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I shake hands with each. “You’re all with Rx Smile?”
“I’m not,” answers Dr. Zarazoga. He’s the eldest, but his eyes are lively. “I live here. I’m on the staff at University Teaching Hospital.”
“On staff?” Jon, one of the doctors, jeers. “Chief of staff.”
“Years ago we all served Doctors Without Borders in one capacity or another,” Dr. Kapoor explains. “Michael’s the only one still working with Doctors Without Borders, but we still are all committed to providing medical care in Africa. Marques is director of a hospital in Zaire, Jon volunteers in Mozambique, and the rest of us work with various groups like Red Cross, Operation Smile, or UNICEF.”
These men would be an interesting story. They’re from different countries and are different nationalities, but they all want to do something positive, something to help. “So you’ve been friends for years?”
The fair-haired doctor, Tomas Voskul, makes a face. “I’m friends with them,” he says, pointing to three of the doctors, “but not him,” he says, gesturing to Michael. “I don’t like him. He’s not ugly like the rest of us.”
Everyone roars with laughter.
I can’t help smiling, too.
Tomas adds, “We were supposed to be on the bus for the mission site in Katete, but the roads are flooded thanks to the rain.”
“Will the mission be canceled?” I ask, concerned.
“No,” Michael answers. “But it’s frustrating right now. We have folks already in Katete, others stranded in Lilongwe, and then there are those of us here in Lusaka waiting to jump on the express bus— if it would only dry out enough that the bus could run.”
I can’t believe he’s here, and that I’m here, and that any of this is happening. “It’s surreal seeing you here,” I say to Michael. “It’s like I never left home.”
“Were you the one at the PSI office today?” Michael asks. “I heard there was an American TV crew filming there this afternoon.”
I nod.“I interviewed Jean. Do you know her?”
“She’s a lovely lady. How did you get on with her?”
“Great. I really like her. There’s something about her, isn’t there?”
Michael smiles at me, and it’s different from his other smiles. This one’s warmer, gentler.
Dr. Zarazoga offers to get me a chair so I can join them.
“I wish I could,” I say. “But I’m meeting people for dinner and I should get back to them.” I glance at the door, and yes, Howard’s standing there, looking forlorn. “It was nice to meet you. Sounds like I’ll be seeing some of you in Katete?”
I shake hands all around a second time, and then I’m heading to meet Howard. Chance meets us in the doorway, too. He’s brought my glass of wine for me. We chat for a moment. Apparently Howard’s not feeling very well. Chance thinks food might help and recommends the hotel’s restaurant. We leave the lounge for the dining room, and as we walk out, I look back over my shoulder at Michael.
He’s watching me.
I grow warm all over again, and a nervous fizz fills my stomach. I don’t want to like Michael. I have no desire to like Michael. But it’s going to be strange being in Zambia together.
“It rains almost every day here during the wet season,” Chance tells us over dinner, “but we also get dry mornings and afternoons, too. Let’s hope tomorrow will be dryer.”
We sit with coffee and a custard-type dessert. I’d forgotten how much influence the English had in Africa with their puddings and only pick at mine, my thoughts straying to the lounge where I left Michael and his friends. I wonder if they’re still having drinks or if they’ve left by now.
The last time I had a drink with Michael, I ended up kissing him. I still find that embarrassing.
I force my focus back into Howard and Chance’s conversation and discover they’re discussing our flight to Victoria Falls tomorrow. Howard’s looking forward to the trip, but he’s worried about flying in a little plane. “A six-seater, you say?” he repeats.
“I do have a bigger plane,” Chance answers, “but it’s experiencing engine troubles.”
“But the six-seater— ”
“My Cessna Skywagon.”
“Your Cessna. It is safe, isn’t it?” Howard presses, adding yet another teaspoon of sugar to his coffee.
“Haven’t killed anyone yet.”
I check my smile. I don’t think that was the answer Howard was looking for. “Have you crashed before?” I ask.
“Many times. But that’s part of being a bush pilot. Petrol stations are far and few, and control towers nonexistent. To be a good pilot out here, you rely on your control panel, use common sense, and luck.”
“Luck?” Howard echoes, turning green.
Chance turns to me. “Are you a nervous flyer, too?”
“Not as long as we don’t cr— ” I break off as I spot Michael entering the dining room.
Michael heads our way. “We’re braving the rain and going elsewhere for dinner,” he says on reaching our table, “but it crossed my mind you might enjoy meeting Meg, our Zambia mission director, in the morning. It could get you some background for your story and it’d help her forget about the rain for a while.”
“We’re flying out in the morning,” Chance says, leaning back in his chair. “Heading down to Livingstone.”
Michael looks at him, then me. “Thunderstorms are predicted for the morning.”
Chance gives Michael a cool once-over. “I’m aware of the weather.”
Tension crackles at the table, and I quickly handle introductions. “Howard and Chance, this is Michael O’Sullivan, a doctor and friend from Los Angeles. Michael, this is Howard, my cameraman, and Chance, our pilot and guide while we’re here.”
Howard shakes hands with Michael, but Chance doesn’t. Instead Chance’s expression is mocking. “What kind of doctor?”
“Plastic surgeon,” Michael answers evenly.
“You’re here for a safari?”
Michael’s lip curls. “It’s the rainy season.” He pauses ever so slightly. “Although I do understand it’s the new thing in tourism. Cheaper safaris. Come see the bush when it’s in bloom. Are the tourism board’s efforts working?”
“Wouldn’t know. I don’t work for the Zambian government.”
Michael turns back to me. “Here’s Meg’s contact info. If you don’t fly out tomorrow— and I hope you won’t try to fly if the sky isn’t clear— give her a call. She’d love to talk to you.” He gives me a faint smile, nods at the others, and walks out.
Everything feels different after he leaves. Flatter. Grayer. Duller.
I wish he hadn’t gone. I wish he’d pulled up a chair and stayed. I wish we were back in Big Bear and he was kissing me.
/> Chapter Fourteen
It rains all night, and it’s still coming down the next morning. We haven’t yet heard from Chance, but there’s no way we’re going to fly anywhere, not with weather like this. However, Howard and I have packed our bags and checked out of our rooms in the event the weather changes, which is making the wait even harder.
“I’d die if I had to live in Seattle,” Howard says glumly from his position in front of the lobby’s picture window, where he’s watching the rain.
“We need to do something. I think I’ll give Meg a call.”
“Good idea.” Howard brightens immediately. He doesn’t like sitting around any more than I do. The pace at America Tonight is frenetic. It’s hard to grind to a halt here.
Meg ends up coming to us, and I quickly write a set of questions to ask her during the interview.
Meg’s personality makes up for the gloomy weather. She shakes our hands, makes a joke about when it rains, it pours, and I marvel at her ability to stay so calm and sunny when a huge project is on shaky ground.
“It’ll happen,” she says confidently, sitting in one of the chairs. The microphone wire is hidden in her blouse, and she’s ready to go. “It’s just a matter of when.”
“But isn’t it a bit like a movie set?” I ask, getting the signal from Howard that my mike is working. “Every day people sit around is another day of wasted money.”
“We have invested considerable finances and resources,” she admits. “All of the medical professionals here are volunteers. These doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, and paramedics have used their vacation time, or taken time without pay, to be here, so time is the most precious commodity right now.”
She goes on to explain that the roads are the biggest problem. They’re underwater, and in some places, roads and bridges are completely washed out. “Despite the weather, we already have close to one hundred people lined up at St. Francis Hospital, hoping to be selected. That’s the part that makes me crazy. They’re there and we’re not.”
“Where are they coming from?”
“From all over the Eastern province. St. Francis is a large rural hospital, and they’ve been advertising our mission outreach for the past year.”
