The Calendar of New Beginnings (4 page)

Lucy laughed, but he could tell she was forcing it. She felt as distressed by their mothers’ pushing as he did. “Broken crayons in the bathroom? Say it ain’t so.”

“So,”
he said, causing Lucy to laugh along with his sisters, feeling the familiar rhythm of their banter return.

“Then I couldn’t
possibly
stay with you,” she said, a twinkle returning to her eyes.

There was a change in his energy, and Andy realized his heart was beating faster than normal even though he was merely standing. And he couldn’t escape the obvious conclusion.
 

He was attracted to her.

Lucy was beautiful and funny, and she engaged him in a way few people ever had. She faced life head-on and made the best of things, but she called a spade a spade and let people be human. And of all the people who were dear to him, she was the only one who hadn’t danced around Kim’s death, and how he’d felt in the aftermath.

Before meeting Kim, he’d fought an on-again, off-again crush for his best friend. How could he help it? But he’d always known Lucy had her sights set on a fast-paced life, filled with travel and danger and excitement. That wasn’t something Andy had wanted for himself, so he’d never challenged their friendship by trying to add romance to the equation. Then he’d met Kim and fallen harder than he ever expected to fall again.

Jolting back to the present moment, he gave his friend a wry smile and said, “Sorry, Luce, seems like you’re on your own then.”

“Don’t I know it?” she answered, and since he knew her, he heard the lower timbre in her voice.

Was she trying to tell him what he’d already concluded before she’d arrived? That even if they fell for each other, it would never work? She’d laugh if she knew how much he’d thought it through, but that’s what he did. Sure, he was supposedly free again—although that moniker felt wrong. His wife had
died.
It’s not like he’d been given a choice in the matter.
 

The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could love anyone like he had loved Kim, and he wouldn’t sell himself or another woman short. And then there was Lucy’s career. She wouldn’t stay in Dare Valley forever. It would kill her larger-than-life spirit. And he was no more of a globetrotter now than he’d been when they were younger.

“Your house is fine, Andy,” April said in a rare, scolding tone. “My cleaning lady does a great job.”

His sisters blinked, as surprised as he was by their mother’s reaction.
 

“I know she does, Mom,” he said good-naturedly. “Let’s table the cleaning talk for now. Lucy just got home, and she’s probably tired.”

His friend nodded agreeably. “It was a long couple days of traveling.”

When she made a show of yawning, he took her arm. “Come on, sport, let’s find you another beer and stretch your legs. Might help your jet lag.”

Her smile didn’t totally reach her eyes. “A beer and a walk sounds great, Andy Cakes. Those transatlantic flights are pure torture.”

“You kids enjoy your walk,” Ellen said, shooing them toward the front door.
 

Never let it be said Ellen O’Brien didn’t appreciate a good strategic retreat.
 

“We won’t be long,” Lucy said, hooking her arm through his. “Do you need to tell Danny we’re stepping out?”

He spied his son in the corner of the dining room, performing his signature trick. After making fake choking noises, he proudly flourished an uneaten carrot like a magician would display a rabbit. Danny was holding court with Moira, their brother, Matt, and his fiancée, Jane. When Danny threw the carrot up and opened his mouth to catch it like a dolphin, Andy shook his head.

“No, he’s fine. My family looks out for him. He won’t even know I’m gone.”
 

“I’ll have to show him how many grapes I can catch in my mouth later,” she said. “That trick won me a hand-carved wooden flute from a snake charmer in Delhi.”

“Leave it to you to win a musical instrument by catching fruit,” he said dryly, trying not to imagine the snakes.

“Where are you two headed?” his cousin Jill Hale drawled as she rushed over from the dessert table. “Sneaking out?”

One of Jill’s twins, Mia, gurgled on the floor, crawling toward them like a small panther. Jill shoved her brownie into her mouth and snatched the little girl up.

“Going for a walk,” Andy said with a laugh, remembering the days when he’d had to watch Danny like a hawk. “See you later, cuz.”

She made a noise through her full mouth as Mia tugged on her red curls.
 

“Better make a break for it, or we’ll never get out,” Andy said, picking up his pace. “Do you want to grab another beer?”

“We’ll never make it,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

When they reached the front door, he opened it and made a melodramatic sprint down the sidewalk to the street. He did it to make her laugh, but he suddenly realized he was practically dragging her. Immediately stopping, he turned to face her. She was breathing hard, he realized. A short run shouldn’t do that to a normal adult system, but it would to an injured one. His gut tightened.
 

“Let’s walk to the park,” he said, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

Nodding, Lucy removed her arm from his and took off, saying nothing, which worried him even more. He followed her, walking slowly beside her. When they reached the park, he pointed to the bench by the swings.

“I bring Danny to this park a lot when the weather’s nice,” he commented when they were seated, surreptitiously scanning her face out of the corner of his eye. “We’re only a block away from my house.”

Her color was a ghastly gray, and while she wasn’t breathing hard now, her pulse was still pounding visibly in her neck.

“Okay, Luce,” he said, folding his sweating hands in his lap. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? You’re sick, and you’re scaring me.”

“I am
not
sick,” she immediately shot back, “so you have no reason to be scared. It’s the altitude. I appreciate your help in deflecting my mother’s efforts to stop me from getting my own place while I’m here, but you didn’t have to take me on a walk. I can take care of myself.”

He turned to face her again. There was fire in her eyes, and the gray pallor of her face was disappearing. So she wasn’t going to tell him after all. At least not willingly.

He nudged her with his shoulder like he used to do in school when she was angry. “How long have we been friends, Lucy? You need to tell me why you came home.”

She crossed her legs and stared straight ahead. “I already told you—and everyone else for that matter. I’m—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, edging closer until his knee brushed her leg. “I’m a doctor. I’m trained to tell when a body has been injured.”
 

When she remained silent, he proceeded to tick off the signs like he was writing them on a patient’s chart at the hospital. “Your clothes are hanging on you from a sudden loss in weight. Your face is pale, your cheeks look hollow, and your rigid posture is a sign you have pain somewhere in the body. And if that’s not enough, your heart rate increases from a simple activity like walking. So, let me ask again. How were
you
hurt?”

She rested her chin on her chest mulishly. “Can’t we just sit here quietly? Andy, I just traveled for two days. I’m exhausted.”

Her voice—usually so strong—quavered. Clearly, she was afraid to tell him. He thought back to how Moira had asked him if he was afraid to hear the truth. He was more than afraid now. He was terrified.
 

He took his friend’s hands in his and shook them so she’d look at him. Her green eyes finally did, and in them he saw a million agonies. He knew that look. He’d seen it in the mirror after Kim had died.

“Lucy,” he said softly, looking into her eyes, “talk to me.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and then she released a jagged exhale that sounded like it had been wrenched from her body. “Soldiers attacked the Congolese village I was visiting.” She gripped his hands so hard he could feel her bones. “They bombed it first—to kill as many people as they could—and then raided it on foot. One of the bombs exploded near me. It knocked me out.”

It took him a moment to process her words. A bomb? An attack on a village? Dear God. “Oh, Lucy,” he said helplessly, feeling her hands tremble in his.

“I can’t be sure if they thought I was dead or if they just left me alone because I’m a white journalist,” she continued in a monotone voice indicative of shock. He’d heard that same tone time and again in the emergency room at the hospital. “Sometimes there’s a strange code of conduct among soldiers. They don’t want to attract international media attention by unwittingly killing a journalist. It happens, of course, but usually it makes the news.”

He forced himself to swallow as his mind conjured up a scene out of a movie. Explosions. Smoke. Gunfire. People lying dead on the ground.

“How bad were your injuries?” He didn’t ask,
Why didn’t you tell us?
He knew.

She finally met his gaze, and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes. Very un-Lucy-like.

“Bad. They medevac’d me to a hospital in South Africa. As you can tell, I’m still recovering my strength, but I’m mostly well. Dammit! I didn’t want to worry you. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“That would be like not noticing my son had grown horns. I’m trained to notice these things. And you haven’t fully recovered.”

“I thought I could tough it out,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut for a brief moment. “Bluff my way through the homecoming. I couldn’t wait any longer. Classes start next week, and I wanted time to acclimate.”

More questions were surfacing. “Have you been in South Africa this whole time?”

“Yes.”

From her monosyllabic response, he braced himself to extract the details from her. “Tell me about your injuries.”

She blew out a breath. “It will only worry you more, and there’s nothing you can do anyway.”

“I’m already sick to my stomach,” he said more harshly than he meant. “More information will make me feel better. It’s the doctor in me. Don’t make me beg you.”

She flinched at his sincerity and let out a thready breath like she was gathering herself to face some grueling challenge. “I caught some shrapnel…in the back. The wounds still itch like crazy, but they’re healing pretty well.”

So, she’d been stitched up. Good Lord. But he could feel the weight of the other shoe about to drop. “What else?”

Her whole frame trembled. “They’re worried about my right eye. When I landed after the blast, I hit my right temple on the SUV we’d come in. I have something called traumatic optic neuropathy.”

Oh, shit.

“Andy,” she whispered, her sad, vulnerable eyes meeting his. “They’re not sure I’ll regain my full visual acuity or my color vision. I mean, my vision improved a lot in the week I spent in the hospital. I went from twenty-four hundred to twenty-fifty, which is what my vision is now. At first red and black looked the same to me, but I can make out colors better now. It’s just hard to tell between shades within a color palette.”

His heart twisted at the bravery she was trying to inject into her voice. “Oh, Lucy.”
 

“They said time will tell, but Andy…there’s nothing they can do. Nothing! Can you believe that? No glasses or contact lenses. The only thing that will help is if my brain gets used to combining the two different images from my eyes, and the worst thing is that I can’t simply close my bad eye whenever I want to see correctly. It’ll only make this whole brain integration thing take longer if the vision in my right eye doesn’t return to twenty-twenty.”

“Wait!” he said, his mind spinning. “I don’t know enough about this condition to understand why they can’t correct it.” The moment he got home, he’d research the crap out of this thing.

“My doctors could explain it better, but they basically explained it like this. The retina is the camera. Har-de-har-har. Ironic, huh?”

He couldn’t even crack a smile.

“The optic nerve is the cable between the nerve and the brain, which renders the retina’s images, so to speak. Since my nerve is damaged, it’s like the cable connecting the camera and the renderer has been unplugged. My vision isn’t correctible like for people who are far- or near-sighted.”

His stomach sank. Nerve damage was the worst kind. “They can’t operate?”

“No. And there are no eye drops to fix things. That’s what makes this so hard. There’s
nothing
they can do. It will either return to normal or it won’t.”

“But you said it’s already improved,” he said, trying to hold onto some thread of hope.

When she bent over like she’d been kicked in the guts, the only thing he knew to do was grip her hands harder.
 

“Not enough for someone like me,” she whispered. “I’m a right-eye dominant photographer. How am I supposed to take award-winning photos of people when I can’t see through my Leica? How am I supposed to show the horrors of battle or the beauty of a sunset after a massacre when I can’t make out the contrast of the colors?”

Oh, how he wished he had an answer for her. But he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how she was supposed to move forward. Photography was her life. If she couldn’t see properly…