His North Star

For the next mile, neither spoke. They continued arm-in-arm along the coconut trees. As they left the luxury grounds behind, the tarmac became an unpaved track. The buildings at the other side of the road became smaller and sparser; shacks of those who lived by the river. The trees beside them got denser; it grew increasingly difficult to get a glimpse of the coast through the thicket. Fewer cars and bikes passed them on the track. Other pedestrians thinned out, too. Gradually, the river wound away and disappeared altogether.

They continued following the coast. Every so often, he glanced at her. Whatever she was thinking, her facial expression didn't reveal it. For his part, he was still dealing with the lead anchor in his gut.

After another half mile, there was a break in the trees, marking a trail that cut east through the wild nut tree grove towards the coast. It would be easier to take this trail and then continue directly along the coast farther up, than to try to find their way through an unmarked grove another half mile down.

Nathan slowed his steps. Marília slowed when he did. She looked ahead at the trail, then up at him.

Their communication was wordless: he inclined his head questioningly, she paused in consideration then dipped her head. He nodded.

In mutual agreement, they turned into the trail.

At once, they were plunged into shade. The nut trees shielded much of the sun's brightness and some of its warmth. The trail was deserted, roughly a quarter-mile long and with a sloping gradient. The grass was low and the nut palms broken up by flowering shrubs, making it seem more like a garden than a wild grove. The beach itself lay at the low mouth of the trail. From here, he saw it as a ribbon of white sand, with blue water meeting the horizon.

Breaking the silence at last, he asked her, "What have you been thinking?"

"Mostly about the conversation we were just having, about racial problems."

Nathan managed a smile. He caressed her cheek. "Thinking of how frustrating white guys are?"

He'd meant it teasingly, but she sounded completely serious when she said, "Not at all. I don't let racism pain me to that extent. It's a waste of time since it's always going to be a part of humanity."

"To an extent, yeah. Although I think this is one of those issues where your misanthropy makes things seem bleaker than they actually are."

"Call it misanthropy if you like, but it's true. Even if everybody had the same skin color, people will still look for any reason to hate each other. Look at India and Pakistan. They're the same race but they fight like cats and dogs. It's a similar thing with the Balkan Wars."

"Marília, there were legitimate reasons for the Balkan conflicts."

"They're less legitimate when you pick them apart and examine them. At the heart of it, there's just always going to be a reason for people to see others as less worthy. I hate racism—I've been on the receiving end of it too many times. But I don't take it personally. I don't cry or rage. Because if somebody doesn't hate my skin, they'll only find something else to hate me for. Humanity's a curse onto itself."

There was something about this speech that hit the wrong chord in Nathan. It was the emptiness in her voice; the weariness of someone who had lived a thousand years, had seen everything that the human race had to offer, and was sick of it all.

It was the same emptiness in Jason Holst's eyes after he'd swallowed bleach pills.

The same weariness in Stéphanie Chopin's voice before she'd accepted the gadolinium shot.

Nathan came to an immediate standstill in the middle of the trail. He faced her squarely. "You wouldn't happen to be suicidal, would you?"

Surprise passed over her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. "I..."

The lack of an immediate denial lit a fire in him. Without making the conscious decision to do it, he went for her. He grabbed her. His hands clamped onto her upper arms, his fingers tightening as he jerked her closer. "Answer my question."

This time, fear passed across her face. "You...you're..." She put her fists on his chest, as if to push away. "You're holding me too hard."

His grip only tightened, his fingers biting into her soft flesh. His eyes drilled into hers. He heard the anger vibrating in his own voice. "Answer the question I asked you."

Her eyes widened. "Nathan, you're hurting me."

"I said answer me."

"I'm not suicidal. Of course I'm not." Her wide eyes were fixed on his. "It's true that I hate how the world is, but I wouldn't remove myself from it."

His grip didn't loosen. His eyes swept every inch of her face, searching closely. Was she lying? Was she trying to bullshit her way out of it?

"I wouldn't take my own life," she repeated. "I have things that I enjoy and people that need me. And there's my mother to consider. We grieved badly when my father died. I wouldn't make her go through that again."

Nathan heard the ring of truth in that. The fire in his chest began to die down. But then, even if she had no intention of killing herself anytime soon, that might change in future. Long after he'd returned to New York and was out of her life.

"Promise me," he ground out, "That you'll never intentionally do anything to hurt yourself."

Marília spread her palms over his chest. "I promise."

"Swear it."

"I swear."

The two words rang with honesty. The fire died down some more; enough for him to regain his presence of mind and realize that he was frightening her.

He eased his grip. "Sorry."

Freed, she massaged her upper arms where he'd grabbed them. All the while, she was looking at him in silence, her expression still uneasy.

Nathan released a long breath. "I'm sorry." He passed a hand over his face. "I wasn't—I'm sorry. I didn't intend to—you just had me worried for a minute. I'm sorry."

She watched him for some time. Whatever she saw on his face made the uneasiness in her eyes turn into understanding.

They stood in the middle of the deserted trail, the coconut garden around them. Shorebirds called. The ocean breeze whistled as it wound through the trees. The fire in his chest died, leaving him right back where he'd started; with darkness in his head. No answers. No idea what direction to take.

At last she said, "You've dealt with suicide before."

"Yeah." He rubbed his face again. "Two patients of mine." If he were speaking to anyone else, he'd stop there. Few things were as valuable to him as his privacy. But with her, he felt no hesitation laying it bare. "I should have found a way to keep them alive. A better doctor might have. It's why I came here in the first place. I'm looking for..." He paused, seeking words that didn't exist. "...I don't know."

Marília stepped closer to him, cupping his face in gentle hands. "Nathan, if those patients were determined to die, I don't know any doctor who could have saved them."

"You don't understand. One of them was just a kid. Bullied kid. Drank bleach. If I'd gone in straight with the bicarb and nalaxone instead of waiting for his electrolyte panel results, he might not have gone into cardiac arrest. I knew the right treatment. I just didn't start it in time."

"It sounds like you were being careful. You were right to be."

"Careful?" Nathan's lip curled in derision at both himself and her. "Careful over what? The kid was already at death's door. I had nothing to lose by going in."

"It would have been wrong if you'd started treatment without confirming the diagnosis. You could have done more harm than good."

"I knew it was hypochlorite toxicity. I knew. I should have started him on a lower dose first, then adjusted the dosage once his bloodwork came back."

"If you're choosing to find reasons to blame yourself, there's nothing anybody can say that will make you see reason. It's the same thing with the suicidal boy. He was determined to die. He chose."

Nathan didn't answer.

"What of the other patient?" she asked.

"A Canadian woman. She tried drowning herself after she was diagnosed with ALS. I sent her for an MRI scan. Turned out she had a reaction to gadolinium. I noticed her shaking hands when I examined her. If I'd suspected a motor disorder as I should have, I might have held off on the MRI scan until I'd talked to her primary care physician."

"You didn't kill her any more than you killed the boy. It's only that there was missing information. You couldn't have known everything. You're not God. You're a human doctor, and with how seriously you take the responsibility, you're a good one." Marília regarded him steadily. "And there's nothing to say that her life didn't end the best way it could under the circumstances."

"You can't tell me you agree with how she took herself out. That you'd do the same as her."

"I can't say. It's not a situation I've imagined myself in. Or that I want to imagine myself in. I don't have ALS, so I have the luxury of not needing to speculate or put myself in that position. She didn't have that same luxury. I can't say whether what she did was right or wrong—but she had a difficult decision, and she chose."

Again, Nathan didn't answer.

"I think it was wise that you took this time away," Marília said after a second. "When you go back, you might realize how much you were missing it."

"I'm not so sure about that. Going back to the ER, I mean."

She was still cupping his face. "What else would you do, then?"

"That's still under consideration. I might switch my residency to another specialty, but that's always difficult. It'd probably mean my moving to a different program at another hospital."

"Which speciality are you thinking of switching to?"

"Either Neurology or Anesthesiology."

She studied his face. "You think you'd enjoy that?"

He looked back at her. "You figure I wouldn't?"

"Not from the little I know of you. You hate routine. I knew that the first day I met you, from a comment you made. Even today, it wasn't until we were on the road that you said we should go on a date and stay at a hotel. Emergency Medicine is the only specialty where every day is unpredictable. It's the only speciality I can imagine you in. I think you should only switch if you feel sure you can work a routine specialty for the next 30 or 35 years without giving up on Medicine altogether." She paused. "Do you feel sure?"

"No." Nathan heaved another sigh. "I don't."

"It's easier for me to imagine you as an Aircraft Pilot or a Carpenter than working in any other medical specialty. Besides, walking away from the Emergency Room won't stop patients from dying there. The only way you'll help stop their deaths is by being there. Be there, continue doing your best, and accept that you're not omnipotent."

They looked at each other for a second. Marília brushed his hair back from his forehead. "If my memory is right, you were treating somebody around the time we met?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe that should tell you something. You came here trying to take a break from doctoring, but a patient found you."

Nathan smiled despite himself. "That was a coincidence. Doesn't mean squat." Then, his smile fading, he wrapped his hands around her waist and drew her into a hug. "Thanks for giving a shit."

She returned the hug, her arms sliding around his neck.

They stood like that, cuddling in the middle of the garden trail; holding on for minutes. When they stepped apart, he kept hold of her hand.

Again by unspoken agreement, they continued down the trail.

At the end of the trail, they emerged to the beach and the vista opened up. This piece of the coast consisted of a wide sand point reaching into the ocean; fine white sand endlessly washed by the sea when its foaming waves rushed to shore.

But the best thing about it was that there wasn't a soul.

They walked towards the point. Her hand was in his. Her advice was stewing in his mind.

When they reached the point after another quarter-mile, they sat without speaking. Marília removed her sandals and slipped her feet into the water. The breeze was in her hair. The sunlight was hitting her face just right. There was a glow in her skin.

Nathan unstrapped the camera from around his neck.

She turned her head in his direction just as he raised the camera.

He captured that perfect instant. The coast in the background. The woman in the foreground, her eyes bright and her lips slightly parted. She wasn't looking into the camera lens, but at the man behind it.

A truly candid photograph. Authentic, unforced, and his to keep permanently.

"You didn't warn me you were going to take a photograph," she said when he lowered the camera.

"I'm glad I didn't. I think I got a good shot."

They stayed at the beach for an hour before they started back. Although they talked a little during the walk back to the car, neither mentioned any of the heavy subjects—politics, racism, her marriage, and his career.

It was sunset when they got to the car, and dusk when they arrived at the hotel in Subaúma.

The hotel was good, as she'd promised. She wanted to freshen up before dinner, so he paid for the room first. After she'd showered, they went down. A terrace spilled out from the main restaurant, and they chose a table there. He wined and dined her as he'd promised, picking up the tab.

They left the terrace after second drinks, his hand at the small of her back as they took the elevator up to their floor. He only took his hand away when they reached their room door, so he could unlock it and hold it open for her.

Marília stepped in. He went in after her, shutting the door behind them in the same movement.

The lights were down, but the window overlooked the terrace and the lights from below dimly illuminated the room. In this half-light, she turned to face him.

He'd begun reaching for the light switch, but stopped as their eyes held.

The air between them thickened.

He reached for her instead. He ran his hands up her arms, cupping her shoulders. Then, using the softest of touches, he slid both arms around her waist. Her eyes closed, and she raised her head for the kiss. When it came, her lips parted, moving with his. It was enough to get his blood moving.

"Hold me tighter," she whispered.

He complied.

With their bodies molded and their tongues twined, they crossed the room together, weaving around the furniture in a half-blind stumble to the bed.

Together, they fell sideways onto it.

Detaching his mouth from hers, Nathan pressed tender kisses across her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids and her forehead.

Then his mouth went lower, seeking the hot skin of her throat. Hot, delicious, scented skin. He kept the kisses tender. Her pulse beat fast against his lips, but her fingers were slow as she began undoing his shirt buttons. Slow, steady, sure. She slipped the shirt off him, let it fall away, and ran her palms up his naked back, kneading as she went.

Nathan sighed in pure satisfaction, the knots in his muscles loosening up. Being touched by her was as enjoyable as touching her.

He pulled her dress straps off, peeling the fabric down her body; past her ribs, tiny waist, round hips and long legs. She was naked except for her bra and panties. His hands moved up her warm skin, stopping at her bra strap.

He unclasped it and pulled it off, baring the breasts that made his mouth water. Round. Soft. Filling his hands to perfection. Nathan covered them with his palms, stroking with the pads of his fingers as her nipples hardened.

"Nathan," she moaned. "P-please..."

He knew what she was asking him to do. Nathan caressed her breasts until only her nipples were in his fingers. Then, slowly, he let his thumbs slide over the oversensitive peaks.

Marília instantly gave a sharp cry. Her fingers kneaded deeper into his back.

His index fingers joined his thumbs, pinching and rolling the budded little nipples.

"Oh..." She gasped raggedly, her spine arching. "Oh..."

Nathan kissed down past her collarbone and over the swell of one breast. He wrapped his lips around the nipple in a tight seal, enjoying its flavor as he sucked. He grew hard; the pleasant fullness that had him wanting to unzip his jeans.

He didn't, yet. Suckling her other nipple, he dipped a finger into the waistband of her panties. He pulled the fabric down and cupped her ass cheek, squeezing the flesh.

A man could take her every night for years and never tire of her body.

He slipped his hand between her bare legs. At the apex of her thighs, warm slippery fluid soaked her inner pussy lips.

She was drenched.

The realization made his cock swell faster.

Nathan pulled his mouth from her breast, kissing up to her ear. He ran a finger along her mound, from her clit to her entrance, where he pressed his finger into the hot, snug opening.

A tremor went through her body. She ran her hands down his navel to the fastening of his jeans.

Even as his finger sank deeper into her sweet hole, she was undoing his jeans for him.

He was already at full mast, his jutting erection tenting his boxers. She pulled it down with his jeans, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

He wheezed as she moved her hand down his length. His cock jumped in her hand. His head fell on the pillow as she pumped slow. All the blood remaining in his brain drained to his cock. He moaned, thrusting his hips into her pumping fist.

Marília moved down his body, her warm lips brushing over the tattoo on his ribs, then across to his navel. As her mouth moved lower, her fist moved up to the head of his cock. She moved her thumb over the broad tip. Her mouth reached the base of him.

He groaned, forgetting everything else.

Her tongue ran up the length of his shaft before she took the head into her mouth. She sucked slow and deep, laving at him with her tongue. Making him moan. Making him twitch. Making him harder. When she raised her head, his cock was engorged and veined, wet with her saliva and his pre-cum.

His eyes rolled back in his head when she took him in again, engulfing him in her hot little mouth. She sucked the shaft, licked the head, let her tongue trace and her lips brush.

As the shocks of pleasure got more intense, she took him deeper into her mouth. She went gradually, dropping her jaw to take him in until her face was crammed with his cock, the head at her throat.

Pausing to breathe, she cupped his balls.

Nathan grunted her name, swelling in her mouth. She didn't stop sucking. Her fist tightened around the base, increasing the pressure. He gasped, his blood boiling as the pleasure mounted, reaching the point of no return.

She kept right on sucking as the first ropes of his seed spewed into her mouth.

Nathan's hand went to her cheek and stayed there throughout his climax. He was grunting at the pleasure erupting through him as he erupted into her throat. She swallowed his load, spurt after spurt.

He cursed when he reached the height of sensation, then his grunts softened and he was silent; recovering as his blood pounded in his ears.

Marília raised her head, releasing his cock from her mouth. She moved up the bed.

Nathan put an arm around her, drawing her into his body. "Hell, sweetheart. Just...hell." He pressed his face into her throat, his hand sliding between her thighs.

With her legs spread, he could smell her arousal; sweet and musky. He cupped her mound, and a shaky hiss passed her lips when he traced over her clit. He trailed back down to her hole, barely pausing before pressing two fingers inside her.

Marília's eyes closed.

"No," he whispered. "Open your eyes, sweetheart. I need you to look at me."

She reopened her eyes, smoky with pleasure. Their gazes locked as he sank two fingers into her.

There was something incredibly intimate about staring at each other while he did it. She grew wetter around him, her silky canal squeezing his fingers. The way it always squeezed his cock.