Forgive Me. Amanda Eyre Ward

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СКАЧАТЬ reached for the phone, murmuring, “So Logan would probably be just as easy, or Providence–”

      “You can’t go anywhere!” said Gwen. “You’re very ill, dear!”

      “What the hell was she doing down next to Guat-e-amala, is what I’d like to know,” said Jim.

      “May I make a long-distance call, please? In private?”

      “Deanie,” said Jim. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

      “I’ll pay you back, of course,” said Nadine.

      “No, it’s fine,” said Gwen, flustered.

      “Thanks,” said Nadine. She picked up the receiver.

      “Maybe we can visit later,” said Gwen. Jim snorted.

      “Okay,” said Nadine, dialing quickly. Her father and Gwen exited the room, and Jim pulled the door shut with a thud that shook the Nantucket basket on the windowsill.

      “You are on mandatory vacation,” Ian said when Nadine finally reached him. In the background, Nadine heard the sounds of the New York office: typing, shouting, televisions tuned to CNN.

      Nadine sighed into the phone. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

      “You’ve been beaten within an inch of your life by Mexican drug traffickers. I talked to your doctor. You can’t even use your left arm for two weeks.”

      “You think they were traffickers?”

      “Whoever they were, they didn’t want you nosing around,” said Ian. “Some shopkeeper called the embassy. You were found in a ditch. They could have killed you.”

      Nadine looked out her window, at the placid sea. A large vessel, the Atlantis, was docked in the harbor. “How long?” she said.

      “Six months.”

      “Ian!”

      “Three months. You need to rest.”

      “I know you don’t believe me,” said Nadine, “but I feel fine. I do, really.”

      “Wander along the beach. Have an affair with a lifeguard. Whatever it takes, Nadine. Don’t call me until March.”

      “I can’t believe this.”

      Ian was silent. Nadine could picture him stroking his snow-colored moustache. “I’ve known you a long time,” he said, finally. “And I’ve told you this before. You let the wall come down, you can never go back.”

      “I didn’t let the wall down,” said Nadine.

      “Nadine, I’m trusting my gut on this one.”

      “What am I supposed to do all winter on Cape Cod?”

      “Write a novel,” said Ian. “Write a memoir about your hair-raising adventures around the world. If all else fails, watch TV.”

      “Lord help me,” said Nadine.

      “Talk to you soon,” said Ian. “Not that soon,” he added.

      Dr. Duarte had olive skin and a rich voice. Nadine hit MUTE but continued to watch Law & Order as he listed her many bruises and lacerations. “When can I get out of here?” she asked when he stopped talking.

      “Out of bed? A week, maybe ten days. I’m most concerned about the head trauma, and we’ll just have to keep an eye on that.”

      Nadine lay back and sighed.

      “Can you turn off the television, please?” said Dr. Duarte.

      Nadine hit the POWER button as Dr. Duarte told her how lucky she was to be alive, how her body needed time to heal. She nodded, eyes on her intertwined hands. There was a pause, and then Dr. Duarte said, “What’s it like?”

      Nadine looked up, into his brown eyes. “Sorry?”

      “What’s it like?” he said. “What does it feel like, being a reporter, putting yourself in danger? I guess I’ve always wondered what that feels like.”

      “You just think about what you need to do,” said Nadine. “Warnings, they come into your head, but they go away. You do your job.” Nadine’s voice sounded confident. She did not say that some evenings, after her story was filed and she was safe in a hotel room, taking a shower, her legs shook so hard she had to sit down, letting the water rain over her until she calmed.

      “You get used to being terrified, basically?”

      Nadine looked out the window. She still remembered the dark winter days of her childhood, the sense that life was happening elsewhere. The thought of staying on Cape Cod was unbearable. “When’s the last time you were terrified?” she asked.

      “Senior year,” said Dr. Duarte. “Right before I called to ask Suze Phillips to the prom. No, wait, my boards.” He paused. “No, Suze was scarier.”

      “What did she say?”

      “She said yes,” said Dr. Duarte. “I hung up the phone and almost cried with happiness.”

      “That’s it exactly,” said Nadine.

      “So being a globe-trotting journalist is like asking Suze Phillips to the prom,” said Dr. Duarte.

      “It’s like asking her, and having her say yes.”

      He nodded, pleased. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I can bring you some books, if you want. Might help pass the time.”

      “Thanks,” said Nadine. “But I’m fine, really.”

      “How many Law & Orders do you think you can watch?”

      “Seven?” said Nadine. “Maybe eight.”

      “Wow,” said Dr. Duarte. “My limit would probably be six.”

      Gwen ministered to Nadine as if she were a child home from school. She made chicken soup and lasagna. She brought gossip magazines and crossword books. She went to Wal-Mart and returned with a nightshirt featuring a grinning cat. “I’m thirty-five,” said Nadine when she opened the bag.

      “No one’s too old for Garfield,” said Gwen.

      Nadine slept and watched television. Fellow journalists and off-again lovers sent flowers. Nobody called, however: what had happened to Nadine was the thing you didn’t allow yourself to think about. All of them were playing a game of chance, and even the best luck ran out eventually. There was a point at which many took a desk job, for love or family. But Nadine, with the exception of Jim, had no family.

      As for love, there had been Maxim, shot by a stray bullet in Cape Flats. One love, one bullet. Nadine learned her lesson.

      Three

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