Mists of the Serengeti(15)

“Yes. Anyone who’s been to The Grand Tulip knows him. Jack used to take his wife there on weekends—his ex-wife, Sarah. She wasn’t made for life out here. They met while Jack was studying in Kenya. The farm seemed like a romantic notion to her then, but once she got here, it drove her nuts. She missed the shops and restaurants. The spa at The Grand Tulip was her favorite haunt, so Jack drove her to town whenever he could. He’d take her to see a show afterward. Sometimes they stayed over. He ran into Bahati there. The staff there is nice, but they all make fun of him. He stands out front like a brave warrior, but he’ll squeal if a ladybug lands on him. He’s the first to abandon post at the slightest hint of trouble. They laugh because, in spite of all that, he wants to be an action hero. Not Jack. Back then he was all about chasing your passion. He took one look at Bahati and told him he wasn’t qualified. The Maasai walk everywhere, but that wasn’t going to cut it. How was he going to handle a high-speed car chase, if he broke out in hives at the thought of getting behind the wheel? So, while Sarah was getting her massages, Jack taught Bahati how to drive.”

“I don’t know if I’d be taking credit for that,” I mumbled, thinking of my white-knuckled ride with him.

“What’s that?”

I shook my head and looked around. “You have a lovely home. I hope we’re not imposing.”

“Not at all. I can’t remember the last time we had company. It’s just Jack and me in this big old place. Sarah moved back to Cape Town many years ago. They divorced when Lily was a few years old. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to having her over. I miss her dearly, and having a little one under our roof again makes me happy.” She wiggled her finger at Scholastica, “We have lots of spare rooms. You can take your pick.” She pointed me down the hall. “There’s a linen closet on the left with bed sheets and extra towels. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Would it be all right if I made a quick call? I need to let my friend know not to expect me tonight.”

“Of course.” Goma waved me in the direction of the living room.

There was an old-school rotary phone on the console. I dialed the number to Nima House and asked for Corinne.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At Kaburi Estate.”

“Where?”

“It’s a coffee farm, run by Jack Warden and his grandmother. I couldn’t get a hold of Gabriel. Bahati said Jack might be able to help.”

“Jack Warden? The same Jack Warden who lost his daughter in the mall attack?”

“Jack lost his daughter in the mall attack?”

“Yes. That’s him. I remember now. He was at the memorial for victims of Kilimani Mall.”

“I didn’t know.” I sat down, realizing what Goma meant when she said we were bound by the events of a tragic afternoon. He had lost Lily, the same place, same time, as I had lost Mo.

“Yes. He got some kind of recognition award for saving an expectant mother and her son. Never got up to receive it. He just sat there, looking like he wasn’t seeing or hearing any of it. His daughter’s dance teacher received an award too, for getting the kids to safety. It’s a shame his daughter wasn’t one of them. How is he now?”

“Intimidating. Sad, angry, bitter. I think he might have a death wish. He was standing under a tree in the storm, by his daughter’s grave, like he wanted to be struck down right next to her. He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say about the kids or Wanza.”

I stayed on the phone long enough to catch Corinne up on Scholastica.

“You won’t be able to bring her back to the hostel with you,” she said. “It’s for volunteers only. They made an exception for you, because of what happened to Mo.”

“I’ll figure something out. Maybe Jack’s grandmother can point me in the right direction.” I said goodbye and hung up.

“If you think getting Goma involved will convince me to help, you’re wrong.”

I spun around to find Jack watching me from the doorway, sipping a bottle of Coca-Cola. The shower had brought the warmth back into his face, but his voice sent cold shivers up my spine.

“You’ve made it clear you’re not interested, but if you think I’m giving up, you’re the one who’s wrong,” I replied.

He regarded me across the room, eyes glowing with something inscrutable, not moving, not saying another word.

“I’m sorry about your daughter,” I said, when the tension became too much to bear. “And about what I said earlier.”

He nodded and stared into his bottle.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he said. “Bahati filled me in. Take my advice.” He shifted and pinned me down with his gaze. “Pack up and go home. You’re in way over your head. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

I flared up. For some reason, Jack Warden got under my cool-as-a-cucumber skin. Every. Single. Time. “You know what? I am getting tired of you assuming you know what’s best for me. You can’t help me? Fine. But I didn’t ask for your advice, and I sure as hell am not going to let it stop me.”

“Tell me something.” His voice was calm and unaffected. It irritated me. He irritated me. “Exactly how much did your sister tell you, about these kids that you want to get to Wanza?”