The Paradise Guest House (12 page)

As Gabe drove across town to Wayan’s clinic, he noticed a small group of people gathered on the sidewalk, leaning in
toward one another, the energy of their discussion animating all of them. On this tiny island, just a little larger than Delaware, news would spread very quickly. The bombing, he thought. That’s all that matters now.

Gabe was surprised when he arrived at the clinic. Unlike the night before, tonight the place was packed, with injured people crowding the waiting room. They were mostly Balinese kids in their twenties, with bloodied clothing, burns and gashes, all of them standing around, dazed and in pain. When had they arrived? Who had brought them here?

Gabe rushed through to find Rai at the front desk. She looked calm and relaxed, as if she were not smack in the middle of a national disaster.

“Your friend is good,” she said. “She is in the last room on the left. Go in to see her. I think she is awake now. But she must leave. We need the room.”

Gabe didn’t wait to ask questions. He sped down the hall and pushed the partially opened door to the last room.

Jamie was lying on a hospital cot, with her back to him. Her body was trembling under a thin blanket. Was she crying?

He waited a moment and then cleared his throat.

She turned toward him, wiping her face with the sheet. She offered him a smile, then pushed herself up in bed to a sitting position, wincing with pain as she moved.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you to thank you,” she said.

He nodded. “You look better this morning.”

“I must look like hell.”

“You do,” he said, then smiled. “Last night you looked worse.”

“Worse than hell,” she said. “That’s impressive.” She grimaced and touched her face. “Don’t make me smile.”

“How bad is the pain?”

“I’m floating,” she said. “I have no idea.”

“What did Wayan tell you? About your injuries?”

“The doctor?”

“Yes. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Who are you? You probably told me. I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

Gabe sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“I live here in Bali. I was in a restaurant near the club last night.”

“And you saved me.”

The woman watched him with wide eyes. Someone had washed the blood from her hair and cleaned her up. One side of her face was bandaged, and her arm, in a full cast, lay in a pale-blue sling against her torso.

“You saved a lot of people,” he said. “I worked like hell to keep up with you. And then a part of the building fell on you.”

“I remember all of that. Even the pain meds can’t make the screams go away.”

“Are there any internal injuries?”

She thought about it for a moment. “My mind’s a mess,” she said. “Does that count?”

Gabe smiled. “Yeah, I’ve got that kind of internal injury, as well.”

“The doc said I’ll survive. I guess I have to believe him.”

“Can you walk?”

She looked down at her legs. “I think so. I must have made it to the bathroom at some point. I can’t remember.”

“They need the room.”

“They’re kicking me out?” Her face blanched.

“There are so many injured people.”

“What happened?” she asked. “At the club.”

“I haven’t heard the reports yet this morning. My sister called a little while ago and said they think it was a terrorist attack.”

Jamie adjusted her sling and fiddled with the edge of her cast.

“The man who died?” Gabe asked, his voice gentle. “He was your boyfriend?”

She nodded. She seemed lost in thought. Or maybe it was a wave of pain.

“Miguel,” she finally said. “He asked me to marry him last night. And I said no.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gabe said.

“I have to get his body.” Her breath came in short and choppy bursts. “I have to call his family.”

“I’ll help you with that,” Gabe said. “I’ll make some phone calls to find out about the victims.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Is there anyone else here in Bali? Friends or family?”

She looked confused.

“Is there someone you should call?” he asked. “Someone who might be worried about you?”

She was quiet again for a long time. One question circled his brain. Will she leave? Of course she’ll leave.

“Do they know about the bomb in the States?” she asked.

“Probably,” Gabe told her. “I slept and then came right over. I didn’t turn on the TV. But my sister knew in Singapore.”

“I should call my mother,” Jamie said. “And my boss. I lost my cellphone. I lost my purse and my shoes.” She paused for a moment, her body trembling.

“Use my phone,” he offered, standing and pulling his cellphone from his pocket.

“I can’t call Miguel’s family. I need to know if they can fly his body back—”

“You can do that later. After I get some information,” Gabe said. “Call your mother. I’ll wait outside.”

“Stay,” Jamie told him. “I won’t make it long.”

He walked over to the window. A Balinese woman sat in the middle of the lawn in front of the clinic. She was rocking back and forth, and, even through the closed window, he could hear her wails.

“Mom?” Jamie said behind him.

He didn’t want to turn around. He wanted to give her privacy. But the scene on the lawn was too painful to watch; he could feel anxiety rising in his chest. He walked back to the chair beside the bed and sat down.

“I know,” Jamie said. “I was there. I’m okay. Please listen. I’m really okay. I have a broken arm—that’s all.”

She glanced at Gabe and rolled her eyes like an impatient teenager. He smiled.

“I’m at a clinic. The doctor was fine.”

After a pause, she said, “Yeah, sure. I’ll get it checked out as soon as I get home.”

She listened on the phone and then broke in. “Mom. Miguel—he died. He was buried under too much rubble when I found him—”

She lowered her head and cried, keeping the phone pressed to her ear.

Gabe felt chilled, as if a cold wind ran through his lungs. He had thought that maybe she was in shock, but, no, she was holding it all in. The pain of losing someone. He knew it too well.

He stood up again and walked to the doorway. In the hallway,
Rai was helping a Balinese boy hobble to one of the rooms.

“I’ll come home,” Jamie said. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll find out if there’s a plane out tomorrow.”

Gabe slumped against the doorway, suddenly exhausted.

“Today. Tomorrow. I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know anything.” Her voice was rising. “I’ve never been in a terrorist attack, okay? I’ve never seen someone I know die before. I don’t know what happens next.” She stopped talking with a sharp intake of breath. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“I’m sure it’s safe,” she said, her voice quiet again. “I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Gabe stood there, not sure of what he should do.

“I love you, too,” she said, then hung up the phone.

She looked at Gabe, her face pale.

“I can take you to the airport,” he said quietly.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” she said. “I have to find out about Miguel’s body. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to do anything right away.” She adjusted the sling again and wiggled her fingers on her injured arm. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he told her.

Gabe stayed home for days after his son died, not able to leave the house. Heather held court in the living room, talking to the endless stream of visitors, all of them eager to share Ethan stories. Every surface of the house was filled with photos of him—baby Ethan in the tub, toddler Ethan in a carrier on Gabe’s back, big boy Ethan at the beach. From his study upstairs, Gabe could hear the constant murmur of female voices: “He was so cute.” “He was so sweet.”

For Gabe, the world felt too difficult to navigate. He sat at
his desk and filled a book of sudoku puzzles. He refused food; he refused comfort. He didn’t want to reenter the world, because it would be a different world.

“Where were you staying?” he asked Jamie.

“At a hotel in Seminyak. I don’t want to go back there.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jamie closed her eyes. She looked young—he couldn’t guess her age. Thirty?

“I’ll be right back,” he told her.

“She has to leave,” Wayan said impatiently. “I need the room.”

Gabe had never known Wayan to speak harshly to anyone, much less a friend. But he looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, and the crowd in the waiting room now spilled out the door. From the window in Wayan’s office, Gabe could see a young man in a bloody T-shirt lying on the lawn in front of the clinic.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Gabe said quietly.

“They are flying all the injured foreigners to Australia,” Wayan said. “Take her to the airport.”

“She’s traumatized. She just wants to rest for one day.”

“I can’t help you, Gabe. She’s only one person. There are hundreds. When I’m done here, I’m heading to Sanglah. They need doctors. They’re doing surgeries in the hallways.”

He walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

Gabe picked up the newspaper lying on Wayan’s desk. He couldn’t read the Indonesian words, but the photographs told a very grim story. One photo showed the nightclub destroyed, a fire raging. The other showed a ravaged street, with burned cars and bodies lying under sheets on the ground.

He threw the newspaper across the desk and walked back to Jamie’s room.

“I’ve got a friend with a beach cottage here,” he told Jamie. “I’ll ask him if we can use it. I can take care of you until you feel ready to fly home.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Gabe leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know.” He looked down at his hands, then up at her. “I can’t take care of everyone. But I can take care of you.”

“It’s yours, my friend,” Billy said on the phone. “There’s a key in the blue pot on the patio.”

“Just for a day or two,” Gabe told him.

He was standing outside the clinic, watching a Balinese woman wrap a young man’s arm with gauze. Here all the injured were Balinese. The foreigners were taken care of first, Wayan had said, and Gabe began to understand his friend’s anger. They turned the Indonesians away from Sanglah Hospital. Westerners were being flown to hospitals in Australia and Singapore, where they would get better treatment. There was no burn center at Sanglah. There weren’t enough operating rooms; there weren’t enough doctors. They had already run out of anesthesia.

Jamie waited in Gabe’s car while he stood outside, making the call.

“Why isn’t she flying out?” Billy asked.

Gabe had told him that he was taking care of an injured American. He was surprised that Billy assumed the American was a woman.

“She’s pretty traumatized,” Gabe said. “She wants to rest for a day or two until she feels stronger.”

“Everyone else is fleeing this place,” Billy told him. “Even the expats who were miles away from the blasts. They’ve all gone mad.”

“Yeah. I can imagine.” Gabe thought about his sister.
Come home. Come home
.

“I bet we’ll find out the Americans did this,” Billy said. “There’s some American battleship nearby.” Billy was British, and though he seemed to like Gabe, he hated most Americans.

“Why would Americans bomb nightclubs?” Gabe asked. I don’t want to have this conversation, he thought.

“Everyone will blame al-Qaeda, and then the United States will get support for their war in Iraq.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Gabe said.

“I heard the U.S. embassy issued a warning to its citizens to avoid public places in Indonesia twelve hours before the bombing.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yeah, well, you’re American,” Billy told him.

“Listen, Billy. I’ve got to run. Wayan needs help here.”

Which was a lie. Wayan wouldn’t allow him to do a thing. “Take the girl and give me the room,” he had said. As if Gabe were to blame for what was happening at the hospitals in Bali.

“You saw the bombings?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, I saw them.”

“Good lord,” Billy said. “And you’re still in one piece?”

“Hardly,” Gabe told him.

“It’s a short drive,” Gabe said. “You comfortable?”

“Just keep me on these magic pills,” Jamie said.

Wayan had given Gabe a bottle of painkillers as well as materials for Jamie’s bandages. Rai walked him through the process of changing Jamie’s face bandage before they left. Gabe saw the swollen line that ran from her eye to her jaw, now sewn together. Already the skin around it was changing color—purple, green, yellow.

He drove toward the center of Sanur. Jamie leaned her head back on the seat, her eyes closed. Maybe she didn’t want to see the world, he thought. And then he knew it must be true, because he, too, wanted to be somewhere else. Not in the world. Protected from the world.

Wasn’t Bali supposed to be that kind of paradise? Forget the troubles of the world and live in harmony with nature. That’s what the brochures promised world travelers. So what happens when the troubles of the world descend on paradise?

Gabe turned down a lane and drove toward the beach. Despite the muggy heat, there were no cars in the usual spots for beach parking. And, sure enough, when they reached the end of the road, he saw that the beach was empty. It was Sunday, the day Balinese families often gathered seaside for picnics. Tourists usually swarmed the beaches, every day of the week. Now there was only one man, on a far pier, practicing tae kwon do, a lone figure in the distance.