CONTINENTAL DRIFT
An Epic Overseas Carby Exploration

(Post-"Now What?")

CHAPTER FIVE: TELL ME, CAN YOU FEEL ME?

Rating: PG-13 (or the new equivalent) with cautioning for romantic situations.

Summary: The aftermath of the injured plane and the fate of its passengers highlight the chapter. Timing and destiny play ironic games once again. Abby gets a chance to look in the mirror, while the tiny baby gets under her skin.

Disclaimer: Of course, I have no rights to the ER characters, but I claim copyright to the story and dialogue. Thanks.

Author's Note: Relief or anger? Love or pain? What would you feel if you were them? If we expected things to be black and white, we would watch another show. This is another extremely long chapter that sets the stage for the drama to come. Lots of subtext, if you like that sort of stuff.

Hearing from you has been so nice—and helps me gauge how well things are coming across. Thank you so very, very much.

FATE HIDES IN the sky behind the stars and arranges the destiny of souls like pieces in a chess game.

"That's nasty," said Albrecht as he stuck his finger into the 3-inch cut across Carter's chest. He lifted the skin up and away from the muscle below. Abby couldn't help herself when she reached over him to smooth it down again. Carter didn't feel any of it, as he was having trouble maintaining consciousness. However, even in his state, his arm rested beneath his back, guarding the memory of a painful assault.

"He should be fine once we stitch him up, right?" Abby knew the answer but needed reassurance.

"Right?" She repeated trying to get Albrecht's attention during the chaos.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Abby persisted.

"He'll be fine," Albrecht finally answered.

Abby wanted more. "He's out cold. Shouldn't he get a head CT or something?"

"Where would you propose we do that?" Albrecht asked.

Abby sighed heavily. "This is insane," she muttered as her eyes scanned the understaffed, ill-equipped hospital. She angrily folded her arms across her chest and tossed her head to free her eyes of fallen strands of hair.

"Abigail, I checked him out. He is in and out—not out cold. We'll x-ray his skull to check for a fracture, but I think he's going to be fine."

Carter was lucky—he and Luka were lucky—that Bendu the pilot was able to drop the plane through some trees, which served to break its fall. Once on the ground, Bendu thought quickly and jumped from his seat, flung open the cargo hold, and in one motion slid Luka's stretcher out of the plane. He went back and dragged Carter out by the foot just as the smoldering wing ignited the gas tank. Then he collapsed himself. Right now, Bendu lay conscious with a bloody gash to the forehead in the trauma room.

Luka lay a few yards from Carter in the isolation ward. He was unconscious, dehydrated, and bruised as much from the collapse of the Matenda clinic as from the plane crash.

"If we can get the x-ray equipment up and running, I'd like to check Carter's back," Albrecht said. "He complained of pain when I found him."

"He had a back injury. He was stabbed," Abby explained.

"Really?" Albrecht asked. "Mugging?"

"No." Abby answered. She suspected he was teasing, but she was never sure.

"Well, he doesn't really seem the type for bar brawl. Vengeful lover maybe?" He winked at her.

"Patient had a psychotic episode," Abby answered abruptly. "He stabbed Carter and killed a med student." She let her fingers brush through Carter's hair.

Albrecht realized his humor was not appreciated.

"Let me set up x-ray for both of them. Then I'm going to need to suture that chest lac."

"Can I do it?" Abby asked, but Albrecht ignored her to go rev up the 1983 x-ray machine.

She turned to Angelique, who was setting up an I.V. to rehydrate Luka on the other side of the room.

"Is it all right if I stitch up Dr. Carter?"

"Have you sutured before, Abby?"

"Many times. I was a med student before I went back to nursing."

"Then go ahead—one less thing for the doctors to do."

Abby looked up just as Claire entered. She was the nurse Abby met in the Paris airport with Albrecht.

"Damon is setting up in x-ray. Who first?" Claire asked Angelique.

"Let's get Dr. Kovac in first. Did the supplies come?" Angelique asked.

"Yes—no lidocaine, but there's Cipro this time, and some vaccine—Rubella, I think. Damon wants to make a run to the camps as soon as Carter, Kovac, and the pilot are stable."

They released the lock on Luka's stretcher and wheeled him out.

"Abby, go ahead and stitch him up," Angelique said regarding Carter. "Whatever's lido's over there is yours, but that's it. Lucky for him he got a knock on the head, eh? I'll do the pilot's forehead lac."

Ha ha, lucky for him . . . Abby was too worried to see humor.

Abby gathered suturing supplies on a little cart near Carter. She went across into the makeshift nursery where Colette slept peacefully and grabbed a small white cloth and a little bowl. She filled the bowl with warm water from the sink and brought the bowl and cloth with her to the isolation room. With her foot, Abby closed the heavy wooden door that separated the isolation room from the main ward and pulled up a stool next to Carter. Alone in the room with him, she immersed the clean cloth in the warm water, wrung it out, and gently began wiping the dust from his face and the blood from his torso. As she worked, she stared at him and wondered if he'd wake up and know she was there taking care of him.

Soon the soft, damp cloth on his body erased the pained look on Carter's face. But for Abby, the pain starting growing the more she touched him—pain confused with worry and mixed with anger and tinged with . . . love. When he seemed to relax, she inched closer to him and spoke to him in whispers.

"I'm so mad at you," she said softly while she rinsed the cloth in the bowl and wiped his forehead. Her lower lip quivered.

"How could you just leave me like that?" She covered her index finger with the damp cloth and wiped it across the lips she'd kissed so many times. Her throat tightened.

"Didn't you even think about—?" Her whispers got caught behind the lump in her throat.

Abby filled a syringe with the bit of local anesthetic that Angelique left and injected it into the skin on Carter's chest. She prepared her needle and began.

One, two . . .

She threaded two sutures through his cut, and he stirred a bit.

"Shhhh, it's okay. It's me. You're going to be fine." And she kissed him gently on his temple.

From beyond the door, she began to hear the mild cries of Colette.

Three, four, five . . .

Carter began to shift uncomfortably. She grabbed the syringe and tried to eek out any remaining medication from it.

Colette began to fret loudly in her nursery.

Six, seven, eight . . .

When she pierced his skin this last time, his eyelids began to flutter.

Carter couldn't see anything. Even if he could, his lids would not stay open no matter how hard he pulled them apart. He tried to sense where he was, who he was, and how he got to . . . wherever this place was. But there was something familiar surrounding him—he could smell Abby's skin. It was the same soft scent he memorized when he left their Paris hotel room. He could smell her skin and feel her touch.

"John, can you hear me?"

His chest moved with uneven breaths. His throat was dry, making it hard to swallow.

"Abby?" he said in a short whisper. His eyes still closed.

"Yes."

"I can . . . feel you."

Her worry ate away at her rage and completely consumed it. There was no stopping the tears now, and she wiped them on her sleeve.

"Everything is going to be okay," she sniffled.

"It hurts."

"I'm trying not to hurt you."

Colette cried loudly now on the other side of the door. The baby tried desperately to connect with Abby, and it upset Abby even more to ignore Colette while she finished Carter's sutures.

Nine, ten . . .

"Abby, you're hurting me." He grimaced.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Eleven, twelve.

"I'm done. It's not going to hurt anymore."

"Abby, I'm sorry—"

"We'll talk about it when we get out of here."

"I miss you." And his eyes slipped closed again.

"Carter?"

Abby looked up as the sound of Colette's shrieks grew closer and closer. Soon the heavy wooden door creaked open, and Claire entered. In her arms she held Colette, her little face was red and her legs thrashed about. Claire held a baby bottle in her hand.

"Sorry, but Angelique says she's disturbing the patients. I changed her diaper—the ones on the line, right? And I tried to feed her but—"

Abby removed her gloves and got up.

"Thanks, I'll take her." She dug the infant from Claire's arms. "She's not hungry, she just wants to be held."

Abby read the baby in a way that she couldn't read Carter.

"Sorry," Claire said.

"Thanks for trying," Abby said. "Sometimes she's a little cranky."

"Aren't we all?" Claire said and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe of the room.

Abby smiled at Claire, who had a friendly smile of her own that made you relax in her presence. She was blond and attractive—older than Abby by only a few years, but her sun-leathered skin made it seem like more.

"You doing okay?" Claire asked.

"Yeah."

"Sorry I got you into all this."

Abby looked at Carter, who now lay peacefully on the table, and said, "I'm actually glad I'm here, if you can believe it."

"These guys were lucky," Claire observed tactfully.

"Yeah."

"Oh, I almost forgot. As soon as you're done, Damon wants you to go on the vaccination run with us."

"Vaccination run?"

"When fresh vaccine is delivered, we put the word out and go to the refugee camps as fast as we can. There isn't good refrigeration here, so we have to distribute it as fast as possible. Today we got Rubella. We'll save some lives today."

"I'll be there," Abby said. From the corner of her eye she saw Carter drifting into consciousness on the table. She began impatiently shifting from foot to foot with the baby in her arms, hoping Claire would leave.

"When you're done, join us out front, okay?"

"Sure thing."

Colette was calm in Abby's arms and was content to grab the stretchy cotton of her shirt and tug at it for amusement. Abby walked over to Carter, who stirred slightly on the table. With one hand, she rubbed his forehead.

"Shhh, it's okay," she reassured him.

Carter managed to open his eyes a bit; focusing was another challenge. But through the fog of pain and weak consciousness, he made out the vision of Abby and a—baby?

With one hand, Abby cleaned up her supplies and did not notice at first when Colette released her grip on her shirt and instead grabbed a newborn fistful of Carter's hair.

"No baby, let go." Abby laughed a little and grabbed her tiny hand to prevent her from pulling too hard. "Colette, let go honey." She pried her little fingers off his soft brown hair, but the baby held onto him. "Colette!" Abby said firmly and finally extricated the tiny fist from his head.

She smoothed down his hair and was rewarded with his open eyes on her. He blinked rapidly as he tried to avoid the harsh overhead light, which pulled his pupils into points and made his head hurt—more than it already did.

Where is this place? Carter tried once again to remember what happened to him—to his life. He blinked and blinked again until he was able to make out Abby's warm, round brown eyes and softly sloping nose. He could see those familiar full lips. Her hair was twisted into a barrette but several pieces cascaded over and made pretty strings around her head. In her arms, she indeed held a tiny baby. He could see her kiss and soothe the child, and the sight made the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

"Hi," she said, still touching his hair.

"Hi" he said. "What am I doing here? Are you okay? Whose baby is that? Where have you been? Is that my patient in Trauma 2? I thought Kerry had you on nights this week . . ."

Abby touched his hair and saw his lips moving, but all that came out was a groan.

She can't hear me, he thought. She doesn't know what I'm feeling.

"It's okay," she said. "Things are going to get better."

Things are going to get better.

He couldn't place anything; he didn't know where he was—until she said those words. It all came back to him.

He remembered.

It was an hour or two after Gamma's funeral—after Abby's brother Eric made a mockery of Gamma's farewell. He came to the hospital to look for her but got sucked into the ER vortex, as was bound to happen. Abby found him in the middle of a trauma but insisted that he let Chen take it. He did and pounded through the doors from Trauma 1 to Trauma 2 to Sutures, and she followed.

"Why don't we just get out of here?" she had said.

"I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have come," he said.

"It's okay," she said. "Things are going to get better."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah."

And suddenly Carter's memory of that day weeks ago slipped out of his lips and landed on Abby's ears with a thud.

"Can you leave me alone?"

She was startled—just as she was the first time she heard those words—and she stepped back from his stretcher.

"What?" Abby said—her pain drawn to the surface by his sentence.

But once again his eyes drifted closed, and his head dropped to one side.

Just then the heavy wooden door opened, and Albrecht peeked his head around.

"How did it go?" he said, and then invited himself into the room. He stretched on sterile gloves.

"I—I managed to close it with just 12," Abby said composing herself and pointing to her perfect suture line.

Albrecht touched it with his gloved finger.

"Beautiful job," he said.

"But he started coming around when I was suturing," Abby said. She lifted the empty lidocaine syringe and dropped it down hard. "I hurt him—more than I thought." Abby said to the air.

"Well, you probably got his attention at least," he said, dismissing her thinly disguised complaint with thinly disguised humor. "Angelique will take him shortly to x-ray his skull. But we've got to go, Abigail. You're coming with us to inoculate the children in the camps. That vaccine only stays fresh for so long. We've loaded the truck. Put the baby down and meet me outside."

Albrecht tossed his blond bangs and swung open the door, leaving as quickly as he came in.

She turned to look at Carter one more time, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him, uncertainty being a powerful repellent. Instead, she cupped the baby's tiny head in her hand, held her against her shoulder, and kissed her tiny ear. She slowly backed toward the door and watched him the whole way, unwilling to sacrifice a moment of the sight of him. And when she could go no further, she turned and left.

Carter could tell she was gone even with his eyes closed. He breathed as deeply as he could, but he couldn't capture the softness again. His eyes fluttered open, trying to find her.

Angelique entered, released the lock on his stretcher, and began to move him toward the x-ray room.

"Glad to see you're trying to come around, John." Angelique said to him.

But a powerful emptiness crept over him. Carter closed his eyes and crawled deep into his head once again . . .

"John. John!"

. . . because when he searched for Abby in his mind, he never, ever failed to find her.


PRINCE CHARMING WAS dressed and ready to go to the Carter Foundation event and give away a small piece of his fortune to ensure good concert tickets for the rest of Gamma's life. However, he took on one last patient, though it threatened to make him late. It was a woman hurt in a motor vehicle accident along with her husband. Jessie Callahan was her name. Her injuries were severe and ultimately fatal. Her husband, Tom, would survive with surgery, but he wouldn't allow them to take him to the O.R. without seeing Jessie—he wanted to be there with her and hold her hand when she passed.

Carter left the trauma room but looked back through the doors just as Tom Callahan was wheeled beside his dying wife. He recognized that kind of love. He felt it every time he conjured up Abby's face in his mind.

Carter shed his paper gown, exposing his tuxedo underneath. When he looked down the hall, he spotted Abby waiting for him by the desk wearing a pretty black dress. She smiled and tossed him a little wave to signal she was ready for their evening. She was beautiful. Her golden hair drew him like a light, and he flew to her.

He gave away $10 million that night toward a concert hall or something else he regarded as insignificant. He cringed when his name was called to present the check and flatly refused his grandmother's request to serve on the board of the Foundation, knowing it would virtually guarantee a lifetime of check presentations.

Abby felt differently—and was happy to tell him so. She saw a world of opportunity to put his generosity to good use. He saw nothing but shame. What bothered Abby most was that this John Carter, the one born into privilege, did not like himself very much.

She talked to him about his shame. She badgered him to change the Foundation's priorities, if he so chose. She implored him to use the money to help people rather than deny its existence. But clearly the money represented something more to him, and they argued.

The ride back to her apartment was silent until they pulled up in front of her building.

"Good-night," he said.

"Good-night?" she repeated indignantly. She was expecting something more like, "I'm sorry."

"I've got an errand to run," he said.

"Errand?"

He was silent and offered no explanation.

"You're not coming upstairs?" she asked.

"No, I—"

"Fine. Don't come up." She opened the door of the Jeep.

"Abby, wait." He grabbed her wrist. She didn't struggle—she wanted him to stop her. She slid back into her seat.

"It's McNulty."

Abby knew Dr. McNulty was an old-school physician that ran an inner-city clinic out of a storefront. Abby liked him—so did Carter. He was an occasional patient at County. McNulty ran his clinic on a shoestring, and Abby knew Carter admired him.

"His nurse came to see me today. I'm going to bring him a six-month supply of Actos for his diabetes—he won't come back to the hospital. Says he's too busy seeing patients all day."

"You want me to come with you?"

"No, I'll see you tomorrow." He caressed her wrist, which he still held in his hand, and leaned over and kissed her to declare a truce.

Carter stopped by the clinic, gave McNulty the medicine, and offered him some money for new equipment, which McNulty refused. He put a broom in Carter's hands instead. Carter humored him and vowed to himself that he'd come back one day with a check that McNulty couldn't refuse . . .

When Carter left, he headed toward his apartment but soon found himself right near Abby's building. He circled it over and over again until his cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"What are you doing?" Abby's voice asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you driving around my building?"

He said, "I feel bad about tonight."

"Me, too."

" I know you were just trying to help, Abby, but I've had to deal with this my whole life . . ."

"No, you've avoided it your whole life—ran away from it."

He was quiet. She knew him so well.

"Come up or go home, Prince Charming," she teased.

A few minutes later his key was in the door.

"You look tired," she said from her spot on the couch.

"I am."

He walked straight into her bedroom, stripped above the waist, and lay down on his stomach with his back to the door.

Abby followed a few minutes later. She was already dressed for bed—a thin, blue sleeveless pullover with matching soft pants. She jumped on top of the quilt and sat cross-legged. She watched him float on mattress waves until they came to a stop. She hoped the motion would jar him into better humor and maybe they could end their night free of clothes, stomach to stomach with his face buried in her neck.

But she could read the muscles on his back like tea leaves. They told her he was angry that he was born "different" and frightened that he'd turn out to be his father, a man he considered weak and vulnerable and at the beck and call of Gamma and her wealth.

Abby slid down on the bed slowly and curled up against him and laid her cheek on the skin of his back. Carter could feel her breathing. Her soft hair spilled over his body like a silk shirt. With the tip of her middle finger, she traced little circles on his smooth skin.

She whispered, "I like who you are, John Carter." She placed a small kiss on his skin and closed her eyes and rested on a pillow of his warm body.

She couldn't see, but his eyes were moist. He used the heel of his palm to wipe away tears—and the strength of her words to keep them from coming back.

She was his light.


FATE HIDES IN the sky behind the stars and arranges the destiny of souls like pieces in a chess game. And sometimes, it kisses you.

THE UNPAVED ROAD to the camps was not long, but it got bumpier and more uncomfortable the farther it got from the hospital. Not only did Abby's body take a beating, but the turbulent ride was making her sick to her stomach.

"When we get there," Albrecht explained, "we head straight for the Red Cross tent where supplies are distributed. We sent word ahead of the vaccine as soon as it arrived, so parents will already be lining up with their children. We'll inoculate as many as we can until the vaccine runs out."

Abby tried to rid herself of the nausea by thinking of the good work they were about to do, but her altruism fought with her concern for Carter and Luka—as well as with the passion-fruit juice and bread she had for breakfast.

"Damon, I've been meaning to thank you."

"For what?"

"For Carter."

"What was I going to do? Leave him there?" His less-than-gracious response surprised Abby, and she dropped the subject.

"Don't mind him," Claire said. "He had an argument with Angelique this morning about how to distribute the vaccine. Angelique is the law around here, and that makes him all pissy."

When they reached the refugee camps, Albrecht opened the back door to help Abby out, and immediately her eyes fell upon the thousands of people crammed side by side performing daily tasks of living in the muddy waters of the river. Abby slid out slowly, her eyes were wide and her mouth formed an "O" with her astonishment. The tragedy of the displaced population of this country unfolded before her. Abby had trouble finding strength in her legs. Albrecht closed the door of the vehicle and came up behind her to steady her. There was a line of people as far as Abby's eyes could see—parents holding children, hoping they would be one of the lucky ones to have their child inoculated against a disease that would no longer keep any Western child out of school.

"Oh my God," Abby whispered. "How did this happen?"

"It's been like this since the mid-nineties," Albrecht explained. "Civil war. There was fighting in Rwanda and Burundi first, and there was a massive inflow of refugees trying to escape the fighting there. That caused a lot of instability here in the DROC."

Abby looked puzzled. "D-R?"

"D-R-O-C. The Democratic Republic of the Congo. When you were a schoolgirl, you may have known this place as Zaire."

"I didn't know much about any place in Africa. I still don't . . . " She looked out onto the people and wished she had.

He directed her a few feet over toward the tent so they could begin setting up.

"Well, eventually the government here was toppled by a rebellion and a new government was set up. But the new government was challenged by a couple of neighboring countries—Rwanda and Uganda—and they fueled a new rebellion."

Under the tent, Albrecht set up a folding table and stool for himself and did the same for Abby, while Claire set up her own.

"But the new government was supported by other countries like Zimbabwe, Angola, Namibia, Chad, and Sudan," Albrecht continued. "They sent troops to defend it."

"Sound like chaos," Abby said.

"Millions of Congolese fled their homes to escape the fighting by all the different groups. More than three million people died here. There is supposed to be a cease-fire in place now—that's why we were able to set up these care stations. But there are still clashes every day."

As Abby helped set up the vaccination station, she tried not to stare at the jagged scar that ran across Albrecht's temple and linked his hairline to the corner of his left eye. She couldn't help but wonder what "clash" he was caught between that caused it, and it made her fearful. She tried even harder not to stare at the people drinking and bathing just yards from her in the contaminated waters. Sadness and nerves caused a lump in Abby's throat that stole her voice, and she could not speak for a long time.

CARTER'S HEAD HURT worse than he could ever remember. The torn skin on his chest burned, and his back ached like it hadn't for a year.

"Luka—" he said, his eyes barely open.

"Dr. Kovac is much better, Dr. Carter," said one of the nurses. "I heard them say he'll be airlifted out of Kisangani later or tomorrow. How do you feel? Do you remember what happened?"

He wasn't sure. He remembered the plane and the bullets and falling through the trees. He remembered being pulled along the ground away from the plane and looking up at Bendu Nyobi's face with a halo of the sun. He remembered the feeling of smoke filling his lungs. But he also remembered Abby's touch and her voice—and decided that his mind's eye saw her in a dream. So when sleep pulled him back again, he didn't resist.

"Dr. Carter. Dr. Carter!"

AS DARKNESS APPROACHED, Abby began to worry about being in the camps. While they were fortunate that the vaccine supply held up so long, the line of hopeful parents and children still stretched farther than she could see. But she was anxious to get in the truck and head back to the hospital—partly because she feared what might be hidden in the darkness of the Congolese night, but also because she wondered if anyone thought to feed and change Colette. She wondered if arrangements were made to airlift Luka to Kinshasa for the medical attention he really needed. And she wondered if Carter were feeling better and if he were lucid—and asking for her.

When night fell on the camps, it was black as pitch. Albrecht turned on the headlights of the truck just to dispense the last few vaccines. With the lights came enormous mosquitoes and giant beetles, and Abby shrank in disgust and fear. She sat on the folding stool hugging her knees to her chest.

Albrecht approached her and kneeled down. "Can you handle this a while longer? Claire will be with you."

"If you're going for pizza, skip the pepperoni for me."

He laughed at her, and his eyes smiled.

"Actually, I am going to check on a patient."

"The little boy with polio?"

"Uhhh . . . yes. The patient I told you about."

"Do you need any help?" Abby asked.

Her hair was pulled up into the metal barrette but for one wily strand, which he took and gently tucked behind her ear.

"You have a generous spirit." For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he touched her cheek and walked off.

"Let's wait for him in the truck," Claire suggested.

"Thank God," Abby said as she crawled into the truck behind the driver's wheel and closed the door against the insects. "I'm sorry. I can handle blood and vomit and body fluids of any kind—but I can't handle the bugs." Abby scratched the imaginary itches on her arms. She shuddered and cringed in disgust.

"Boy are you in the wrong place," Claire said, settling into the front passenger seat.

"See, I tried to tell you that in Paris."

Claire laughed and punched the button that opened the glove compartment and reached inside for a pack of cigarettes.

"You mind?" she asked as she removed one from the pack.

"No."

"Want one?"

"No, thanks."

"Health nut, huh?"

"Something like that," Abby answered, rather than explain that sometimes to her a cigarette was like candy and ice cream all rolled into one.

"He likes you," Claire said looking through the windshield out onto the darkness.

"Who?"

"Damon."

Abby thought her question was meant to be provocative. Judging by the far-off look on Claire's face, she thought it safer not to respond.

"Where are you from?" Abby asked.

"Texas. You?"

"I live in Chicago now, but I'm from Minnesota."

"So you've never felt heat like this I bet."

"Only when I turn on the oven in my apartment—which isn't very often."

"Married?" Claire asked.

"Not anymore."

"Is there a boyfriend or 'special someone' or are you going it alone?"

"Ummmm. All of the above," Abby answered.

"I guess the answer to my next question would be: It's complicated."

Abby smiled. "How about you, are you married?"

"Been there, done that—it's not for me," Claire said, exhaling smoke through her nose and mouth. "Don't get me wrong. I didn't mind being married. If it weren't for all the affairs, I'd still be."

Abby laughed, "I know what that's like. My Ex went to med school, and I worked to support us. So when he set up his girlfriend in an apartment, guess who was really paying for it?"

"Wow," Claire teased. "You're a good sport."

"That I am," Abby smiled.

The memory made Abby reach for a cigarette from Claire's pack.

"May I?" She didn't light it but rolled it between her fingers.

Claire hunched down in the seat and rested both knees up on the glove box.

"Actually," she said. "In my case, I was the one who had the affairs, not my husband."

Abby didn't know what to say. "Oh, I thought—"

"I know. I'm not proud of what I did. It was the wrong way to handle it. I hurt the poor son-of-a-bitch, and he didn't deserve that."

"Nobody does," Abby lamented.

"We were okay at the beginning. But one day . . . I don't know what happened . . . he just stopped talking to me," Claire recounted and took a deep drag off her cigarette and let the smoke escape with her words. "That was the beginning of the end for us. He grew miserable, depressed. I tried to keep us together for a while. Soon I thought, 'Us? Is there an 'us'?"

Abby listened.

Claire continued: "I'm not excusing what I did, and I'm not blaming him. But some people just push you out of their lives. They push you and push you to the edge of the cliff. I just decided to jump off before he pushed me over."

Claire sat upright in her seat and took a last deep drag on her cigarette. She rubbed it out in the ashtray as she forced a stream of smoke from her lips.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said to Abby. "I'm sure that's not what happened with you and your husband. He was probably just a creep."

"Yeah, he was just a creep," muttered the woman who could push harder than anyone.

Their talk was interrupted by loud cries. The screams broke through the symphony of crickets and other creatures that Abby did not want to imagine.

"What is that?" Abby asked and tried to look out through the truck windows by surrounding her eyes with her hands.

"Sounds like a woman," Claire deduced.

"A woman in pain," Abby added. "Should we do something?"

"We can't save every one of them."

"You think she was ra—"

"What do they say? 'War is Hell'? It's not always the guns, though . . ."

Abby shivered and made sure her door was locked.

Knock. Knock.

Abby jumped at the sound behind her head. She whipped around. Albrecht was rapping the back of his knuckle against the glass window of the truck.

"Abigail. Unlock the door."

She did and also the back door, and slid out of the driver's seat and jumped into the rear.

"Let's head back," Albrecht said and pulled quickly away from the camp.

WHEN CARTER FINALLY awoke well into the evening, he saw long blond hair and thick full lips facing him. "I knew you should have driven back from Matenda in my Land Rover," Debbie said to him at his bedside.

He blinked over and over and rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Slowly he came to recognize the hospital in Kisangani. He saw the screen door and placed himself in the isolation ward. He looked over and saw Luka, and it all came back to him. He was on a cargo plane with Luka and—

"It crashed." It was Debbie's voice again. "Your plane was hit. Do you remember that?"

Why did he think it to be Abby in front of him? Thousands and thousands of miles from Chicago and a world away, why would he possibly expect to see her face? Nevertheless, his eyes searched for her. He looked at his hands. He touched his own face. He could feel her.

But rather than calm him, the feeling upset him: She had taken over his thoughts, his dreams, and invaded his hallucinations. Even unconscious, he imagined her near and caring for him—and holding a baby—all the things that seemed so far off for them.

Carter lifted himself up on his elbows and felt sharp pains in his chest and back. He swung his legs off the uncomfortable stretcher, and slipped down to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Debbie asked.

"They need these beds for patients."

"I think you qualify."

"I'm going to sleep in my bungalow, thanks."

"Well, you'll need someone to look after you," Debbie said, moving very close to him. She took his hand in hers.

"I'll be okay, thanks."

Across the room sat Gillian holding Luka's hand.

"How's he doing?" Carter asked.

"Resting comfortably but still not awake. I don't even think he knows about the crash."

"Back in bed, Dr. Carter!" Angelique entered the room iron fist first. "Ladies, let the gentlemen rest please. This ward is now off limits. Shoo! Shoo!"

Debbie and Gillian filed out reluctantly.

"Thanks," Carter said. "I don't really feel like seeing anybody right now."

"Get some rest, John." Angelique checked his pulse.

ABBY COULD HEAR Colette wailing as the truck bounced over the muddy approach to the hospital a while later. They came to a stop, and Angelique met them.

"Abby, tend to that baby if she is your charge and then help with night meds in the main ward please."

As Abby slid out of the truck, Angelique touched her shoulder, "Abby, we are going to have to figure out what to do with her. She can't stay here much longer. She's using up all the infant formula, and it took months of red tape just to get what we have."

Before Abby could respond, Angelique walked quickly toward the isolation room, and though she wanted to follow, Abby knew Colette needed her. She ran to the little room, and as she suspected, everyone had been too busy to change her and feed her, and so she was fussing badly.

"Shhhhhh, baby." Abby picked her up to soothe her, but her damp and soiled bottom made the infant fidgety and irritable. With one hand Abby grabbed a clean cloth diaper from the makeshift clothesline that she strung herself to dry the diapers she washed by hand.

Angelique peeked in from the doorway.

"Abby, quiet her down—"

"I'm trying!" Abby snapped, but she regretted it instantly, knowing that Angelique had an uphill battle to keep the hospital running smoothly.

"I'm sorry," Abby said. "It's been a very rough few days."

Angelique nodded.

Abby added, "It would have been nice if one of the nurses changed the poor thing's diaper while I was gone."

"Yes, it would have," Angelique said and turned her head to the rows and rows of beds in the ward filled with sick and injured children and adults.

Abby understood. In the overwhelming task of saving lives, a soiled baby diaper seemed miniscule, and Abby looked away.

She placed the baby down and removed her dirty diaper and saw that irritation combined with the oppressive heat and the hours of fussing forced the stump of Colette's umbilical cord to fall off early. The baby's discomfort moved Abby.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you." She filled a small basin with some warm water and began to bathe Colette with a tiny cloth, sniffling up her tears and wiping her moist, tired eyes on the short sleeve of her shirt.

Soon Angelique was next to her. She put her hand on Abby's shoulder and wordlessly handed her a gauze pad with antibacterial cream for the baby's belly button and walked away.

"Thank you." Abby sniffled after her.

Angelique stopped in the doorway, nodded, and turned to walk back into the main ward.

"Angelique?" Abby called.

"Dr. Carter and Dr. Kovac . . . have you seen them yet tonight?"

"Yes, they're doing well. Dr. Carter is conscious; Dr. Kovac is sleeping."

"Did Dr. Carter . . . say anything?"

"No, not really—just that he didn't want visitors." Angelique said, a little puzzled by the question.

Abby could not hide her disappointment. She was not amused by fate, which put them so close yet miles apart. She was angry with herself for caring, and angry at him for not. And worse, she didn't know how he was feeling and thus couldn't tell if her anger was justified. It just seemed as if every step she'd taken to repair things was rejected—a far cry from when even the littlest steps meant so much.

WHEN ERIC VISITED with his new girlfriend Jody, Abby's senses told her she was in the presence of mania. She agreed to let them stay at her apartment and gave Eric the key from her locker to use while she was at work. Once there, she instructed him where to find her spare key—in the little china bowl atop her tall dresser.

That evening she and Carter met Eric and Jody at the Navy Pier for an evening of burgers and country line dancing. Though she was worried about Eric, she allowed herself to enjoy the company of her brother, his young-but-pleasant new girlfriend, and of course Carter. As fate would have it, that night became one of their most treasured memories. It wasn't giggling with her brother or recounting her Catholic school mischief or dancing in the crisp November air that made it special, it was what happened after.

Abby made provisions for Eric and Jody to stay over. Unfortunately, her one-bedroom apartment only allowed for Jody on the couch, Eric on the floor. However, Eric's new wanderlust made him impatient, and at the last minute he insisted they move on that night. He gave his sister a bear hug at the Navy Pier, shook Carter's hand twice, grabbed Jody, and practically ran to the rental car that would take them to the private airfield at Midway Airport where they'd continue on to Ohio in his Cessna. He returned Abby's spare key, and she placed it in the pocket of her jeans.

She drove with Carter in his Jeep back to her apartment and absentmindedly tapped her finger on his leg as she contemplated Eric. In her apartment, he checked his messages while she kicked off her shoes in the bedroom. He came in behind her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her onto the bed with him. They fell to the mattress with a thud and bounced a few seconds more, and they giggled so loudly she worried her neighbors would hear.

"What do you think you're doing?" she teased.

"Tell me more about that guy Rafe," he said and positioned himself over her and kissed her neck.

"Haven't you heard enough about my sordid past tonight?"

"Okay, then tell me about the little plaid jumpers—"

"Cut it out," she pretended to push him off her.

She laughed but soon he captured her eyes and leaned down to give her a deep, slow kiss spurred on by Jody's observation that Abby really loved him. They were "intimate," she said, "without needing to show off."

As he kissed her, she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close and was greeted by something moving rapidly against her stomach.

She pulled her lips away.

"That better be your pager."

"Don't worry. It is."

He laughed and topped off their kiss with a peck on her forehead. He rolled off her, sat on the bed, and removed the vibrating gadget from his belt.

"Luka." He surmised from looking at the tiny screen.

He reached for the telephone on her nightstand and dialed.

"Hey, it's Carter . . . Yeah, why? . . . Tonight? . . . Six hours? I'll give you four—I gotta be back there in the morning myself . . . See you soon."

He sighed loudly and hung up. "I'm going in for four hours—Pratt's off, and Luka's getting slammed."

"Now?"

"Yeah." He leaned down to kiss her and then stood to leave. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. You're in tomorrow, right?"

"No—I mean, yes. I'm on at seven. But it's just . . . I don't know . . . I thought we'd . . ."

"What?"

Abby couldn't say that she wanted to sleep next to him tonight. She couldn't express how worried she was about Eric and that she needed his company.

Instead, she just said, "Nothing. It's okay, go ahead."

He knew better by now. He sat on the bed again and wove his fingers through hers. "What is it?"

"Why don't you come back after your shift?" she said. It was as close as she could come to explaining her feelings.

"It'll be 3-3:30 in the morning before I get back. I don't want you to get out of bed to let me in. You have an early shift. I'll just see you tomorrow."

He kissed her head, gathered his belongings, and walked to the door.

"Hey." Suddenly she was right behind him. "You could let yourself in with this."

She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the duplicate key she had loaned to Eric.

Carter took it from her hand and stared in her eyes.

"You can hold onto it—if you want," Abby offered while staring down at her own bare feet.

She had succeeded in making him forget to breathe. Carter tilted her face up to his. "Yeah, I want."

She smiled and found the courage to add, "And I guess if you want to bring something over at some point . . ."

"Bring something over?"

"Yeah, next time you come over, if you want to bring something—"

"Something like what? Like . . . a casserole?" he teased.

"Something like clothes and . . . you know . . . stuff."

He was enjoying her discomfort but decided to spare her anymore. He leaned down and kissed her softly.

"I'll see you in a little while," he said and left.

"Wake me anyway," she said to him when he was already out in the hall.

Down in his car, he held Abby's key in his hand and stared at it like it was a Rolex watch—only worth a lot more.

During the four hours of his shift, Carter reached into his pocket and touched the key . . . and sutured a girl and touched the key . . . and bandaged a wrist and touched the key.

For Carter, having Abby's key meant she was as committed to their relationship as he was. As long as he had her key—it would stick.

In the wee hours of the morning, after three MVAs, a gunshot to the spleen, a kidney stone, and eleven flu victims, Carter slipped the key in Abby's door and entered her dark apartment. He made his way to the bedroom and found her asleep completely surrounded by her white down comforter like she was submerged in a cloud. He kicked off his shoes and removed his shirt and sweater down to his naked skin. He walked around to the far side of the bed and gently pulled the covers from her body—not an inch of her was covered by cloth. She breathed slowly, her body curved in a sleepy "C." He climbed in next to her and kissed her shoulder.

"Abby," he whispered. "Abby, wake up."

In her sleep, she sighed and rolled farther away from him onto her stomach.

He moved closer, slid her hair away from the back of her neck, and placed small kisses there.

"Open your eyes . . . " he said softly near her ear and then kissed a trail down her spine to the small of her back where it tickled.

She smiled through closed eyes. He moved back up and kissed her earlobe.

"You're home," she said in a breathy whisper, burrowing her face deeper into her pillow.

Her words overwhelmed him.

He swallowed hard and whispered, "Yes, I'm home." He reached over to find her lips and kissed them in the dark. He fell asleep next to her with his right hand resting on the curve of her waist.

In his left, he tightly clutched her key.

"MEDS IN THE main ward when you're through with the baby, Abby."

"I'll be there," she said softly as she cupped her hand in the basin and brought the water up to the baby's chest over and over again.

Colette cooed and looked up into Abby's eyes.

"All right, all right, we'll go see him," Abby said to the baby. "Just to check the sutures. But we're not speaking to him. Deal?"

The baby pounded her little fists into the water, splashing Abby and making her laugh out loud.

Abby lifted her from the bath. She dried her well, applied the antibiotic Angelique gave her, and dressed the baby in a clean diaper and undershirt. She prepared a bottle and fed her while seated in the broken wheelchair. Then they stepped out into the warm night and strolled in the direction of the isolation ward where Carter and Luka lay.

ON THE RICKETY wooden steps that led to the screen door of the ward sat two women sharing a cigarette.

"Hi, I'm Gillian," said the thin brunette with a long, dark ponytail.

"Debbie," announced the blue-eyed muscular blond.

"Hi, I'm Abby," she said, shooing a large mosquito that flew around her head.

The women laughed, which embarrassed Abby a bit.

"You're new," Gillian observed.

"I just got here a few days ago."

"Yours?" Debbie asked of the baby in Abby's arms.

"By default. I delivered her the day I got here. Her mother didn't survive."

"I heard about that," Gillian said. "How is she doing?"

"She's fine considering the rough start she's had."

Abby moved toward the steps, hoping the women would move aside.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Excuse me."

"You can't go inside," Debbie said.

"What?" Abby said, retreating.

Gillian took a long drag on her cigarette before she explained. "Angelique's orders—no visitors until morning."

"Do you know them?" Debbie wondered.

"I'm from Chi—"

"Abby!" Angelique called from the door to the main ward. She was faintly visible behind the tattered mesh of the screen.

"I need you for final rounds. For goodness' sake, put that baby down and come help."

Abby dared not cross Angelique—plus she saved Abby from having to explain herself to these two women, who made her feel oddly uncomfortable. Abby excused herself and entered the hospital through the main ward. She set Colette down in the nursery and helped Angelique give out nighttime medications. She checked I.V.s on all the patients and sat for a while holding a damp cloth to the forehead of a feverish young girl.

When all the patients were settled for the night, Abby stood over a basin of hot water and washed diapers for the next day. When she draped the last of them over the makeshift clothesline, she picked up Colette once again and stepped outside into the steamy night air.

"What are you going to do with her?" It was Albrecht's voice, and it came from behind her.

"I don't know," she said as the baby looped her fingers around Abby's thumb.

"We'll probably have to turn her over to the authorities," he said and moved over to her.

"No!" Abby raised her voice but then caught herself. "I mean, isn't there something else? Who's in authority here anyway?"

"Perhaps an international adoption agency can place her."

"What if . . . what if I wanted to bring her back to the U.S. with me?" Abby couldn't believe the words were coming out of her mouth.

"I don't think they'll just let you leave with a baby."

"What about all those strings you pulled to get me here?" Abby flashed a girlish smile, and Albrecht couldn't help but respond.

"Abigail, are you suggesting I use my contacts to help you smuggle a baby out of the Congo?"

He was teasing her, and Abby's smile disappeared.

"I just want to give her a chance." She lifted Colette upright against her shoulder and rubbed her back. The little girl set her cheek down against Abby's skin.

"I'm sorry—" He reached for Abby's face, but she pulled away.

"I better put her down for the night," she said.

Abby climbed the stairs of the hospital once again and headed toward the nursery. Before she put Colette in the little high bed, she nuzzled her nose next to the baby's soft cheeks and breathed in the essence of her baby smell. She placed her on the mattress and leaned down to kiss her forehead, her chest, and then her belly. She picked up Colette's tiny feet, one in each hand, and placed them against her lips.

"Good night, baby. See you in the morning."

Abby left and headed for bed. As she walked through the quiet main ward, her eyes fell upon the closed door of the isolation room.

On the other side of the door, Carter lay wide awake. He clutched his painful back and counted like sheep all the reasons he loved her—and cursed himself for never running out of them.

Abby passed by the room, turned her head away, and headed back to her bungalow.

On this night, as fate would have it, just a few feet apart lay a man who needed comfort, a baby who needed a mother, and the woman who loved them both.

FATE HIDES IN the sky behind the stars and arranges the destiny of souls like pieces in a chess game. And sometimes, it laughs at you.

NEXT—

Chapter 6: 'X' Marks the Spot

Life changes, and there's no turning back . . .