Nirvana Effect (21 page)

For a moment, something occupied his thoughts other than the nirvana effect.

A moment later, she walked back in.

“Edward,” she said, businesslike.  He could not read her face.

“Cali,” said Edward.  “I mean, Callista.”  He could never read her face.

“You need a doctor’s consultation?” she asked.

Now more than ever.
  She looked older now.  She didn’t look any
worse, only different.  He hadn’
t seen her in
nearly
a decade.  He knew he looked different, too. 

All the words he’d thought but never said in those lonely years rushed to his tongue to fill the air.  Not a sound could come out.

He’d figured
a
one in a
billion chance of their meeting again
, but he’d played it over in his mind at least that many times
.  It had never gone like this.  He sighed.

She watched him, waiting for an answer to her question.  He watched her eyes.  She had plain brown eyes.  They were one of her more alluring qualities.

She broke eye contact by turning to the disposables closet and searching for a disposable.  She had no need for a disposable, though Edward surmised from the tears that had welled up in her eyes that she needed something to do.  She hadn’t really changed at all.

He wanted to stand up and put his hands on her shoulders but she walked out again before he could do anything.

He had proposed to her seven years ago in his senior year of college.  He remembered the goofy tux he’d worn to the restaurant
(“Why did you rent a tux for a dinner?”) and that frightful moment on one knee all alone at the park where the Earth
had
seemed to stop, and then roll right over him.

He
’d written her dozens of letters
.  He’d never heard
back
. 
He’d figured she’d made a
cold, clean break.  And yet here were very warm tears in her eyes.

One thing that had changed about her: he’d never seen her this discombobulated.

He looked at the white wall and tried to not think too much.  She’d be back again any minute.

He’d had no plan after their wedding.  It was more an end in itself.  They’d dated for years.  She’d been his best friend.
  They had been two American
s
in a sea of Brits.  They’d become one another’s home.  It was them against the world.

The night she declined his proposal, where she’d ended their relationship, he’d sat on the edge of his bed with a handful of Tylenols trying to catch his breath.  In the end, he couldn’t come up with a reason to live, but he couldn’t come up with a reason to end it, either.

In retrospect, he knew that joining the order, giving in to his father’s and brothers’ urgings, was his suicide, far more effective than over-the-counter medicine. 
A cold, clean break.

He thought he heard her call his name.  His senses jarred to the present.  Had she called his name or had his mind just drifted?  “Callista?” he called weakly.  No answer.

Finally he saw her peering out around the door.  “Edward?” she asked quietly.  “Come here.”

He followed her to a small lounge area.  Two chairs were positioned squarely facing each other across a table.  A cup of coffee steamed at either end.

“We’re out of tea,” she apologized.  “And I’ve come to like coffee better.”

“That’s because you’re American.”  She wasn’t looking him and didn’t even acknowledge the attempted renewal
of their longest running
joke.

She had come to London with her parents when she was seven.  Her father worked in the
American consulate.  It was her “flaw” - she wasn’t a nice British girl like his
father
would have wanted.  He used to pick at her endlessly on the point. 

It was completely ridiculous.  He was American, too, and the last thing his father would have wanted for him was any sort of girl at all.

Of course, she didn’t have any real flaws.  Not in his eyes.

Maybe she had flaws now.  He had a feeling seven years had given him better vision when it came to things like that.

“Sit,” she said, motioning toward his chair.  She took the sea
t across from him and sipped
her coffee.

“So…”
she said, looking down into
black cup.  Her black blouse was distractingly form fitting.  He just looked at her.  She looked up, caught his eyes, and then looked down again.  He couldn’t stop looking at her.  His eyes felt sore.  “So, I got my medical degree.  Peace Corps, couple other aid programs wouldn’t accept my application, so I just…”

“
Lisbaad
?” he asked.

“I wanted to go to China, but it was too hard for me to get to the mainland.”

“
Lisbaad
?” Edward repeated again, incredulous.  She shrugged.  “I like your clinic,” he said.

She grinned ever-so-slightly.  “Thank you,” she said with a tired sigh.

“I got my Doctor of Divinity, just like pops and brothers wanted.  I’m a full-fledged missionary now.”

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Four months.  You?” he asked.

“A few years.  Not long after I finished my residency.”  He nodded.  “What kind of work are you doing here?” she asked.

“The Onge.  I’m working with them.  The native tribe south of here.”

Her eyes widened.  “They are crazy.  They won’t trade.  They won’t even let me see their sick.  Well, except once.  One exception proves the rule.”

“The rule that they’re crazy?” he asked.

She nodded, then laughed.  She was cheering up.  Her laugh was the same, too.  Edward felt familiar with her though they’d been so long separated.  “I suppose you’ll defend them?” she asked.  “You’ve gone native?”

“Well, I’ve worked with a few tribes.  All my work with the Jesuits has been with native peoples, missionary work.  These
Onge
are definitely the most odd.  They lack culture, and yet they are very organized.  They are fixated on survival.  And very violent.  They only let one white man interact with the tribe at a time.  I’m the white man right now…”

“That doesn’t sound like a defense.”

“They’re crazy.”  They both laughed
, then stopped suddenly
.  He’d forgotten for a moment that they hadn’t spoken in years.

They sipped their coffee deliberately. 

This is surreal.  I finally meet her again and I’m talking anthropology.

Now she was looking at him.  He felt a fleeting rush
through his stomach
.  “I thought you -”
he started to say.

“What, go back
to
the States?  Marry an ambassador’s son and never work a day in my life?”  There was a bitter edge to her voice that she could not fully disguise from him; she was forcing playfulness.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “You never mentioned becoming a doctor and saving the Sri Lankan coast
from plague and pestilence
.”

“Well, you always mentioned being a Jesuit.  One of us had to change things up.”  His father, his bro
thers, they always mentioned him
becoming a Jesuit.  He only mentioned his fights with his brothers and father. 

She was digging at him.  He didn’t really know why
, but h
e didn’t feel up for an argument. 
Why did she want
an argument
?
 
He
could barely muster what it took to look at her and keep a goofy grin off his face. 
She apparently wasn’t quite so happy to see him. 
What’s her deal?

“Would you like anything to eat?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” he said.  She sipped her coffee.  He watched.  “I looked for you a few times, when I was back in London,” he said.  She continued sipping.  “I looked for you in every city I traveled.  I always thought that somehow we’d catch up.”

She set the cup down
carefully
.  Still, it made too much noise, and the drink almost lapped over the side.  She smiled deliberately.  “Well, it is certainly wonderful to see you, Edward.”
 
She sounded like a ghost in a creepy movie.

He remembered the day he’d asked her to marry him.  Her “No, I can’t, Edward, not now, it’s a bad time,” had carried the same hollow, deliberate sound and pacing to it.  It gave him chills.

The receptionist poked her head in.  “I am most sorry to disturb, madam, but the inspector from St. Mary’s is here.  He needs a moment of your time.”

Callista rose.  “If you’ll excuse me, Edward, it will only be a moment.  This clinic is funded, actually, by your Jesuits, and every few months they do an inspection.”

“I don’t want to be seen,” said Edward.

“He’
s a Jesuit.  Maybe you know him,” she answered and started to walk out.

He grabbed her wrist gently.  H
er skin felt electric
.  “I can’t be seen, Callista.  Is there a place I can hide?”

Her eyebrows arched, then furrowed.  “There’s a closet.  Maybe he won’t look there.  He’s doing an inspection, though.  He usually looks at everything.  Follow me.  Sorry, I can’t put him off.  ” 

She led
Edward
into a supply closet down the hall.  The location gave him reservations. 
If the inspector were to open the
door
, Edward had a lot of explaining to do.  “Is there a back door?”
Edward asked.

A baritone
drone
rolled
down the hallway.  “Please tell Dr. Knowles that if she isn’t available, I could return at another time.”  Edward recognized the voice.  He’d met the older man
at St. Mary’s when he’d first arrived at the Isle of Lisbaad.

Callista turned abruptly and walked toward the entrance.  She pointed to the back of the building.

“Hello, Brother Fields,” she said.  “I’d be more than happy to help you today.”  She turned the corner. 

Edward darted down the hall in the direction she’d pointed.  He passed the exam rooms.  He saw no exit.  He was trapped. 

He
skidded
back to the closet and closed its door behind him.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out white shelves filled with medical supplies - syringes, gloves, basic first
aid materials, nothing fancy
.  It didn’t seem like she had what he needed.

Maybe she can help me find it
, though.

He could hear
Callista’s conversation with Fields
through the door.
It was obvious by
the inspector’s
tone that the man was only going through the motions.

“How many patients have you had since I was last
here
?” asked Fields.

“At least a couple hundred, most of them locals,” she answered.

“There was a plague…”

“In the southern stretches of the island.   I got a few of the cases.  Just influenza.”

“Their outcomes?”

“
All favorable
.  After isolation, of course.  When my clients pay nothing, there is little benefit
to me
in having plagues sweep through the city.  Unlike Western practices…”

Fields chuckled and asked, “Any change in your facilities?”

“None.  Well, the paint, of course.  Would you like a tour?” she asked.

“N
aturally.”  Edward heard their footsteps draw
near
.  He tensed.  He simply had nothing prepared for the eventuality of Fields
discovering
him in
a
closet. 

I should have just confronted
Fields
.  I could have come up with answers to all the questions…why didn’t
you
check in at St. Mary’s?  Why have
you left your
post? 
O
n and on.
  Easy fibs.

Why
are you hiding
in a closet? 
Edward didn’t have a fib for that one
.

Their footsteps passed his closet, down the hallway to the little rooms. 

“How are your supplies?” Fields asked. 
He’s going to want to see this closet. 
Edward
wasn’t home free yet.  He had
such an urge to
get out
that
he felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

“Too low.  Always too low.  Here’s exam room number one, if you remember from before, freshly painted like everything else,” she said.