$3.99 or FREE for Prime Members
Combat Hospital - Kandahar Airfield
What are the odds? Karen Hughes, an ER nurse, travels half way around the world only to meet someone from the other side of town. Brian Calder, a medevac helicopter pilot, breezes into her life like a refreshing ocean spray. Both from Vancouver Island, they find that they share much in common, and soon become an "item" in the closely knit medical community of KAF. Karen's tour of duty is up in a few weeks, and Brian will follow shortly, but now that he has so much to lose, he becomes concerned for his safety. He's been carrying his grandmother's ring, and uses his considerable charm to convince Karen that she she should take it with her and give it to his grandmother when she returns home.
Join Karen on a heartbreaking and ultimately satisfying journey as she searches for love from the heat and grit of Kandahar to the cool mountains and endless beaches of Vancouver Island.
Excerpt:
Set-up:
Trauma nurse Karen Hughes has returned home to Canada after serving
at the Role 3 Hospital in Kandahar.
The
line-ups at the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay were surprisingly
long. Two lines of RVs waited to board; seniors heading for a holiday
on the island before the summer rush started in earnest. But before
long she was driving on, and made her way up to the observation deck.
It was one of her favourite parts of the trip, watching the huge
ferry pull out. A harbour seal was hauled out on a log boom beside
the dock, its silver fur splotched with black and shiny in the
afternoon sun. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the familiar tang of the
ocean water. This was where she belonged; she was going home.
Her
stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since
breakfast. The old Karen would have grabbed a quick bite at the snack
bar, but instead she decided to treat herself to a meal from the
buffet at the stern of the ship. In spite of the inevitable wait, the
scenery would make it worthwhile.
“Just
one, ma’am?” The staff member offered a polite smile, but she
could tell that the young man was trying to decide where to seat her.
“None of our smaller tables are available at the moment, but if you
would care to share a table with some other singles, I can seat you
now.”
Karen
hesitated, then returned the smile. “That would be fine, thanks.”
The
young man led her past the buffet and wove his way through the
scattered tables to a large circular table looking directly over the
stern of the ship. He placed a napkin in front of her and pulled out
the chair. “Enjoy your meal, ma’am. We’ve been seeing a lot of
Orcas for the past few days. Perhaps you’ll get lucky.”
“Thank
you.” She nodded to the two other people at the table, two men who
appeared to be deep in conversation. They nodded distractedly in her
direction, their meals seemingly forgotten.
“I’ll
just go check out the buffet,” she murmured, wondering why she’d
bothered. One of the men raised his head, and she found herself
looking into eyes the colour of a deep mountain lake; dark green with
glints of gold. For a moment she thought he might berate her for
intruding on their conversation, but he merely glanced toward where
the paper napkin lay on the table in front of her place and then back
at her. It was unsettling, and she moved toward the buffet tables,
where she chose from the generous selection of salads and cold meat.
The
men had resumed eating when she returned, their conversation
continuing on a more cordial note. Although they were both dressed
casually, the quality of their clothing was unmistakable. A soft
leather bomber jacket was draped over the arm of the chair beside
Green Eyes. The older man had kept his jacket on. It was a neutral
tan colour with leather elbow patches. It had seen better days, but
Karen sensed that it was a beloved piece of clothing.
“So,”
Elbow Patches raised an eyebrow. “What did you think of Compton’s
lecture on trauma surgery? I had a hard time deciding between that
and the Bioresonance Workshop, but I’m glad I chose Compton.” He
pointed his fork at Green Eyes. “The types of trauma injuries in
major urban centers are something we’re unlikely to see, but
there’s no doubt we should be more prepared.”
Karen
looked from one to the other. They were doctors, and unless she was
completely off target, they were returning from a medical convention.
In spite of the fact that she wouldn’t have chosen them as table
companions, their conversation piqued her interest.
“Even
the best trauma surgeon can’t help some of these patients,” Green
Eyes murmured, his gazed fixed firmly on his plate. He must have been
out on the deck, as his hair was unkempt. A warm, golden colour, it
reminded her of the buckwheat honey her grandmother had searched out
in the local farmers’ markets.
Elbow
Patches leaned forward, pressing his point. “That’s true, but a
highly trained trauma surgeon is always an asset. I agree with
Compton that we need more training programs. Even if it means sending
some of our young doctors to the States to spend time in cities with
gang violence, for example. I mean how many stabbings or shootings
did you treat last year?”
The
man looked up with weary eyes. “You know the answer. None.”
“That’s
my point.” Elbow Patches held up a hand. “Now wait a minute.
You’re going to argue that a trained trauma surgeon would be wasted
in an area where there was no need for his skills, and you may be
right. But what about our international obligations? What about
Afghanistan, for example? Some of the doctors we send over there
volunteer specifically to gain trauma experience.” Wrapped up in
his argument, he didn’t notice the colour draining from his
colleague’s face.
“Canada
isn’t the only country doing that.” The words popped out of
Karen’s mouth before she could stop them. “Other countries send
doctors for the same reason. They do great work over there while
they’re learning to cope with horrific injuries. Ninety-eight
percent of the patients who make it to the trauma bay with a pulse
will survive. Those are pretty good numbers, wouldn’t you say?”
Green
Eyes pushed away from the table, almost knocking over his chair.
“What can you possibly know about Afghanistan?” he demanded, his
voice harsh. “What you see in a documentary on television?” His
hands were trembling as he picked up his jacket. “Let me tell you
something about Afghanistan. It’s a miserable, dry desert of a
place where our young men are dying.” The knuckles of his hand
turned white where he clutched his jacket. “The Afghan people have
been killing each other in tribal wars for centuries and we’re
going to change that?” He glared at Karen. “Who do we think we’re
kidding?” He turned and strode away, leaving most of his meal
uneaten.
Karen
watched him walk away, and then turned to her remaining table-mate.
“What did I say?” she asked, stunned by the attack.
The
man across from her had a stricken expression on his face. “It’s
my fault, I’m sorry.” He glanced toward the exit as though to
make sure Green Eyes wasn’t returning. “I don’t know how I
could have forgotten, but he had a family member killed in
Afghanistan.” He pushed his plate away. “I hope I can find him
before we dock. I need to apologize for being so insensitive.” His
eyes were kind as he looked at her. “I’m sorry we ruined your
meal.” He looked at her more closely. “Are you all right?”
She
nodded, tried to smile. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
The
doctor walked away and she picked at her salad, but the enjoyment had
faded. Eventually she too pushed her plate away and held her mug of
tea with both hands, cupping it for warmth. She’d just seen another
aspect of the war first hand. Back at Kandahar, they’d all lived
with the knowledge that families mourned at home when their loved
ones were killed, but the despair and anger on the doctor’s face
had moved her deeply. Under normal conditions he would be considered
handsome. Tall and lithe, he moved like an athlete. She could imagine
him skiing somewhere on the Island. Probably Mount Washington, near
where she’d grown up. But these weren’t normal conditions and she
couldn’t imagine how it would feel to lose someone the way this man
had done. With all her heart she hoped it wouldn’t be too long
until he found his smile again.
No comments:
Post a Comment