thought life with Tracy would be different. That their children would have the close-knit family he’d always longed for as a kid. But Tracy, once the first blush of their marriage had faded, had started traveling again, always finding some new medical crisis to deal with, whether with Projeto Vida or somewhere else.
He could understand being married to your career—after all, he was pretty attached to his—but he’d learned to do it from one central location. Surely Tracy could have done the same.
Instead, with every month that had passed, the same feelings of abandonment he’d had as a kid had taken root and grown, as had his resentment. And once she’d fallen pregnant, she’d seemed more obsessed about work than ever, spending longer and longer periods away from home.
When he’d learned she was dealing with a yellow fever outbreak in one of the villages he’d finally snapped and called his old friend General Gutierrez—despite the fact that he knew Tracy been vaccinated against the disease. His ploy had worked. Tracy had come home. But their marriage had been over, even before she’d lost the baby.
So why hadn’t he just settled down with someone else, like Tracy had suggested a few hours earlier? Marriage wasn’t exactly a requirement these days. And why hadn’t Tracy finally asked for a divorce and been done with it?
Questions he was better off not asking.
“What’s the time frame for pneumonic plague?”
Her question jolted him back to the present. “From exposure to presentation of symptoms? Two days, on average. Although death can take anywhere from thirty-six hours after exposure to a week or more. It depends on whether or not other organ systems besides the lungs have been compromised.”
“Oh, no.”
“Speaking of which, I’ve brought packets of antibiotics in that black gym bag I threw in the back. Go ahead and dig through it and take a dose before we get there.”
Tracy unhooked her seat belt and twisted until she could reach the backseat. She then pulled out one of the boxes of medicine and popped a pill from the protective foil. She downed it with a swig from her water bottle then shoved a couple of strands of hair back from her temple. “You have no idea how glad I am that you were able figure it out so quickly.”
“I think I do.” Surely she realized he was just as relieved as she was. “Not everyone has the equipment we do.”
“Or the backing of the military.”
He ignored the bitterness that colored her words. “Part of the reality of living in a developing country. We’ll catch up with the rest of the world, eventually. Marcelo’s hospital is a great example of that. It’s completely funded by sources outside the government.”
“So is Projeto Vida.” She paused when they hit another rough patch of road, her hand scrabbling for the grip attached to the ceiling. “Speaking of funding, we’ll need to check with the nearest pharmacist to make sure they have enough antibiotics on hand. I’ll pay for more, if need be.”
“I was already planning to help with the costs.” He glanced over and their eyes caught for a second. When he turned his attention back to the road, her fingers slid over the hand he had resting on the emergency brake before retreating.
“Thank you, Ben,” she said. “For letting me come. And for caring about what happens to those people.”
He swallowed, her words and the warmth of her fingers penetrating the icy wall he’d built up over the last four years.
It wasn’t exactly the thing that peace treaties were made of, but he got the feeling that Tracy had just initiated talks.
And had thrown the ball squarely into his court.
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