Christmas in Bruges Read Online Free Page A

herself.
    â€œDon’t. After my dentist’s son was in Afghanistan, he had to throw out the microwave popcorn because it reminded him of gunfire. A car door slamming would make him hit the floor. He still hates fireworks. I’m sure he would’ve reacted the same way.”
    â€œYeah, probably. But it still sucks. I’d understand if you wanted to shake my hand right now, fly home to Canada, and never speak to me again.”
    â€œYou won’t get rid of me that easily this time,” she said.
    â€œNot when I wake up in the night screaming? I keep having the same nightmare. I keep treating the same child over and over again. I fix his wounds, set his limbs, and send him on his way, but when I turn around, he’s back again, looking at me with pained eyes, blood pouring from another gaping wound, something else broken or missing, and, covered in his blood, I fix him yet again, only to turn around and find he’s back.”
    She’d read about what some of the soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan had gone through, but none of that had seemed real. Looking at James now, she could see how very real it was.
    â€œAnd it really was like that,” he continued. “I moved in a nightmare all the time. Mothers begging me to save a child already dead. The wailing of their grief. Children, fathers, sisters, brothers . . . everyone lost someone, and some lost everyone.” He paused, looking at a swan gliding on the canal, but she knew he wasn’t seeing it, his mind back in the dusty rubble of Kandahar.
    â€œAnd then my buddies, limbs blown off by IEDs, brains rattled inside helmets. We had better armour than in the past. We lost fewer people, but now they face living without their arms or legs. I get so angry when I read of veterans hospitals having to nickel and dime it. The country asked us to go, but too many closed their eyes when we came back. And are those poor Afghani civilians getting any help at all?”
    She took his hand but didn’t say anything, feeling the best thing she could do was listen.
    â€œOne day, a wedding was attacked by Taliban fighters. We unloaded two ambulances. I won’t describe the injuries. My friend, a doctor who over the months I’d come to regard as a brother, was working alongside me. We’d only just started assessing the wounds when a third ambulance arrived. ‘I’ll go,’ I said, but my friend said, ‘I’ve got it.’ Moments later, that ambulance exploded, and I was picking up the pieces of my friend. The bastards had used an ambulance as a car bomb.”
    She held his hand tighter, and he went on relentlessly, as if a dam had broken. “
It should’ve been me
was all I could think. He had a wife and a new baby at home—he was always getting emails and Skyping with them. He couldn’t wait to get back, and all I had was Miriam, and she’d moved on long ago. She told me I knew what I was getting into when I signed up.
    â€œI was sent home shortly after that, but our Western-world problems seemed so trivial to me, like the grocery store being out of your favourite ice cream or your iPhone losing power just when you are about to send a text. I couldn’t stand it.” He took a deep breath.
    â€œYou’re getting help, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.
    â€œOf course. My parents have been great. I’m doing worse than some, better than many. Training for the marathon next year helps, but I think I’m expecting a miracle when I cross that finish line.
    â€œAnd remember when I told you I was almost a doctor? Well, I am one. I just haven’t worked since I got back. How can you work when you can’t sleep and you’re afraid that in the middle of surgery you’re going to want to scream? I keep worrying I’m going to screw up and kill someone.”
    She looked at him—handsome, strong, smart, and yet so unsure of himself. She wanted to take care of