Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

“You can, of course, I just mean…I’m home now.”

He said that like he expected it to mean something to her. “So what? We both know you won’t stay here.”

“Actually, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I like having Gypsy and Miranda close. Gypsy won’t admit it, but she really needs help with the baby. And you’re here. More and more I feel like this may be is the next chapter of my life. Here, with all the people I love.”

His sidelong reference to loving her hooked into her pain and sparked anger. Part of her ached to embrace this information. But she couldn’t just ignore everything he’d forced her to sacrifice.

“Good for you,” she told him. “But I don’t let your decisions impact my life anymore. I’m going.”

He dropped his head back against the wall, exhaled, and stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t want to care what he was thinking, but she did. “What?”

He righted his head and met her gaze. “There are a lot of places that are safe right now, Honduras being one. But there are also a lot of places that aren’t safe. And even many of the safe places can turn hostile overnight. I’ve seen my share of humanitarian workers kidnapped and killed, including doctors. And women are especially vulnerable.”

She’d heard the same. She kept up on news in developing nations, but she also realized no amount of news coverage could accurately gauge a situation like being there.

“And?” she prodded.

“Look, you may see your share of trauma in the ER, but it doesn’t begin to give you a taste of the scale of suffering and death on a daily basis in the places I’ve been. It’s trauma and heartbreak on a whole different, more senseless scope. For every person who comes into an ER here, there will be a hundred who need emergency care in any of two dozen different countries I can think of. Countries you would most likely end up in because they have the fewest resources and the greatest need. And if you’re in a place with active conflict, you’re going to see dismemberment and death on an entirely different scale than you do here.”

The look on his face told Emma far more than his words. She saw disillusionment and helplessness. Grief and pain.

“Beyond that, even if you could save a life, you’re often only prolonging the suffering that follows with infections, disability, mental instability. There is no medical or social infrastructure to support the injured or sick with the necessary ongoing care.”

“Are you saying you don’t think I could handle it?”

“Of course not. I know you’re strong and smart and driven enough to handle anything. I’m saying it would change you. Harden you. It has to. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be human.”

“How has it changed you?”

“Oh jeez.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So many ways. Some I didn’t even realize until I came home.”

She waited, letting him think about how to explain it.

“Americans aren’t welcomed overseas the way they once were. There’s a lot of hatred out there—over our avoidance of or involvement in foreign affairs and conflicts, jealousy over how privileged we are, the skewed impressions people have developed through a variety of sources. But we sure as shit aren’t anyone’s saviors the way you and I dreamed we’d be one day.

“I’ve become numb to a degree. Overseas, there are so many people who are sick or hurt or killed that life is devalued out of the sheer necessity to keep your mental faculties intact. Here, one person dying is a tragedy. There, death tolls have to mount toward high double digits to grab local attention. Even if an incident with a high body count reaches the US news, it would only warrant a two-minute dialogue on the local news. There is so much suffering, you have to block it, or you wouldn’t be able to function. We’re talking about the senseless, traumatic death of utterly innocent people just trying to survive day to day. And so many of those victims are women and children.”

Emma’s chest hurt. The muscles across her shoulders knotted.

“I’ve lost a lot of people over the years,” he said. “Colleagues, acquaintances, friends. And I’ve witnessed so much brutality and death, and the agony they leave behind. It made me realize how much I have here. How lucky I’ve been and how I’ve taken everything for granted. I guess, my point is that it’s hell. Disheartening misery. And it hurts. Physically, mentally, emotionally, it hurts. Bad. I just…” He met her gaze. “You’ve already been through so much. I guess I just don’t like the idea of you suffering anymore.”

After losing the baby earlier, she couldn’t imagine the pain of the scenario he painted. “Why did you stay so long?”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I guess. No other purpose in my life. My dad was dead. You were gone. I’d distanced myself from my sisters. The longer I stayed, the harder it was to come back. A big part of me didn’t feel like I deserved to come home. I’d been given the gifts of being born American and finding an amazing wife, but I squandered them. I neglected or hurt the people I loved the most.” He shrugged. “I guess I saw staying overseas as a sort of penance.”

She reached over and stroked his jaw. He met her eyes, a soft look in his. “Even I find that harsh, and I have every reason to want you to live that penance.”

He smirked. “Logic and emotion don’t always mesh.”

“Oh, how well I know.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin toward the roll of plans. “Let’s refocus on something more positive. Show me what you’ve got planned for this place.”

12

Dylan spread the plans out in front of them, trying to calm the turbulence inside.

Sharing those experiences had been more painful than he’d imagined, and now, with his rough memories so fresh, he felt on edge and anxious.