Discovering Sophie (24 page)

Anxious to meet up with Jack, she exited the small bathhouse. Hector wasn’t waiting for her, but Jack was. He sat on a rudimentary bench, hewn from a log, leaning over with his head in his hands.

“Jack?”

He lifted his face and squinted, watching her come toward him. “You look nice,” he said, his voice gravely and low. He cleared his throat. “Do you feel better?”

Sophie stood in front of him and studied his face. His blue eyes were clouded and dull. The skin beneath the dark stubble covering his jaw appeared to be pale. “I think the question is do you feel worse?”

He licked his lips and tried to shrug. “Maybe a little.”

Taking a seat beside him, Sophie touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “Jack, you’re burning up. It has to be your leg.”

She started to rise up from the bench, but Jack took her hand and held her back. “It can wait.”

“Jack—”

“Please, Sophie. We need to talk first.”

A knot of dread twisted her stomach. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to focus on getting Jack well. Being a doctor was automatic. Caring for someone else meant she didn’t have to think about herself.

Ignoring the plea, she moved and knelt down to raise his pant leg. “This won’t take long to assess.” She met his gaze, and he must have read the desperation in her eyes because he didn’t protest any further.

Heat radiated from the reddened skin around the wound, and the stitches strained against the swelling tissue. “I don’t think the antibiotics you’re taking are doing the trick. It’s definitely infected.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

She tried to think of the supplies she had available. Treating Mario had depleted her options. “I need to give you a stronger antibiotic called Rocephin. It should cover whatever is causing the infection, but it has to be given through an IV or as an injection.”

Jack licked his lips again. “Either way it involves a needle, right?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want an IV.”

“Ok. But that means you need to drink plenty of water, and you have to keep that leg elevated for the next twenty-four hours. No exceptions.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, obviously too weak to argue. “By the way, Hector already took your backpack and medical stuff to the hut you’ll be sleeping in tonight.”

Sophie wanted to take Jack there and get the new medicine in him as soon as possible. The odds Jack would let her do it right now were about as good as her father walking around the corner.

Slowly, she moved back to sit next to him. Jack took her hand in his. The warmth from his palm was a stark contrast to her cool skin. Bracing herself, she bravely met his gaze.

“Sophie, I don’t know how—” He drew in a shallow breath and tightened his grip on her hand. “I found out—”

No. No. No
. She swallowed hard as moisture gathered in her eyes. But deep down she knew what he was going to say.

“Jack, I think I know.” Her voice cracked, and she lowered her lashes. “I think I’ve known all along.”

“I’m so sorry, Sophie.” His arms came around her, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry.”

Clutching his shirt, she buried her face in his chest and wept. Her dad was never coming home again, and it was too late to tell him how much she loved him.

Jack let her cry. He didn’t say anything, just held her and rubbed one hand soothingly on her back. As her tears subsided, the need to know everything made her edge back so she could see his face. “When? How? Did Carlos say?”

A shadow of grief flickered across his face as Jack reclaimed her hand. “A couple of months ago, your dad had been out doing fieldwork in an area about twelve miles away. He was only supposed to be gone for three or four days, but when he hadn’t returned after a week had passed, Carlos and some men went to look for him.” Jack gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Apparently a puma had been sighted in the area, and they were afraid Edward had been attacked. They found him a few miles out, critically injured from a gunshot wound to the chest.”

Sophie gasped and sat back. “Somebody shot him?”

“Yeah.” She clutched her stomach, listening as Jack explained about her father’s crusade against illegal bird trading and that he most likely knew too much or came across them unexpectedly.

“Illegal bird trading?” she questioned. “I would have thought it would have been illegal drugs.”

“It’s probably both. Most of the exotic birds that reside here in the Costa Rican jungles are popular as pets in the United States. It can be a very profitable business to export the birds illegally, and usually, drug dealing goes hand in hand.”

“Did he die right away?”

“No. Carlos said he never did regain consciousness and was too unstable to move. One of the village healers stayed with him day and night, hoping he would improve enough so they could try and get him better medical care, but he worsened and passed away about a week after they found him.”

Sophie concentrated and tried to do the math in her head. “So that was what, like five or six weeks ago?”

Fresh tears stung her eyes when Jack nodded his head. She couldn’t believe her father was dead, and she’d missed him by a little more than a month.

“If only I’d come sooner, I might have been able to save him.” She sniffed, unable to think of him broken, bleeding, and alone. “I should’ve known. How did I not know?”

“They had no way of contacting you, and you came as soon as you could.”

She knew Jack was right, but it didn’t stop the guilt from pressing down on her, weighing her down. “Where did they bury him?”

Jack studied her for a moment. “Here in the jungle it’s not a good idea to bury the dead. His body was cremated, and his ashes were spread in the river not far from here.”

She swallowed back another sob, wishing she could’ve talked to him one last time.

Jack grasped onto his walking stick and stood up. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“Are you sure you can make it?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He circled one arm around her shoulders. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have you help me out a little.”

They walked in silence, Sophie’s grief battling against her growing concern for Jack. Heat radiated from his body, and his movements were slow and stiff. The risk of sepsis worried her. In any case, the systemic infection wasn’t a good situation. Out here in the remote jungle, without the proper medical supplies, it could be fatal.

“This is where your dad lived,” Jack said as he came to a stop in front of a hut.

Sophie stared at the simple dwelling and knew once she stepped inside, her father’s death would become a reality. His belongings might still be in there, but he would be absent.

Jack opened the door for her. “Carlos said your father left some things for you.”

Unable to speak, she nodded her head and entered the bungalow. She expected the place to feel desolate, as if it knew the owner would never return. Instead, she found the living space to be warm and cozy—peaceful.

“Nobody has moved in here yet?”

“No,” Jack said. “I think the way your father was killed has people a little scared. Carlos said he hopes that with you staying here, the people will know it’s safe.”

“Is it safe?”

“I wouldn’t let you stay here if I didn’t think so.”

Sophie nodded her head and looked around again. She smiled when she saw the rocking chair positioned by a well-stocked bookcase. In her mind, she could see her father sitting in the chair pouring over books about the eco-system just like he’d always done at home.

She made her way to the bookcase and traced her finger down the spine of a book she had given her dad one Christmas. Withdrawing the volume, she opened the page to see the inscription she’d written. A lone tear escaped and marred the white paper as she read the small note.

Dear Dad, I saw this book and instantly

knew you would love it. I’m sorry we can’t be

together for Christmas this year. Maybe when

I’m through with residency we can get together.

Merry Christmas Dad, and remember I love you.

Sophie

She closed the book and replaced it on the shelf, feeling a small measure of peace that she had told him she loved him. They hadn’t been able to spend very many holidays together, but after she and David had broken up, Sophie had made an effort to do what she could. Last year, she’d been able to take off the week before Christmas to make a visit to her dad’s home in Texas. It had been a good week, and her father had actually been interested in an article Sophie had written that had been published in an upcoming pediatric medical journal. It was the first time he’d shown interest in her medical career.

This year she had planned on inviting her dad to spend Christmas with her. It hurt to know there wouldn’t ever be another opportunity. Like most people, Sophie had always believed there would be plenty of time to spend with her father once her practice had been established and once he had finished with his latest research. Both of them had squandered their time, and it was something they could never get back.

Turning away from the bookcase, Sophie noticed the basket centered on the small table. She met Jack’s gaze. “Is this what he left for me?”

“Yes.” He moved behind her. “Apparently your father had once told Carlos he wanted the items in the basket to be returned to you if there was ever a time he couldn’t do it himself.”

She scooted the basket closer and peered inside. The photograph on top had been taken her first year in college when she had only been sixteen. She looked so young and happy, her face filled with an excitement that belied how insecure and scared she had felt.

The basket held several more pictures she didn’t remember sending him, encompassing her years in med school, residency and even one with David. It wasn’t too long after the picture with David that she’d moved to Colorado, and Sophie hadn’t taken the time to send her father anymore pictures.

Beneath the photographs were a few of the letters she’d sent from time to time when she knew emailing her father hadn’t been an option. Her breath caught when she saw what lay on the bottom of the basket. It was a journal very similar to the one she kept. Picking up the book, she opened the pages, thrilled to see her father had actually written in it. How could she not know her father had kept a journal?

Randomly, she thumbed through the pages. Her father’s handwriting was small, and his journal entries were usually only four or five sentences. But the dates indicated he wrote in it almost every day, spanning over four years. She closed the book, pulling it in to her chest. Perhaps her father had other journals back in Texas.

“Now I know where you got your journal writing gene from,” Jack said softly.

Meeting his gaze, her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t even know my dad wrote in a journal. There are a lot of things I didn’t know about him.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “I don’t even know if he was proud of me.”

Jack touched her arm. “How could he not be proud of you?”

Feeling the heat from his hand, she remembered the fever and infection he was suffering from. “You’re still burning up.” She replaced the journal in the basket and tugged on Jack’s hand, leading him to one of the cots. “The first thing we need to do is get your leg elevated.”

Taking care of someone was something she was good at. It felt good to focus on something else besides the pain she felt from the loss of her father.

Chapter Nineteen

Jack
smiled with relief as he lay down on the cot. “Really? Just elevate my leg? I thought for sure you said something about another injection.”

She patted him on the chest. “That too.”

He groaned as she placed a pillow under his injured leg. Then Sophie retrieved her medical bag Hector had brought inside earlier. Before doing anything else, she found the ibuprofen and a bottle of water. The medication would hopefully reduce the fever as well as the swelling.

“Thanks,” he said after swallowing the pills.

Sophie drew up the antibiotic in the syringe. She paused when she saw the alarming look on Jack’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I feel like a wimp,” Jack said, grimacing, “but I have to ask…is the shot really necessary?”

“Yes.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “And my man is not a wimp.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks for that.”

After she finished giving him the shot, Sophie took a seat in the rocking chair, and Jack turned his gaze on her. “How are you doing?”

She took one of his hands, needing to draw strength from his touch. “I guess okay. Like I said, I think deep down I knew my dad was gone. It’s not something you really want to accept until you have to.” She took a stuttering breath. “Thank you for being here for me.”

Jack squeezed her fingers. “I wish I could do more. I don’t like to see you unhappy.”

She gazed into his eyes, and her heart swelled with love. It was hard to believe how different he was. Giving him a soft smile, she leaned in close. “Where is the grumpy man I’ve been taking care of for the past two days?”

Chuckling, he said, “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Jack raised an eyebrow indignantly. “Hey, I’m sick. The least you can do is keep flattering me.”

She did something better—she kissed him. His mouth was hot, most likely from his fever, but Jack responded like an extremely healthy man. It was hard ending the kiss. Sophie craved the comfort the physical contact gave her.

“Wow,” Jack said a little breathlessly. “That was a great kiss.”

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you, though.”

“Sophie, you don’t hear me complaining.”

Out of nowhere, tears welled up in her eyes again. “Why didn’t I spend more time with him?”

An expression of concern crossed his face. “You didn’t know this would happen. If I remember right, it was your dad who was always away, not you.”

“I know. I just wish I could’ve told him that I love him one last time.” She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “And that I’m sorry I never learned Spanish.”