The Lost - J. D. Robb [103]
“Yes. And before you can ask, I tried to leave for the last time about twenty years ago. I cannot. There is no way to explain the force that keeps me here, but it is not human or man-m ade. And at this point there is a whole village of people who depend on me for their livelihood.”
He was nobler than he gave himself credit for.
“Woman, stop looking at me as though I belong with your martyred saints. Go now. I will see you this evening.”
She kissed him, a quick kiss of promise and parting. If she had known what was coming, she would have made the kiss a farewell embrace he would never forget.
Isabelle was committed to her work. It had always been what came first in her life. Last night had changed that. She could hardly wait to see Sebastian again, to do whatever he wanted to do up to and including making love all night long again.
She was not sure if Sebastian loved her beyond amused affection and passion, but she loved him. Their future was uncertain at best, but their present was filled with hope.
Isabelle changed and washed up as quickly as she could and hurried to the healer’s house. Esmé looked awful, as though she had drank and smoked everything she could think of. Why was she at work if she felt so bad?
“You bitch!” The healer wailed and tried to slap her. Isabelle knew how to defend herself and, in less than a minute, Esmé was on the floor, with Isabelle sitting on her back.
“Why are you calling me names?”
“You slept with him.” With that, Esmé’s rage disappeared. It felt as though she were a balloon that had lost all its air. Isabelle moved off her back and sat on the floor beside her.
“Yes, I stayed the night. Why does that upset you?”
“You are still as pure as you were yesterday. He loves you?”
“I don’t know!” Isabelle’s uncertainty came out as anger, and she took a deep breath and tried again. “He hasn’t said the words, but I love him and I think that’s what matters.”
“How can you love someone you hardly know?”
“I have never thought loving someone was about time, but about the connection you feel with them. You know what I’m talking about if only because you and I do not have it.”
“You hate me.”
A hangover-i nduced pity party was imminent. Isabelle got up and went to find the teapot. “I like you and respect your work immensely, Esmé. But there is something missing. Or something so important to you that it will keep us from being any closer than professional colleagues. If friendship is important to you, then you will tell me what it is.”
“No.” Esmé struggled to her feet. “But I can tell you that I can no longer work with you. Leave this house and find some other way to amuse yourself.” Esmé grabbed the teacup from Isabella and pushed her toward the door. “And stop being a fool. Of course it matters if he loves you. If he doesn’t, you will be sent away the moment he grows tired of you or when you begin to demand too much. He is just a man after all.”
Ten
Before Isabelle could answer, argue or leave, a man and woman came through the door carrying a boy whose foot was covered with blood-soaked linen. She could not recall their names but did remember that they had been among the first to come for inoculations.
“He was playing with his brother,” his mother began but started to cry.
The boy’s father patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and took up the story. “They were supposed to be harvesting coconuts, but they grew tired of that and began to use the machete as a toy. Herreo cut his foot and I think he cut off his toes.”
The boy was in shock. As Esmé unwrapped the linen and exposed the wound, it was a relief to see that Herreo still had his toes, though they looked seriously damaged. What a relief that one of the shots they had agreed to had been against tetanus.
The healer began the process of cleaning the wound. Isabelle stayed in the corner of the room, observing. She bit her lip to keep quiet but when Esmé stopped running water over the injury after less than five minutes, Isabelle had to speak. “Healer, I will collect more water if you will wash it out for at