Chapter 15 #4
The thought was quiet, a tiny weed with a yellow flower using the crack between two concrete slabs as an escape route.
Hopeful, idealistic, heretical. Dane’s fingers twitched, and his jaw clenched, increasing the pressure on his back molars.
He heard his ragged breath, tried to haul it in, but couldn’t; it was a runaway horse belting across an unfenced field.
Annoyed with himself—he was being ridiculous—he started to type a reply to HQ, to ask when he needed to be at the airport, how much time he had, and who of his team would be flying out with him from Logan International.
All normal, all standard.
He stared at his words, then used the backspace button to delete each one, allowing his wrist to drop between his bent knees. He lifted the phone, determined to start again, but couldn’t seem to get his thumbs to start punching black letters onto the white screen.
He tried to list the steps he needed to take; his suitcase was in the trunk of his car, his passport in his rucksack—despite being on a sabbatical, he never went anywhere without either.
Soon he’d be winging his way to … where?
Pakistan, he imagined. Islamabad or Lahore—then he’d have to find alternate transport to the Kashmir Valley.
Only you can save yourself. You don’t have to do this. It was louder this time, more insistent.
Of course he did, it was his job, the way he’d spent the past ten years. He knew how to work out of field hospitals, to fix what many doctors thought was unfixable, simply because he’d seen it all before, had faced the worst and managed to make a difference, save lives…
All while he hid from his own life.
Because that was what he’d been doing all along.
He’d failed to be the soldier his father wanted; the husband Clare needed.
He’d opted to work in shitty situations, in places that required a lack of emotion, vast reservoirs of calm and control, and emotional distance.
He’d done good work, but at the same time, he’d been hiding behind the steady demeanor he needed for a chaotic situation.
He scowled at the river, knowing he was facing a decision, one with huge consequences either way.
If he left Massachusetts, the country, and if he threw himself back into the madness of the situation, his PTSD and burnout might send him into a deeper, darker place than he was before.
He was better, sure, but not wholly ready to face the devastation caused by one of the biggest earthquakes in living memory.
And if he left without making it right with Wren, if he ran without making a plan to return, he might as well seal off his heart forever, encasing it in concrete.
If he stayed, if he delayed, if he took a goddamn breath and remembered that he wasn’t the only surgeon who could save lives, he might be able to forge a better work-life balance going forward.
If he stayed, he had a chance at happiness.
But was he strong enough to fight for it?
Going back to HQ, catching that flight would be easy, a guaranteed outcome, a playing field he knew and could handle. If he went back to H-Town, he’d walk into an unfamiliar world, but one that, maybe, possibly, hopefully, held hints of happiness, of light, of acceptance.
“It’s your duty, the way you serve.”
The voice sounded as deep and clear as if someone next to him had spoken.
Dane turned his head, caught a flash of knee-high boots, of a woolen navy coat and knew it was the old soldier ghost he’d seen before.
Knew that he’d followed him from H-Town, that he was somewhere behind him, judging him. Goosebumps pebbled his arms.
“I’m not the only one who can make a difference.
I am allowed to step back, to take care of myself and the ones I love.
Not forever, but for now. I am allowed to put myself, and my happiness, first,” Dane stated out loud, his words cutting through the sharp air.
He was speaking to the ghost, but also to himself.
It took a heartbeat, maybe two, but then the cold evaporated and a warm wind caressed his skin. Dane also felt lighter, like he’d shed the hundred-pound boulder on his back, and his brain wasn’t racing at a mile a minute.
He knew what to do.
He looked down at his screen, watching the cursor flash. But instead of typing his standard response, the words he and everyone else expected, he closed the app and called the man who shuffled people and equipment around his natural disaster chessboard.
“Dane, what’s up?” Jack answered.
“I’m not going to Kashmir—not this time anyway. You need to find a replacement for me.”
“Problem?” Jack asked. “Got the shakes?”
Dane understood Jack’s need for brevity; he was juggling a million balls and didn’t need to waste words. “Partly.”
“If you can work, if only for a couple of weeks, then I expect your ass on my plane. People are dying, and I need you.”
No, he needed a surgeon, not Dane specifically.
And he wasn’t going to be emotionally blackmailed.
Not by his father or by Jack. He was allowed to put himself, his life, and Wren, first. “I know you have a list of surgeons who can step in at the last moment, Jack. I’m not the only one who can do the job. ”
When he didn’t answer, Dane knew his words carried weight, and that Jack understood he wouldn’t be stepping back unless he absolutely had to.
“Are you coming back to Humanatus?” Jack asked.
Dane couldn’t answer that question, not yet. So much depended on Wren. “When I know, you’ll know. We need to talk about my future with the organization.”
“Fine. I don’t have time for you now,” Jack barked.
He knew that and wasn’t asking for it. Dane wasn’t surprised when Jack cut the call, obviously pissed.
He waited for the guilt to roll over him, half expecting to change his mind.
But instead of feeling cold, the image of Wren standing in the studio, her prayer-like hands, the tips of her fingers touching her lips, her eyes wide as she followed her kids’ routine, jumped into his mind, along with her peaceful face when she slept, the little piggy snort she always made when she rolled over, the way she never took anything in until she’d had a cup of coffee.
Yes, people were dying on the other side of the world, but he didn’t have to throw himself into the chaos.
Other people could step up to the plate this time.
The thought that he’d chosen, as per her wish, Wren, and his happiness and mental health, settled deep within him.
As the sky lightened, the sun tossing ribbons of orange and pink on the river’s surface, he knew what was best for her was best for them.
And what was best for them was what was best for him.
He understood that now.