Fool's Gold Collection Volume 3. Susan Mallery
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of soup to his mouth. “I was talking?”
“In your sleep? Yes.” She cleared her throat and went for what she hoped was a casual tone. “So, um, who is Sara?”
“My wife.”
Paige’s stomach sank to her toes and then went looking for lower ground. She felt herself flushing as she remembered all the silly, romantic thoughts she’d had about the man.
“So you’re—”
“A widower. Sara and our baby daughter were killed a few years ago. A car accident.” His eyes darkened, as if he’d emotionally retreated to a difficult memory. “It was horribly sad.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. I was gone when it happened.” He looked at her across the table. “I’m sure Simon has mentioned that I work extensively overseas.”
“Yes. He told me you travel the world, operating on poor children.” Fixing the ravages of birth defects and accidents, giving those children a chance at looking just like everyone else. Something most people took for granted.
“Sara and I grew up together. We’re from the same village.”
“You have your own village?”
He smiled. “No. I lived in a village.” The smile faded. “She was always there, in the background. I suppose our getting married was inevitable. But she never wanted to stray far from home, so after we were married, she stayed put and I went off to work. When she had our daughter, the decision seemed sensible.”
“Then they were killed,” Paige murmured.
“Exactly. I was devastated. I buried myself in work even more than I had before. Apparently too much. I was trying to forget, I suppose. As that will never happen, I’ve been attempting to find peace. I ended up sick and intruding upon you.”
“You’re a nice intrusion.”
“Thank you.” He finished his soup and glanced around the yard. “This is charming.”
She looked at the tall trees, the flowers by the fence and the cut grass. “It’s your basic backyard. I like it. There was plenty of space to play when I was growing up.” She lowered her voice. “I had to make do with toys, what with not having a village of my own.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“A little. It’s fun.”
She collected their bowls and returned to the kitchen where she quickly warmed the pasta and spooned on the sauce. Then she carried the food outside.
“You have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” she said.
“I do?”
“Simon arranged it. He wants to confirm that you’re no longer contagious. Although I suspect he’ll want you to wait a couple more days before going to see them. What with Montana being pregnant and all and him being something of a worrier.”
He glanced at her. “I should move into a hotel.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You’re already here and I don’t mind. As I said before, you’re interesting company.”
“If I talk in my sleep, I must be a bit frightening.”
“Not so much. Tell me about some of the places you’ve been.”
“How much detail do you want?”
“As much as you’re willing to give. I’ve never been anywhere.”
“Most people ask about where I’ve traveled to and then their eyes glaze over when I answer.”
She laughed. “Mine won’t. I promise.” She scooted closer. “I’ve always wanted to travel. While I’m interested in the tourist sights, I’ve also always wanted the chance to really explore a place. Settle in for a few weeks and get to know the people.”
“You find other cultures interesting?”
“Of course. There’s so much I assume about the world because of how I was raised. Knowing in my head that everyone has a different life experience is one thing, but actually getting to talk to people, to see life through their eyes, so to speak, fascinates me.”
She drew in a breath and shrugged. “Sorry. I get carried away.”
“Not at all. Your passion is intriguing.”
She shifted so she was sitting cross-legged on the chair. “Tell me about Africa. No, India. What an amazing country. What is Mumbai like?”
“Crowded. Loud. The population is over twelve million, or twenty thousand people per square kilometer. There’s a large immigrant population, of course and a…” His voice trailed off. “Now I’m the one who was carried away. As you can see, I’m not good at casual conversation.”
“Keep talking,” she told him. “I’m interested.”
He studied her for a second, before nodding. “When I go there, I stay at an ashram. A friend of mine runs it. There is a kind of peace in the middle of everything else going on. He comes with me when I visit prospective patients. Parents and their children. His presence calms us all.”
Alistair talked of beautiful sunrises, of sacred cows and the Muslim call to prayers. He mentioned going to South America. A river trip down the Amazon, of glancing into his mirror while shaving one morning to find himself being watched by a jaguar. Of waking up and realizing he was sharing his bed with a python.
“I’m not sure I could keep from screaming,” Paige said.
“I did scream,” he admitted with a grin. “Like a little girl. I horrified nearly five centuries of ancestors. I felt them collectively turning over in their graves.”
They finished the pasta and she brought out fruit and coffee. As they lingered over the table, he talked about the patients he treated and the lives he changed. He showed her pictures on his phone. She saw smiling children with features restored. Happy families, grateful parents.
“Your work is a miracle,” she said, passing him back his phone.
“No. I was given a gift and I use it to help others. It’s nothing so complicated as a miracle.”
“It is to the people you help. Do you get lonely?”
“All the time. I work with a team, but the people on it changes frequently. Different doctors come and go. I tend to stay in a place for six to eight weeks, then move on.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
“It can be.”
“Sara never wanted to go with you?” she asked.
“No. She wanted to stay in her corner of home.”
“I would have been right beside you,” Paige said without thinking, then held up both hands. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not inviting myself along on your next trip.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
She laughed. “You’re very kind.”
“I’m not kind at all. You’re an intriguing woman, Paige. Opening your house to a stranger.”
“A stranger who talks in his sleep.” She studied him. “My aunt would have liked you.”
“High praise.”
“You can’t know that,” she said, but pleased by his statement even so.
“I can guess. You said she gave up everything to raise you.”
Paige smiled at the memory. “She was wonderful. She’d made the decision to become a nun early in life and was a novitiate by the time she was nineteen. After my parents died, she came to care for me, leaving her life as a nun. I still remember her telling me