He gives me a sidelong look. “Couldn’t you?”
I pause in the middle of opening the lunch bag. “No,” I say evenly. “I couldn’t.”
Here it is, what I was afraid of all along. I suspected it was only a matter of time before my long hours would start bothering Peter, and it seems that I was right to worry.
Tensing, I prepare to hear an ultimatum, but Peter just presses on the gas, accelerating smoothly.
“Eat, my love,” he says in the same casual tone. “You don’t have a lot of time.”
I follow his suggestion and dig into the food—a vegetable medley with couscous and roasted chicken. The seasoning reminds me of the delicious lamb kebab Peter made for us back in Japan, and I inhale everything in a matter of minutes.
“Thank you,” I say, wiping my mouth with a paper towel he so thoughtfully packed along with the utensils. “That was amazing.”
“You’re welcome.” He turns onto the street where the clinic is and parks right in front of the building. “Come, I’ll walk you in.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—” I stop because he’s already walking around the car.
Opening the door for me, he helps me out and shepherds me to the building, as though I might wander off if he doesn’t keep a hand on the small of my back.
I expect him to stop when we reach the door, but he comes inside with me.
Confused, I stop and look up at him. “What are you doing?”
“There you are!” Lydia hurries toward me, her broad face relieved. “Thank God. I thought you weren’t going to— Oh, hi.” She blushes, staring at Peter with what I can only interpret as a full-blown crush.
“Peter was just—” I start, but he smiles and steps forward.
“Peter Garin. We met at our wedding,” he says, extending his hand.
The receptionist’s eyes go wide, and she clasps his hand, giving it a vigorous shake. “Lydia,” she says breathlessly. “Congrats again. It was a beautiful event.”
“Thank you.” He grins at her, and I can almost sense her swooning on the inside. “You know, Sara just told me you’re short on volunteers today. I’m no doctor, obviously, but maybe there’s something I can do to help out around here tonight? Maybe you have some files that need sorting, or something that needs fixing? We only have one car for now, and I’d rather not drive back and forth to pick up Sara.”
“Oh, of course.” Lydia’s excitement level visibly quadruples. “Please, there’s so much work. And did you say you’re handy? Do you by any chance also know something about computers? Because there’s this stubborn software program…”
She leads him away, chattering, and I stare in disbelief as my assassin husband disappears around the corner without so much as a look back.
8
Peter
I help Lydia with her software issue, fix a leaking faucet, and hang up a few decorations in the waiting area while two dozen women—many of them visibly pregnant—watch me in fascination.
As the only doctor here tonight, Sara has a never-ending stream of patients, so I don’t bother her. It’s enough to know that she’s just a couple of rooms away, and I can reach her in a minute if I need to.
Once all the basic tasks are done, I get to work assembling an ultrasound machine that a local hospital donated. I’ve never worked with medical equipment before, but I’ve always been good at putting things together—weapons, explosives, communication devices—so it’s not long before I figure out what goes where and how to test it to make sure it’s working.
“Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver, just like your wife,” Lydia exclaims when I show it to her. “We’ve been waiting for a technician to stop by for months, and oh, this is going to be so helpful! Sara is with her last patient now. Do you think you might have time to fix up this one cabinet, too? It’s been drooping and—”
“No problem.” I follow her to one of the exam rooms and add a few screws to make sure the cabinet in question doesn’t fall on anyone’s head.
“You are so good at this,” the receptionist gushes when I’m finished. “Did you ever work in construction, by any chance? You seem so practiced with that drill and all…”
“I worked on some construction projects as a teen,” I say without elaborating. This woman doesn’t need to know that the “projects” were forced labor in a youth version of a Siberian gulag.
“Oh, I thought so.” She beams at me. “Let me check if Sara is done.”
“Please.” I smile back at her. “I’d like to take my wife home.”
The receptionist hurries away, and I stretch my arms, releasing the stiffness in my muscles. It’s only been a few days, but I’m getting restless, eager to move and do something physical. After I made dinner, I went for a long run in the park and stopped by a boxing gym to work off some steam, but I need more.