“Empty them first,” Arlo warned. “I can’t handle a delivery and a snakebite at the same time.”
Reality. This was her reality for a while. She shook the dream away totally as vigorously as she shook her boots. “How long has she been in labor?”
“Off and on since yesterday. I checked her earlier, when I was making rounds, and contractions were still about ten minutes apart. But it seemed to have sped up.”
“How long have I been sleeping?” she asked. The fact was her sleeping was so erratic, she often didn’t know.
“About two hours.”
“And you’ve been working”
“About the same.”
Layla grabbed her medical rucksack and rushed out the door. Arlo followed, amused by the way she went from sound asleep to at the ready. She’d always been a little bit difficult to wake, but once he’d succeeded she’d been on the spot, bright-eyed and ready to go. “Her mother’s with her. And her grandmother. Also, there’s a midwife, and she’ll do most of the work.”
“So what will we do?” she asked.
“Respect the traditions. I just thought you might want to see how this works, since we’ve got at least a dozen more pregnant women in the village and you’ll no doubt be called to watch but not participate in the birth unless there’s a problem.”
“I know a lot of places in the world don’t welcome outside interference. Is this one of them?”
“No. They love having a hospital. It’s the only one around for nearly a hundred miles, so they take pride in having medical services here. But they also have their traditions, which I don’t interfere with unless they become a problem.” He pointed to a well-apportioned hut, one with a door, at the end of the road. “It’s bigger than yours,” she said, following him up the path to the front door.
“Because I don’t have my parents, grandparents and children living with me. Family is a large part of their tradition.”
Which she saw for herself when she and Arlo went inside. There were women cooking, children playing, men talking. And in the doorway to the area where the bedrooms probably were stood an old woman holding a tiny bundle in her hands. “I see they didn’t really need us,” Layla said, pushing her way through the crowd to look at the newborn. The old woman, named Hanni, immediately put the baby in Layla’s arms then headed off to the area where the food was being prepared. In her medical practice Layla didn’t deal with children and, in all honesty, she hadn’t even handled one since her rotation through Pediatrics during her residency. And this one—he was so tiny. Red, wrinkled and screaming for all he was worth.
“They named him Arlo,” Arlo said, stepping to her side.
“Even though you didn’t deliver him?”
“It’s a tribute.”
“So, how many little Arlos are running around the village?”
“At last count, five. This Arlo makes number six.”
“Well, if ever there was a village legacy” Layla grinned, reaching down to take baby Arlo’s tiny fingers. “Suppose you have a son someday and want to call him Arlo? What then?”
“Just accept the fact that he’ll be one of the many.” He pulled back the blanket to have a better look at the baby. “You look good with a baby. Ever thought that maybe you might?”
“I haven’t changed on that,” she said. “I told you back then I didn’t want children, and I still don’t. I’m the living proof of how badly it can work out when the parents are all about career, and I’d never want that for my child because, in my family, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, even though the career tree is different.” She handed the baby over to him. “Think I’ll go look in on the mother to make sure she’s getting along OK.” And to get away from the cozy feeling of home and family that was coming over her.
“I’ve got another house call to make after this,” he called after her. She heard him but didn’t respond as she ducked out of the room and found an empty room down the hall where she could hide long enough to gather her wits. And will her hands to stop shaking. Of everything that was going to be difficult here, this might be the worst. Because she’d had these thoughts before. Although she’d never told Arlo. What was the point when their directions were so vastly different?
It was mid-afternoon when they caught up again. Layla had taken the hospital calls while Arlo had done rounds in the village.
It was nice having her here to help him. While his assistant was good, he wasn’t a doctor so his duties were limited. But having two doctors here—the way his parents had been—would be nice. Even after only a day and a half, he was getting spoiled by it.
But not spoiled enough to let himself believe the other doctor would be Layla. Because, as they said, a leopard didn’t change its spots. Neither did Layla. One look at the baby and the almost panicked expression on her face had said it all.
“I’ve got a house call to make. It’s out some way, so I thought you’d like to go with me to see some of the countryside. And if you don’t, could I borrow your SUV?”
They were both back in the hut, getting tidied up for the rest of the day. When Arlo peeked around the dividing curtain to talk to her, he had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. Chauncy had managed to find his way onto Layla’s lap, and she was simply sitting cross-legged on the cot, petting him. Normally, he wasn’t quite so friendly with strangers, but Layla did have a way about her. Especially considering that Chauncy wouldn’t even cuddle up to him that way.
Somehow, seeing a gray, ring-tailed raccoon-looking mongoose-rat creature all cozy with her caused a lump to form in his throat. This was the other side of her, one he’d loved as much as he’d loved her harder side. There’d been times when she’d just snuggle into him for no reason and simply exist in his embrace. No kidding, no anything else. Just touch. Sensation. And he’d enjoyed those moments as they’d felt so caring. So consuming.
“What do we have?” she asked, plucking a quartered mango from a bowl next to her and handing it to Chauncy.
As the juice dribbled down her arm, Arlo could almost imagine himself kissing her arm along its trail. Stopping at her neck. Kissing ithe loved the way she was so ticklish there. As hard as she’d tried to fight it, she couldn’t. And the fightit had always led to more. A little shove back onto the bed, some pillow play, clothes flying everywhere But these were dangerous thoughts, as he began to experience the stirrings of feelings and emotions he hadn’t had in a long, long time. And while they were sexual, they weren’t purely sexual the way they had been before. “It’s dengue fever. Two members of one household.”
“Hemorrhagic?”
Arlo raised his eyebrows in bold appreciation. “I see you know your dengue fever.”
“A little. I did some reading on the plane. Not enough, but as much as I could to give me a good start here.”
“Well, then—no. It’s not hemorrhagic. But it did come on in the typical symptoms: high fever, headache, vomiting, muscle and joint pain, and a characteristic skin rash. We’re at the end of it, too. This will probably be my last trip out there, which means the house calls on this one will be yours in the future, because dengue can relapse. So rather than having me do a daily check, you can do one every three or four days for a couple of weeks.”
“Your treatment choice?” she asked.
“Supportive, for the most part. It’s a mother and her five-year-old daughter. The rest of the family is fine.”
“And