Good For You

In some ways, returning last year was even more depressing. We’d made an impact that first year I volunteered, and returning a year later to find nothing improved made me want to scream with frustration. I’d never ful y understood my parents and Deb when they talked about social progress in terms of two steps up, one step back—sometimes two. Deflated, I cal ed Deb in San Diego, where she was doing a summer research internship before her last year of med school.

“Dori, smal gains are stil gains. Sweeping changes occur over time. They’re hardly noticeable while they’re occurring. Think about the difference thirty, forty, or a hundred years have made in things like race relations, animal testing, or recognition of addiction as a disease.” Her rational words calmed me, but couldn’t stop the whine that seeped into my voice. “It’s not fair.” She chuckled softly. “I know, sweetie. But the world doesn’t operate on fairness. You know that as wel as I do.” Talking to Deb can be like having your hand held while you swal ow nasty-tasting medicine or get a shot. She can’t make the bad stuff go away, but she makes it easier to take. “If you want to make a difference eventual y, you just keep on.”

I heeded her advice then and over the past year, and here I am in Ecuador for a third time, more prepared for the conditions I’l find and ready to tackle them.

Using this time to overcome the reckless feelings I’ve developed for Reid is something else I have to do. I vow to return to LA in a more rational frame of mind, because over the past 48 hours I’ve done little but recal abstracts of him like a series of film clips: His disdain the morning I met him.

His sarcasm and charm, and the unsettling way they combined to make him impossible to ignore. The pride on his face when he finished the shelves. The surprise in his eyes when he blurted out the truth about his parents over dinner. The gentleness of his kiss.

Once I get through customs, I’m met by Ana Diaz, a missionary who resides here year-round, trying to reach and educate as many Ecuadorian kids as possible.

“Welcome back, Dori,” she says, hugging me.

By 1:00 a.m., I’m staring at the bottom of the bunk above By 1:00 a.m., I’m staring at the bottom of the bunk above me, restless and awake, surrounded by the soft, slumbering breaths of the women I’l meet tomorrow. I could blame my sleeplessness on the cold—the nighttime temps in Quito are around fifty degrees year-round—but I’m not dense enough to think a bit of a chil would keep me from sleeping after this exhausting day.

The truth is, I’m sufficiently warm, recal ing Reid’s fingers playing through my hair, holding my face and trailing down my bare arms, his mouth on mine. The sensations that warm me are the same delicious sensations responsible for my insomnia, but my mind refuses to meditate on something else, anything else. For tonight, I surrender, my hands restless under blankets softened and worn from use.

Tomorrow wil be soon enough to begin erasing him.

Chapter 31

REID

“You’re certain about this?” I can’t recal Dad ever looking at me with such an incredulous expression, and believe me, I’ve witnessed incredulity on his face a mil ion times.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Saturday mornings, my father is in his home office, catching up on whatever work he didn’t vanquish in his sixty-hour work week. The idea that Mom or I would disturb him before noon is inconceivable, since we’re usual y asleep. So when I knocked on his door at 9:00 a.m., he seemed disconcerted by my appearance. Then I told him I had a financial matter to discuss, apart from our monthly consultations over my expenditures and investments. He regained his composure quickly, obviously expecting me to request additional cash because I’d run through my al otted spending money ahead of schedule.

Instead, I told him I wanted three cars purchased and delivered to the Diegos, anonymously, on the day they get the keys to their house.

“But the anonymity…” he says, brows drawn together.

“No PR? No tax break? It’s a significant financial output for no personal advantage.”

His tone says he’l do what I want, even if he’s baffled by the uncharacteristic request. It’s my money, after al ; he just manages it for me, since I’ve never taken much interest in anything beyond spending it. “It has to be anonymous. And you just described most of my expenditures, when it comes down to it.”

He chuckles in spite of himself. “Point taken.” He frowns one final time. “And this has nothing to do with the girl.” I smirk. “Dad, what exactly are you suggesting?” He huffs a breath through his nose and scowls, his gaze never leaving my face, ever the legal eagle. “I think you know damned wel what I’m suggesting, Reid. I usual y overlook your… indiscretions… but the Diego girl is underage.”

Deep breath, in and out, through my teeth. “Yes, I got the idea after seeing firsthand the unreliable piece of crap she’s driving around LA.” I hold up a hand to silence him.

“But I don’t want any of them to know about my connection to this, so it can hardly be used as bait. As out of character as this may seem to you, it’s something I want to do.

Reparation for the harm I caused. Humor me.” He’s silent for a moment, after which he shrugs. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but al right. These are the vehicles you want?” He points to his monitor, where he’s pul ed up the links I sent last night.

“Yeah. John and I built them online to confirm which features were available, so those are the exact specs.