Page 9 of Unwanted Vows

I can’t breathe. I hear myself making some kind of little gasping noise and try to calm down. I thought he was dead. His grandfather had said he was dead. He was dead but now he’s not.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to recognize me, to acknowledge that he knows me. But he doesn’t. The pain caused by the blank expression on his face when he looks at me is much sharper than I expected. It’s not that I hadn’t contemplated this in the past, before I was told he was dead. I always wondered what his reaction would be when he saw me again after so many years apart. Never had I imagined that he would have no recollection of me at all.

My mouth turns down into a frown as my heart slows some. He’s not going to ask me where I have been. He’s not going to give me a chummy hug while we exchange awkward pleasantries. There won’t be any kind of moment between us, because he has completely and irrevocably forgotten me.

And I have a little girl and a kitten who both need care. Shakily, I refocus and life goes on.

CONSCRIPTED

ANDREW

Charles Emory sits in an armchair in the living room of the designated daycare and lunch cottage. Cece, perches on his knee. She cradles her bandaged hand in the crook of her good arm.

“You want me to do what?” I say in disbelief. I’m back in the States for the first time in years and I’m not in the mood to be asked to do anyone a favor that might tie me down.

It has taken three months to get my status changed from “missing, presumed dead”, to “found and alive”, and have my license to practice medicine re-established based on testimony from colleagues also working with Doctors Without Borders.

“I want you to work in the first aid tent this week,” Charles explains patiently. “This incident clearly shows that not only do the children need increased supervision, but that Ms. Northernfield will need additional assistance. She’s only a nurse practitioner, after all.”

I grind my teeth in response to the slight. Nurse practitioners are highly trained and a valuable part of any medical team.“Her response was immediate and excellent,” I say. “She did everything with textbook perfection. My big question is why didn’t you set up one of the cottages as a first aid headquarters? We could have used some running water, rather than that pump sink affair you have set up.”

“We wanted the first aid booth to be central to the fair, plus none of the cottages were big enough. I’ll get a team to put in running water and a drain immediately. We should have thought of that. Still…you think Ms. Northernfield did well?”

“She did perfectly,” I reply. “She detached the kitten without hurting it or causing it to further damage your daughter’s hand. She cleaned the wound using approved techniques, administered an antibacterial topical medication, and gave your daughter an injection to neutralize any chance of cat scratch fever. She consulted the paperwork on file for your daughter, making sure there was little or no likelihood of an allergic reaction to the medications.”

“Ms. Northernfield took good care of me,” Cece puts in. “Does anyone know what happened to the kitty?”

I felt something inside me soften, threatening to get all gooey, like the middle of a toasted marshmallow. She looked so fragile, sitting there cuddled up in her father’s arms, yet she was asking about the spicy little cat who had chomped on her thumb.

I say, “Ramey took her to the veterinarian over in the animal tent. She gave the kitten some food and water, and it started gobbling it right down. She says it was probably just scared and hungry.”

Cece looks up at her father. “Can I keep her? I think I scared her.”

“We can foster her for a bit. You already have six cats. How did you come to catch the kitten in the first place?” Charles asks.

“She ran up against the gears under the merry-go-round. The big flywheel would have crushed her when it started up,” Cece explains as if this was the most logical consideration.

Charles hugs her up close. “Do you realize that you would have also been crushed if that thing started up with you under the platform?”

“Well, yeah,” Cece says, with impeccable child confidence. “I knew that the operator wouldn’t start it with me under there, but he wasn’t likely to care about a kitten.”

“Oh, Cece!” Charles says, packing a world of parental anxiety into those two words. He looks at me. “So, you see, Andrew, more supervision, and more staff at the first aid tent.”

I sigh and look away. I remember a medical tent, not so very different from the one erected in the middle of the fairground. Only, the tent was ragged. The mosquito netting was full of holes, so flies, midges and mosquitoes whined around staff and patients alike. There was no air-conditioned, cool room to work in, just a gaggle of youngsters waving Colocasia leaves to stir the air above patients and to shoo away the teaming insects. I remember my assistant wiping sweat from my face so it wouldn’t run in my eyes or into the open abdominal cavity I was trying to repair.

“Andrew?” Charles asks quizzically. “Where did you go? You were here with us, then you kind of blanked out for a minute.”

“No place I want to share,” I say. “Just as long as it is clear that Ms. Northernfield is still in charge, and that I’m a volunteer, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll be paid staff,” Charles says firmly. “And yes, we can leave her in charge if you think she’s competent.”

“I saw nothing to indicate that she was not,” I say. “How does your hand feel,Cece?”

“It hurts,” she says. “But not as much as it did. Please, Daddy, don’t blame the doctor lady. I’m the one who picked up the wild cat.”

“Bravely said, steadfast soldier,” Charles praises her. “And you are correct. But you and I are going to have a long talk about when to take action, and when to ask your superior officer for help.”

“There wasn’t time!” Cece protests. “And, anyway Julia is too big to fit through the opening the cat went in.”

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