Tracy Wolff - From the Beginning

“I know.” His voice was soothing.

“This has nothing to do with Gabrielle,” she insisted. But her voice broke and Amanda rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes as the tears began to flow. “It’s about there never being enough. Enough food, enough medicine, enough doctors. Enough time. Nowhere on this whole damned continent is there enough of anything.”

She gave a watery, sarcastic laugh, then corrected herself. “Except the bad stuff. There’s plenty of that. Corruption. Famine, drought, poverty.”

Glancing out the screened-in window, she watched a trio of vultures circle above the camp, impatient to get their claws into Mabulu’s frail, bloated body. She wouldn’t let that happen.

“And death. There’s always enough death.” Her voice cracked, and the sobs she’d been trying to hold in for months finally broke free.

“Oh, Mandy.” Jack sighed, then pulled her into his oversize embrace. “That’s it, honey. Have a good cry.”

She tried to stop the meltdown—she really did—but she was too exhausted, and her emotions overcame her iron will. A small part of her stood back, untouched, watching in horror as her professional demeanor crumbled like clay left too long in the vicious African sun.

This wasn’t what they’d taught her in medical school. This wasn’t who she was. The Amanda Jacobs she knew was cool, professional, in control at all times. That Amanda Jacobs had graduated top of her class at twenty-four, had worked eleven years in the world’s battle zones with barely a grimace. She’d sat by her daughter’s bedside, dry-eyed and composed, doing everything she could to comfort Gabrielle as she suffered a slow and painful death from cancer.

That Amanda hadn’t shed so much as one tear at the funeral.

Where was that woman now? she wondered hysterically. She wanted her back. Living like this, her emotions an open, aching wound, was too hard.

Jack continued to rub her back soothingly as she sought to pull herself together. It took a few minutes, but when she’d finally managed it, he drew back and asked quietly, “Do you feel any better?”

Was he kidding? Her head throbbed, her eyes burned and her mouth felt as if something had crawled inside it and died. How could she possibly be feeling better when she’d never felt worse? But she nodded as she reached across his desk for a tissue. There was only so much humiliation a woman could stand in one day.

He watched silently as she wiped her face and blew her nose, struggling for the composure that was still a little out of reach. Finally he said, “You know I’m right. If one of your patients came in like this, you’d tell her the same things I’m telling you.”

“I can’t, Jack.”

“You mean, you won’t. But this time, you don’t have a choice. I run this place and I say you go.”

She studied him with narrowed eyes for a minute, then shrugged even as unease crawled up her spine. “There are other clinics.”

“And you won’t get a job at any of them. Not with this organization or any other.”

“You can’t do that!”

“You’d be surprised what I can do.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You’re on the edge, Amanda. No reputable clinic will take on a doctor who is so obviously going to blow. And I won’t give you a recommendation—not right now.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care about you.” He ignored her snort of derision. “Because you’ve been here too long.”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him accusingly. “You’ve been here as long as I have.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I know when to draw the line—for myself and others. You don’t. You never have. It’s what makes you such an incredible doctor, but it’s also what brought you to this point. You’re used up, Mandy.”

The hell of it was that he was right. She knew it, had recognized the signs for a while now but had ignored them. Because to admit to them meant she’d have to go home. She’d have to face what she’d been running from since Gabrielle’s pediatrician had delivered her death sentence.

She didn’t know if she was strong enough to do it.

“Do I have a choice, Dr. Alexander?” Her voice was stilted, her hands ice-cold.

“Mandy.” He sighed. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

She eyed him steadily. “Oh, I think it does.”

He stared at her for long moments, before shaking his head sadly. “Then no, you don’t have a choice. The supply truck comes in four days. You can ride back to town with Josh and catch a flight from there.”

CHAPTER TWO

“FOUR DAYS?” HER WORLD imploded, even as she told herself that there had to be a mistake. No way could Jack find someone to replace her on such short notice. “You expect me to be ready to leave Africa in four days?”

“Yes.” His tone was implacable.

“That’s not enough time.”

“To pack one suitcase of clothes?”

“To deal with my patients. To find another—”

“The patients aren’t your problem anymore—and neither is my staffing shortage. In fact, I’m taking you off rotation, effective immediately.”

“Jack! You can’t.”

He crossed the room, scribbled something on the schedule that was always hanging by the door. “It’s already done.”

“Who will take care of my patients? You can’t do everything—”

“That’s no longer your problem.”

It was as if he’d slapped her, her entire body recoiling with pain and betrayal. “We’ve been friends too long for you to treat me like this. How can you do it?”

“Because we are friends.” He crossed the room and took her hand in his own, ignoring her sudden stiffness. “Because I want to work with you for another fifteen years, at least.” He reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her left ear. “This isn’t forever, kid. Only until you get yourself rested and back in fighting form. I can’t hold the fort indefinitely, you know.”

But that was exactly what she was afraid of—that he would have to hold the fort alone, forever. It was why she’d worked her way past exhaustion, beyond burnout. Because she feared if she ever left this place, she would never come back. Not just here, to Somalia, but Haiti or Cambodia. Bosnia or Sierra Leone. Chechnya, Afghanistan, Lebanon, Palestine. So many places. So much pain.

“Well, that’s it, then.” Anger and fear came through in her voice, despite her struggle to regain her professionalism. Amanda didn’t mind if Jack saw her anger, but she would be humiliated if he knew how afraid she was to return to the easy, civilized life most people took for granted.

“For now. Go back to your room and lie down. Get some rest and I’ll check on you later.” He paused, shot her a guilty look. “Three days ago, I emailed—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Didn’t want to hear him admit that he’d ratted her out to the administrators of the program. Instead, she turned and left, walking briskly through the clinic, despite the calls of nurses and patients. They weren’t her responsibility anymore.

The thought cut like a knife.

So, what happened now? she wondered, dazed. What on earth was she supposed to do?

It was crazy, really, how completely unprepared she was for life away from here. How could an intelligent woman of thirty-five be so frightened of living a normal life? And how was she supposed to get past the gut-clenching, palm-dampening fear?

She headed outside, toward the tents pitched to the left of the clinic. She’d lived in them for almost a year, never leaving this stretch of desert since she’d arrived, fresh from Mozambique, ten months before.

She’d run here, one more stop in the headlong flight that kept her from thinking about—