No, no...nothing tragic. I'm not trying to compare my loss to yours." That wasn't exactly true. In the aftermath of her breakup with Will, she had tried to imagine what it would have been like to have lost Will to death. And she sometimes thought that might have been easier. "My fiance and I broke up a few weeks before the wedding. "Please." She held up a hand. "I wasn't looking for sympathy. Really. But I have to admit, part of me is envious of what you had with your Joshua." She let her words fade away.

  "Oh, Valerie...I don't know what your circumstances were, but if either of you weren't sure, it's so much better that you called things off before it was too late."

  Valerie shrugged. "We wanted different things. Things that were mutually exclusive. If we'd stayed together, one of us was going to be seriously disappointed--and it was probably going to be me." She forced a weak smile and turned over her wrist to check her watch. "We'd better get back to work."

  "Yeah." Samantha pushed away from the table and helped Valerie gather up their dishes. They piled them onto the trays and carried them back into the kitchen.

  Max was sitting on a folding chair by the tent of sheets. Hunched over in the chair, his chin resting on clasped hands, he stared blankly ahead. When Valerie came over, he glanced up, regarding her with an expression she couldn't read. She was almost afraid to say anything. But the man would leave this place in a few hours and she might never see him again. She could at least try to smooth things over.

  She sat down, leaving an empty chair between them. "Here I am again to apologize."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

  "I'm sorry if what I said out there was insensitive. I'm really not trying to upset you on purpose."

  In one smooth motion he crossed an ankle over his knee and turned toward her. "Am I that transparent?"

  He met her gaze, and, for the first time, she felt as if he really looked at her.

  "Valerie, I'm sorry." He shook his head and looked down, fidgeting with the frayed end of his shoestring. But after a minute, he looked at her again. "I've been a big grouch ever since I got here. I've probably made things miserable for you and I'm--"

  She let out a little gasp. "Oh, no. Not at all. I'm the one--"

  "Wait." He put up a hand, palm out. "Let me finish."

  She shrugged and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting.

  "It's been really hard for me to be here. Too many memories to face. But that's why I came. So I could face them. I should have expected that it would be difficult."

  She watched him, acknowledging his words with tiny nods as they poured out. But she kept still, afraid she'd say the wrong thing again if she tried to speak.

  "I'm at a loss. I feel like there's something I'm missing...something I came here to find and it's eluding me..." Max rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I have no business burdening you."

  She protested with a flip of her wrist and he continued.

  "I don't know...Maybe it just takes time."

  They sat together in silence for several minutes before Valerie felt free to speak.

  She shifted in her chair. "You say it's hard to be here in Haiti, where your son died, but I wonder if the real problem is being where your son lived. I didn't know Joshua, but from everything I've heard, he loved his life here. It's obvious he was adored by everyone who knew him. He was making a real difference in the lives of the people. Even though it was short, his life had a huge impact." She wasn't sure where that speech had come from, but it flowed from her. "I wonder if..." She heard the next sentence in her mind and briefly considered editing her thoughts, but the words seemed to tumble from her mouth of their own volition. "I wonder if you're jealous of what Joshua had here. I've only known you for a few days, Max, but could it be that sense of satisfaction is missing from your own work--knowing that what you do makes a difference, that there's a higher purpose to your life than just making a good living. Maybe that's what's really so hard about being here..." Finally the gush of words trickled to a whisper.

  His eyes wide, Max sat looking at her, speechless. Now she felt the heat creep to her face. She still felt no remorse for what she'd said. She was pretty sure she'd hit upon a truth Max needed to hear. But she would have paid dearly for the floor to open up and swallow her about now.

  He opened his mouth and choked out a syllable, but just then the outside doors opened and Sarah came in leading a group of rowdy boys over to the row of chairs where they sat.

  Max rose with a strangled groan, as though hoisting one of those fifty-kilo sacks they'd seen in the marketplace last week. "We'd better get to work," he said.

  Valerie sighed and pushed herself off the chair, trying in vain to brush the wrinkles from her cotton blouse. She wanted to cry. She didn't regret one word she'd said, but she hated that they'd been cut off before she could explain herself and give him an opportunity to respond.

  Please, Lord. Give me a chance to make things right before Max leaves.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Max rapped on the door of the tidy little cottage on the corner of Hope House's property. Almost immediately, as though she'd been waiting for his knock, Betty Greene opened the door. Her shoulders were hunched
and, behind her large glasses, dark smudges framed her eyes. She'd aged ten years since that day in the market last week.

  But she welcomed him with a smile. "Dr. Jordan. Please come in. Thank you so much for coming. Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Thank you, but Sarah fixed us lemonade after we finished with the clinic."

  "Oh, good. Did everything go well?"

  "Yes. I think it did. Overall, the children seem quite healthy. You're doing an excellent job with them...under the circumstances."

  "We do the best we can. Thank you." She lifted her shoulders and let out a businesslike breath. "Well, I don't want to waste your time, but I would certainly feel better if you could see Phil."

  "How is he this afternoon?"

  Her lips tightened into a firm line and she shook her head. "Not good...but he's ornery as ever. Come. He's in bed." She led the way to the small, cozy bedroom.

  "Phil?" She shook her husband's shoulder gently. "Wake up, sweetheart. The doctor is here to see you."

  The old man's eyelids fluttered open and he looked around the room as though disoriented. But when his eyes lit on his wife's face, he brightened. "What time is it?"

  "Almost six-thirty. How are you feeling?" She pressed a palm to his weathered cheek, then felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "Dr. Jordan has come by to take a look at you, Phil."

  He struggled to push himself up in the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. His eyes roved the room until they focused on Max. "Well, it's the good doctor," he said with a frail smile. "Thank you for coming by, but you don't need to waste your time with an old man like me. I'll be fine."

  "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to have a look," Max said, sensing the man's hesitancy, and not wanting to upset him. He put his medical bag on the nightstand and pulled out his stethoscope. "Let's have a listen."