“I love you, Josie.”
“I love you too.”
“Noah wants to play football. He asked me after dinner.” I feel her stiffen in my arms. I wish I could take away the pain, but she never talks about it. I hate that she has to deal with all this shit. Sometimes I wish Noah was a girl. Maybe things would be different.
I know she sees Liam when she looks at Noah. Hell, I do. It’s like Liam is living in our house while not actually being here.
“I don’t want him playing.”
“I know you don’t, but he’s a boy and his friends are playing. It’s a natural thing for him to want to play, plus there’s Mason. We are throwing football down his throat.”
She rests her head on my chest, her fingers dancing along my skin. “He can’t turn out like his dad.”
“He won’t. I won’t let it go to his head.”
“You’ll protect him?”
“As if he was my own, Josie, you should know that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I say, kissing the top of her head. She knew this day was coming and I know she was hoping he’d play soccer. We’ll just have to deal with it.
I quickly realize that I’m the only one with a shirt on, so I strip mine off and match the boys. They giggle relentlessly at the white man standing in front of them so I do what any self-respecting man would do; I steal the ball and dribble toward their goal. The laughing quickly stops when they figure out what I’m trying to do and now we have a game.
It isn’t long until it’s time for the children to head to their homes. I hug them all goodbye with promises of another rematch. This is probably the best workout I’ve had since I arrived and something I’ll definitely do again. The bonding is important so that they trust me. I need for them to know that I’m an okay person even if sometimes I have to give them shots.
I bend to pick up my dust-covered shirt and my eyes land on Aubrey. She’s standing in the doorway of the clinic watching us. For the first time I wave and watch in amazement as her face lights up. She waves back and stands a little straighter. I don’t know what I’m doing here. With Josie, everything progressed naturally. She brought Noah in shortly after I took over the practice and I saw how lonely she looked. I took a chance that night and brought them dinner, determined to shower them both with love and affection, not just her. I wanted both of them to be in my life. I was bold then and look where it got me.
I shake the dust out of my shirt, but don’t put it back on. I’m sweaty, it’s dirty and I’m in desperate need of a shower. I take a step forward, not really sure where I’m going, but hope is written all over her face. She wants me to talk to her and I have no reason not to oblige.
She meets me half way, out on the dirt road that is also the children’s playground. There is an air about her, a calmness that surrounds her. Here she is, tending to the needy when she could’ve escaped to the comforts of America.
“You’re not half bad.” Her accent, something I’ve never really paid attention to, catches me off guard. She speaks perfect English, but it’s refined and educated. Not something I expect from a missionary’s daughter.
“They’re trying to kill me.” I say as if I’m out of breath, which is ridiculous because I’ve had time to settle myself. Does she make me nervous? It’s been years since I’ve been nervous around a woman. Not even Josie made me nervous. I was content with her, until I asked her to marry me.
“They were having fun with you. It’s nice to see. Many times doctors only come to work. They do their jobs and retire to their huts for the night and ignore what is going on around them. But you’re different.”
Is being different good? I want to think it is. I never want to go through life being the same as someone else. I’ve always wanted to be unique, genuine. I want to be remembered and make an impression on people.
“Anything to see them smile,” I say and realize that I really want to see her smile again. She’s eye-catching
and deserves to be on the cover of magazines. Her beauty is pure and unharnessed and I shudder at the thought of her glamming herself up for an event. I would be one lucky bastard to have her grace my side as a date sometime.
I roll my eyes at the thought. She’s a co-worker and we’re advised not to get too attached because we can switch locations at any given time and with communications the way they are here, keeping in touch is just about impossible.
“Would you like to get something to eat?” I slap my hand to my forehead. That was stupid. Not asking her out because that seemed normal, but the ‘something to eat’ part. It’s not like we can drive down to the nearest diner and eat a decent meal.
“I’d love to,” she responds. I pull my hand away, noticing that she’s not kidding. Her eyes are expressive, telling me that she wants this.
I look around, clearly trying to make restaurants and markets appear out of thin air. I shrug and shake my head. “I think my mouth got the better of me. I’m not sure where to take you.”
She laughs and it’s the most melodic sound I’ve ever heard. “Tell you what, Dr. Ashford, you go take a shower and when you’re done, you can come to my place. I’ll make us something to eat.”
I look up and down the road and start laughing. How romantic will it be to eat in the mess hall of our humble abode?
“Your place, huh?”