Jack couldn’t sleep. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself in the bed, he was uncomfortable. He would have blamed the mattress, but he couldn’t. It was him, or rather the woman in the apartment below him.
Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Every time he closed his eyes, a vision of Raylyn’s beautiful visage materialized. High-defined cheekbones, emerald-green eyes flattered by long dark thick lashes and highlighted by decorative glasses. Long brown hair feathered around her face. He groaned and punched his pillow. Trying to sleep was an effort in futility.
He rose from the bed, placed on his prosthesis, stumbled toward the door, opened it, and stepped onto the balcony. Moonlight filtered through the thick white clouds and struck the tiled patio. A lone figure strode through the unkempt garden. Realizing it was Raylyn, he drew in a deep breath and gripped the railing until his fingers ached.
His heart beat rapidly against his ribs. He should go to her and tell her how he felt. Tell her how he’d always felt. Since the moment he’d heard her voice, he’d been able to think of little else. The sweet, smooth melodious tone had awoken him from a coma.
He remembered a visit from Rory at the rehab facility…
“I see the staff is treating you well.”
Jack shrugged and stared out the closed window. Bright yellow roses blossomed outside, and their aroma drifted in on the cool breeze.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong, chap. The staff is concerned with your sudden relapse, as am I.”
Jack didn’t reply.
“Ah, it is the girl.”
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Do not try to keep silent. I’ve already been told your voice therapy has worked miracles. I know you can speak, but you won’t. And I know it is because of the nurse who you left behind.”
“She hasn’t come to visit me,” he voiced in a raspy tone.
“Perhaps—“
“I’ve asked the staff about her, and she’s left town.”
“Hmm.”
“What did I do? Sh-she acted interested, and then she just disappeared.”
Rory studied his hands before answering. “Sometimes when we leave, it is beyond our control.”
“This is different from your situation. You were a young man. You’re parents controlled what happened to you. They made you leave Hannah.”
“True, they forced me to leave under false pretenses. But I had many opportunities to find Hannah and apologize, to try and reconnect, but I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
Rory stared out the window and swallowed. “I was afraid.”
“What was there to be afraid of?”
“Years of being apart made me worry she couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive me. I thank God every day for the chance I was given to prove myself wrong.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“You can try to find her, or you can wait. If it is meant to be then it will be…”
A nearby bell tolled the hour. Jack roused and looked out again into the courtyard. Raylyn was gone. With a heavy sigh, he reentered his apartment, fell into a seat, and reached for a book.
****
The next morning came early. Raylyn didn’t feel rested. She’d returned to her new home, contemplated the decisions that had brought her to San Cristóbal de las Casas, and then called Roland. He’d been happy to hear from her. When their call ended, homesickness had assailed her and she had felt like getting out of the enclosed apartment. She’d taken a moonlit walk around the complex, but had quickly returned inside when she’d felt like someone watched her.
She’d lain in the bed and attempted to get comfortable, only to find herself staring at the plastered walls. She’d analyzed color choices, patterns, everything and anything. Reasons for Jack’s sudden appearance flitted through her mind. Could he be following her? Why else would he volunteer to work in a hostile country? Why would he risk his health to rebuild homes for displaced Christians? None of it made sense.
In the wee morning hours, her lids drifted closed, and she enjoyed a short nap. The time ended all too soon, however, and she was roused by the sound of the alarm on the ancient clock radio.
She stood before the sink and studied her reflection. Black circles surrounded her eyes, and she dabbed powder there. Her hair cascaded down her back, and she swooped it into a ponytail. A spot of lip gloss, and she was ready.
A knock resounded on the door. She adjusted her glasses, looked out the window, and sighed when she noted Alfonzo.
“Good morning,” she said as she opened the door and invited him in.
“Good morning. Are you ready for your first day of work?”
“Yes,” she said fighting the tremble that threatened to enter her voice. She hid her fear by grabbing her bag. He exited, and she followed, making sure to lock the door.
Alfonzo said, “The clinic is close by. We provide services for the Christians who live here in the ghetto. Sometimes, if an injury is too severe, however, we direct them to the local hospital.”
They strolled through the narrow streets. People on bikes passed them and waved. Buses sped by. Taxis honked and maneuvered through the fading lanes.
“I am very grateful you’ve come to San Cristóbal. Many people do not see the need, but Christians are greatly persecuted in this area. Mostly we suffer prejudice and harassment, but there have been other incidents as well.”
Just like when Alfonzo had mentioned this before, he didn’t elaborate, and Raylyn mentally ran through all the things she’d heard while researching her assigned post. Things such as Christians being beaten, robbed, and raped. Many had lost their lives because they’d refused to conform. That is why they had all moved to one area of town. They felt safer together than apart.
“Here we are.”
They approached a building with a low ceiling. Bright green stucco covered the exterior. Narrow windows lined the front wall. A thick, wooded door creaked open at Alfonzo’s urging.
They entered, and he flipped light switches. Fluorescent bulbs brightened the room and reflected on the white tile.
Raylyn glanced over his shoulder. A counter, about a foot above her waist, greeted them. Behind it sat an ancient computer and a wall of filing cabinets. Alfonzo led the way through a set of swinging doors.
“You will be stationed here behind the counter. You will check in the patients and then search for their file. Once you have their information, you will do an initial evaluation with notes before sending them back to the lobby. I will take your notes and their file, review the information, and then call for them to enter a room.”
“So, there is no receptionist?”
“Sometimes, yes. Most of the time, no.”
Raylyn nodded. Alfonzo explained the computer system. Before he finished, the door opened, and an elderly man entered on the arm of a young woman.
Alfonzo raised his hand in greeting before shrugging his shoulders into a white lab coat.
“I will help you through the first one.”
The young woman approached. “My father has hurt his arm.”
“Name?” asked Alfonzo.
“Juan Mendez.”
Alfonzo shifted through folders, dragging out the appropriate one. Paperwork in hand, he directed the couple to a room off to the side. Raylyn followed.
Alfonzo took Mr. Mendez’s blood pressure, checked his pulse, and asked questions. The elderly man explained his symptoms in rapid-fire Spanish, and Raylyn struggled to understand. With every word, her trepidation increased. What had she been thinking? She shouldn’t have let them rush her through the Spanish course. She should have insisted they give her more time.
Distracted by her failings, she hadn’t noticed Alfonzo had finished until he directed the man into the lobby and ushered Raylyn to the hallway.
“Did you understand?”
“Do you want the truth?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then no, I didn’t completely understand him.”
“No worries. You could have asked his daughter. She speaks English well enough. Also, you will find if you ask, they will slow down or speak your language. And do not be afraid to request help. Now I must prepare a room. I will open the door and call for Mr. Mendez when I am ready.”
Raylyn nodded and returned to her spot behind the counter.
Once Mr. Mendez was escorted to a room, another patient entered. It took awhile to find the patient’s file. By the time she escorted him to triage, the patient was irritable and ready to leave.
His wife pleaded, “Mariano, you mustn’t leave. What will we do if something happens to you?” The man frowned but listened to his wife’s pleas.
Raylyn took his vitals and asked questions, but Mariano wouldn’t answer. She looked to the wife for assistance and almost released a sigh when the young lady replied.
“He fell last week and cut himself. He wouldn’t come to the doctor, and now it oozes. See?” She lifted her husband’s pant leg, and Raylyn fought the urge to recoil at the smell.
She noted the issue on his chart and directed the couple back into the waiting room. Raylyn went to find Alfonzo. “I think we have someone who needs to be referred.”
She explained, and Alfonzo frowned. “I know Mariano. He will not like what I have to tell him.”
“I’m not sure it is gangrene, but if it is, and they don’t take his leg—“ She stopped talking.
“Yes, I know. I am almost finished with this patient. We will close up early, and I will go with him to the hospital.”
Alfonzo reentered Juan’s room, and Raylyn returned to the counter. Patients lined the walls of the waiting area. She gulped. What were they to do with them? They couldn’t send them home.
Shuffling papers on the desk, Raylyn waited for Alfonzo. A tap on her shoulder startled her. Alfonzo stood behind her; a frown covered his face. “When did these people arrive?”
“Just now. What should I do?”
“Can you take care of them?”
“Me?” she asked, pointing a shaky finger at her chest.
“If you can treat them, good, if not, send them home and tell them to come back tomorrow.”
“But—”
He placed his hands on her upper arms and stared into her eyes. A smile lit his face. “I know you can do this. For if you do not, then I fear Mariano might die.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“Mariano will not go to the hospital without my assistance.”
Raylyn looked over the crowd of patients and swallowed. Was she up to the task? She’d seen action in the severely wounded ward, and she was well-equipped to handle many situations. But acting as a doctor? She drew in a deep breath and prayed. She would just have to treat each one individually and follow Alfonzo directions. If the case was too difficult, she would refer them to the hospital or ask that they return the next day.
She nodded.
Alfonzo called for Mariano and his wife. The three of them entered a patient room only to come out moments later and exit the front door. Several patients in the waiting room groaned. But as she called the first patient to triage, they grew quiet.