Page 78 of Unforgettable
“And your family still does that.”
“We try,” he said. “There were millions once. Now… not so many. Land changed. Priorities changed. But this—” he nodded toward the herd, “—this is something we don’t let go of.”
“Because it matters.”
“Because it’s who we are.”
“You speak of this land with so much love and reverence. Why leave this ... your family?”
The question seemed simple. He was in Minnesota now.
It wasn’t.
Brew leaned back slightly, his eyes shifting out over the land.
“Every time I visited the reservation with my dad when I wasyounger, it bothered me how much they suffered. The health system could care less my people were dying from malnutrition, preventative causes, but mostly from injuries that got infected and turned sepsis, killing them. All because of improper medical and emergency care. That’s why I got into medicine.” he said quietly.
She turned toward him.
“How’s that helping them here though - now?”
It was a strike, but he wasn’t offended. She was an insightful woman, for good reason.
“Once I graduated and started receiving an income, half of my salary went to enlarging the clinic, providing more supplies, purchasing much needed equipment, increasing salaries to attract more highly trained staff.”
“Don’t you miss this?” she extended her arms wide.
“All the time. I come back as often as I can free up time,” he replied. “Someday … in the very near future, I’d love this to be my life again. I’m almost there. It won’t be exactly the same as what my parents built—but close. My own home. Taking over the clinic. Kids running around… more noise than I probably know how to handle.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
Randi listened, something inside her both warming—and tightening.
“And you?” he asked, turning the question back to her.
She hesitated and looked down at her hands and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“That’s not true.”
She let out a quiet breath.
“I’m afraid to hope for something like that.”
He didn’t interrupt or didn’t rush her.
“Every time I’ve had something good,” she continued, her voice softer now, “something happened. It got taken away. Or it changed. Or I lost it.”
The words lingered in the air between them.
“I don’t think I trust it anymore,” she admitted.
Brew studied her for a long moment.
“Trust what, love? People lose themselves in that,” he said quietly.
“Love?”
