Illumine Her (31 page)

“Come on,” Chase spoke softly. “Let me take you home before you freeze out here. Your lips are turning purple.”

She stood and wrapped her arms around her stomach and waited. She lifted her gaze and dared a peak at his face. It was blank. Contemplative. Giving nothing of his emotions away. What was he thinking? Chase turned away slowly and walked in the direction she came from. Blowing out a shaky breath, she followed his footsteps in silence. She should have been grateful that he was giving her space to sort through her thoughts, but what immense bliss there was minutes before had now been seized by an emotion so powerful that it clutched her wholeheartedly.

Utter and complete sadness.

Piercing her heart like a spear, she couldn’t help but feel she would never be what she wanted to be for him. And oh how it ached! The pain shredded her to her core as she resigned to the fact that she could never have what she wanted.
Him.

As Alana put one foot in front of the other, crushing thick grass and branches and ignoring the sting it caused to her bare feet, her heart thudded and broke with each step. She was thankful that he had his back to her and could not see the afflicted emotion and the lone tear that fell silently down her cheek.

***

The rain continued to thrash against the house for the remainder of the week, the wind rattling the louvers which were shut tightly to fend off the moisture that threatened to come in. Two buckets were placed strategically in the living room to catch drops that leaked through the high ceiling beams.
Her carpenter brother needed to fix them
, she thought. The power was off, and the heavy grey clouds that loomed overhead cast dark shadows in the house. Alana lit a match to light the two oil lamps her family stored for days like these. She took one and positioned it on the dining room table while she placed the other in the kitchen. Flicking the gas stove on, she put a silver kettle of water on the burner to make
ti polo
, a tea made from lemon tree leaves. When the water started to bubble, she took a couple leaves and threw them in. She stood over the pot and added honey and watched in silence as the liquid darkened in color. Pouring the tea into a couple mugs she carried one to her mother in her bedroom. As she stepped over the threshold, Perlita peered up from her reading glasses and set the book she was reading aside. Several candles flickered from her sudden movements creating a cozy atmosphere in the room, and Alana caught a whiff of vanilla.

“It’s awfully quiet out there. Where’s Sera?”

“She’s sleeping in my room. David’s probably sleeping in his room as well.” Alana set the mug down on the bedside table and picked up the book her mother was reading.

The Hospital by the River
. She smiled at the title—a book she read years before she attended nursing school. Albeit a sad tale set in Ethiopia, it was the perfect accompaniment on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

“You’re not tired?” Perlita asked. “You’ve had a busy week at work.”

That was true. With the rains came more accidents that landed patients in the hospital. Broken bones from falls, vehicle crashes that resulted from slippery roads, the list was endless.

Alana shook her head and smiled. “I might go read something as well before I head into work.”

It was her final day on the night shift. She admitted she had come to like it more than day hours. It was somewhat quieter, calmer, and less stressful without visitors milling around and occupying the halls. While her patients slept, she had moments to herself to reflect—about
him
but also fighting hard
not
to reflect about him.

She stepped out of the room and paused. “Do you think we’ll have to cancel the trip tomorrow?”

Her mother smiled. “Never say never. The radio said it should be clear. Poor Sera has been cooped up in this house for days. Let’s just hope that it’ll be a good day for her sake.”

Alana left to retrieve her mug. Sinking down on the living room sofa, she wrapped the throw around her shoulders. Somehow it felt wrong to feel cold on a tropical island, but since her family home was in the mountains, it tended to get chilly. Taking tentative sips, she looked out the window panes which were sprinkled with rain drops. A dense fog covered the earth, blanketing her mother’s garden and father’s grave stone. With steam flowing over her face, she relaxed and closed her eyes. She was tired. It had been a busy couple weeks of family obligations and work. Alana thought about the hospital and instantly looked forward to the two days she had off starting tomorrow. She, Sera, and Manu were heading to Namua Island for an overnight retreat and some much needed rest and relaxation.

Work. Work. Work. One patient was a particularly difficult one, always crabby and never smiling at the nurses or her family when they visited. She could empathize with the suffering that went with an illness like diabetes. Both physically and mentally, it had to be the most trying of events to go through in one’s life. It was exhausting as a nurse to keep a straight face and see that the patient was as comfortable as possible, even if their demeanor was ungrateful. Alana wished there could be some way to break through that barrier. She knew she was no Florence Nightingale or Patch Adams, but she wished she could just do more.
Be
more. She feared years down the road distant professionalism and a sort of cold detachment would take over her work. She had seen how the other nurses handled their patients with their no-nonsense attitude, and lately, her allusions of being a variation of Mother Teresa were dwindling. She was probably deluding herself to think she could save the world.

Relenting, she allowed her mind to wander to someone she hadn’t seen or spoken to for days. As a healer, he had to have witnessed unspeakable injuries throughout his centuries old life. How did he do it? How did he remain committed after all this time and not fall into a stoic stupor and become…uncaring? She was aware that he hurt when he was incapable of carrying out his work. After all this time, he still had compassion. It was that very reason that drove him to return after almost a hundred years following the influenza. Her throat tightened as she recalled his gentle touch as he healed her ankle and aligned her spine. He was more than a machine built to heal and offer physical comfort. He was capable of much more. He was selfless, kind-hearted, and thoughtful. She thought about the river, and the realization that came with it caused an aching longing in her chest. It was a good thing he was keeping his distance; it helped her to straighten out her emotions. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see exactly what was happening to her at that particular moment. What if he read her emotions and was now avoiding her as a result? What if he didn’t feel the same way? Alana stopped that thought process immediately. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to contemplate the idea that she was a mere human compared to his supernatural abilities. She didn’t want to admit that she was unworthy of someone like him. She decided that when she saw him next, she would protect herself by not saying anything at all. Ever. And then there was the fact that if the Council found out, Chase would probably be punished, and she didn’t want that to happen. No. It was better for the both of them if they parted ways now before anyone got seriously hurt…even if she was already well on her way there.

Movement in the hallway caught her attention and broke through her quiet reflection. David strode idly into the kitchen and lifted the kettle to pour himself a mug of tea. He rattled around the pantry and brought out the tin of
masi
, locally made crackers. Retrieving the butter from the fridge, he lathered it generously on the crackers. David turned and leaned against the counter, one hand engulfing the cup, the plate of
masi
balancing on the other. His brows lowered down to eyes that looked like they had been roused from sleep. Alana shifted away to avoid his gaze. She knew her mother asked her to break the wall of ice that was between them, and she was ashamed that she hadn’t talked to him. She felt uncomfortable that it had gone on for too long.

She heard his loud footsteps as they approached the living room before she heard the leather couch to her left creak and dip from his weight. She continued to gaze out of the glass louvers and noticed a little gecko clinging onto the damp screen. Beyond that, the porch was flooded with water, the cushions on the bamboo chairs dripping with rain and pooling on the wooden floor boards. The mutts were under the table huddling to keep warm, and for a split second, her heart went out to them.

David cleared his throat. “Hey, Lana, do you want to play
suipi
?” Much of their time as kids was occupied by the Samoan card game when it was storming outside. Alana felt her heart pinch, and she couldn’t help but smile a little on the inside. She knew in his own way he was reaching out to her, letting her know he was sorry and asking for her forgiveness. Never one to come out and speak honestly about his feelings—she knew his level of comfort wouldn’t go there—he was asking her to move past her anger with him and return to what they were used to. The bantering. The jokes. The laughs. He was offering her an olive branch, and it was in her hands to accept it and move on. Sick and tired of being wound up with tension around him, she realized she wanted that as well.

She turned her face slowly to him. “Yeah, okay sure.”

For a brief moment she caught a flash of relief in his eyes before he deflected and reached for the deck of cards that was on top of a stack of magazines under the glass top of the coffee table. “Shuffle or deal?”

Alana turned her body to face him, adjusting the throw so it covered her legs, and placed her mug down on the table. “I’ll deal.”

Chapter 21

A
n hour later, with laughter and bickering stirring Sera awake and joining in the game, Alana settled in David’s truck and drove to the hospital for her night shift. The rain had stopped and the road was slick with water. Taking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It felt good not to be at odds with her brother anymore. Flicking on the radio, she turned the volume up when the reggae strains of J Boog lulled through the speakers. Shifting gears, she pulled into the front entrance of a small shop, its walls plastered with faded advertisements for laundry detergent and bubble gum. With the purpose of buying something sweet to help her get through the dull moments at work, she jumped out of the truck and entered the store. For its small interior, the dusty shelves were packed with canned food and packages of dried goods. The aisles were small and dirty, and there was little light to illuminate the room.

Perusing the junk food aisle, she grabbed a packet of fried banana chips and quietly hummed her way to the bakery section. Alana turned the corner and her heart careened to a stop. A woman in a loose-fitting
muumuu
had her back to her and was holding a child on her hip. She knew her. There was something familiar about her movements and the way she wore her hair in a tight bun that made her stomach uneasy. Alana walked forward just as the woman turned around and froze. Her attacker’s wife! The woman’s eyes lowered and her mouth turned into a sneer. Alana looked around anxiously for her husband but there was no one else in the little shop.

“He’s not here.” Her angry voice sliced through the silence.

Alana looked between the woman and her young toddler and persuaded herself to relax. She didn’t want to start a fight here. Not in front of her child. Holding her head high, she coaxed herself to move forward and ignore her. Trays lined with lamingtons,
keke pua’a
, and sugary twist rolls greeted her, but her stomach was far from craving them. Taking even breaths, she picked out two German buns and turned to make her way to the cashier.

“I left him,” the wife said from behind, her voice loud but shaky.

The words shocked her. Alana stopped and faced the woman with a look of regret on her face.
Why should I feel guilty about this? I’m not responsible for their marriage
, she thought. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help the feeling that she played some role in their demise, even if it wasn’t her fault. Perhaps it had something to do with the wide, innocent eyes of the child who was clutching a packet of Bongos to his chest, snot oozing from his nose.

“Oh, you feel sorry for me?” she continued in her snarly tone. “Don’t. You were nothing special to him because you were not the first. You were only the first to fight him. All the other women fell for his charms.” She cackled a fake laugh.

This admission only made Alana pity her more. No woman deserved this, no matter how snarly she was.

Alana stepped closer. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way you’ve been betrayed by someone who should have been your rock, your support, your love. You didn’t deserve this, your children didn’t deserve this, and neither did I.” She rolled her shoulders back. “But you know what you can do about it now?”