Mists of the Serengeti(14)

I sensed the beginning of an epic love story, the kind I was always hungry for, but she didn’t say anything more. She just smiled wistfully and swirled her spoon around the bowl in little circles.

“Should we . . . should someone go get Jack?” I asked as lightning pierced the sky again. I was starting to feel terrible about what I’d said to him.

“He’ll come in when he’s done. And he’ll keep doing it, until one day, he doesn’t need to anymore. It’s what you’re doing too, aren’t you? Miles from home. Mourning your sister in your own way. You’ve got to let it run its course. Give in until it’s spent and quiet, until you’ve learned to breathe through the loss.”

I had a spoonful of my soup and thought about what she’d said. Mo’s death was like a door that had been sealed shut forever. I could never walk through it, never listen to her go on about all the inconsequential things that I missed so terribly now. There is an invisible threshold of possibilities when someone is alive. It contracts when they’re gone, swallowing up all the worlds that hover around them—names of people they’d never meet, faces of kids they’d never have, flavors of ice cream they’d never taste. Losing Mo hurt like hell, but I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a child.

“I thought I told you to leave.”

I jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was drenched to the core, standing by the back door in a puddle of water. The hoodie was gone and his T-shirt was molded to the kind of muscles that came with hard, physical labor. We were high up at the foot of the mountain, where the air held a touch of frost in the evenings, but he showed no sign of being cold. Perhaps that was the point—standing in the rain past the point of numbness.

“I invited them in,” said Goma.

Jack followed her eyes and noticed Bahati for the first time.

“Habari, Jack,” said Bahati.

Jack nodded in acknowledgment. He had no reaction to seeing a muumuu-clad man at his grandmother’s table. Then his eyes fell on Scholastica, and everything changed. If he had been harsh with me before, he was positively hostile toward her. His hands clenched into tight fists by his sides, hackles rising until the air bristled with unspoken tension.

“That’s Lily’s,” he growled.

“So it is.” Goma didn’t seem perturbed by his reaction. “Scholastica needed a change of clothes, so I gave her Lily’s dress.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, like he had just stopped himself from biting someone’s head off. Scholastica huddled closer to Goma, shriveling under his biting glare.

“I think we should go now,” I said to Bahati. I had no idea if they’d let Scholastica board with me at the volunteer’s hostel until I figured something out. All I knew was that I didn’t like the way Jack Warden made me feel. I was used to constants with people—a nice, smooth line, with maybe a few blips here and there. But with Jack, it was like a polygraph test gone wild, the recording needle jumping all over the place. I went hopeful to insulted, from being sympathetic about his loss to infuriated by his attitude.

“No one’s going anywhere in this weather. In case you haven’t been listening to the forecast, the storm isn’t going to clear any time soon,” said Goma. “There are no streetlights for miles and the roads are treacherous in the rain. Besides, you have Scholastica to think about.”

“I’m sure the hostel can accommodate her for one night,” I replied. “I can call ahead and—”

“That’s not what I—”

“It’s not safe,” Jack declared. “You leave in the morning.”

I stared at him in silence. What made him think he had the right to call the shots on what I did? Or when? Maybe if he’d said it differently, like he gave a damn, I would have considered it, but he clearly didn’t want us there, and I wasn’t about to accept any grand favors from him.

“You can’t make that decision for us.” I lifted my chin and met his gaze.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. I was pretty sure I was seconds from combusting into a pile of smoldering ash when his scrutiny shifted.

“Bahati.” He held out his hand. “Keys.”

Bahati cast a furtive glance at me, but he clearly didn’t want to lock horns with Jack.

The keys disappeared as Jack closed his fingers over them and slid them into his pocket. “You leave in the morning.” He looked pointedly at me.

“Well. It’s settled then.” Goma shot me an expression that left no room for protest. She got up and filled a bowl of soup for Jack. “Now sit down and have a bite to eat.”

“Later. I’m going to take a shower,” he announced, peeling off his T-shirt and wiping his face with it. He was tanned all over, with no lines marking his skin, except for the dark cuts sculpting his washboard abs. He started heading upstairs and then turned around. Trickles of water ran down his back from hair that was still glistening from the rain. “Bahati, come with me. I have something you can borrow. You need to get out of that . . . thing.”

Bahati glared at Goma before following Jack out.

“What?” She glared back. “You wear that tribal robe all the time. Same thing, just with sleeves.”

“You know Bahati?” I asked, when the men were gone.