Mists of the Serengeti(79)

“I thought the two of you should stay in Amosha tonight.” Goma got up and started washing her plate. “Your flight leaves tomorrow morning, Rodel. The airport is right there so you won’t have to get up so early.”

It was the last night Jack and I would have together. Goma was giving us the time and space to say goodbye.

“Thank you,” I said, but she was watching Jack with the whole world in her eyes, like her heart was breaking for him to have to say another goodbye.

She shifted her gaze and smiled at me. “Thank you for ridding this place of the grouch that lived here. Remember when you first got here? Oh, Lord. I thought I’d have to live out the rest of my days with Mr. Sourpuss.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Jack shot her an amused look. “And if you want me to pick up your fiber pills from town, you’d better play nice.”

“Senior abuse,” muttered Goma.

“What did you say?”

“I said I could do with some cranberry juice.”

Jack grinned and got up. “I love you, Goma.” He kissed her on the top of her head and gave her a hug. “And thank you for your gift. That was very thoughtful.”

A lump formed in my throat as they stood by the sink, Goma’s frail form completely engulfed by Jack.

“Pfft!” Bahati spewed a spray of water all over the table.

“What the hell?” exclaimed Jack.

“The water.” He coughed, pushing his glass away. “It’s so cold!”

We stared at him for a moment and then started laughing. Bleaching his teeth had made them more sensitive to heat and cold. Scholastica laughed the loudest as Bahati gasped and sputtered until tears started streaming down her face.

“You think it’s funny?” Bahati lunged after her. She squealed and ran out the door. Goma went after them. I followed.

“Let her go,” I said, wrangling Scholastica away from Bahati as he caught up to her.

We weaved in and out of the wet clothes hanging on the laundry line. I followed flashes of bare feet between the bed sheets and towels—Scholastica’s milky-white toes, Bahati’s lean ankles—hopping, darting, finding, escaping. Scholastica was small and nimble. Bahati and I kept getting tangled up in the laundry. The wind carried our ripples of laughter.

“I give up,” said Bahati, wearing a pair of Goma’s knickers on his face. “But only because my knee hurts.” He sat down, his chest heaving, fanning himself with them.

“Gimme those!” Goma snatched her underwear from him and gave him a death glare.

“Good job!” I said, high-fiving Scholastica. I knelt before her and poked her nose. Her arms went around my shoulders and she gave me the tightest hug.

“Kesho.” She pointed to the sky.

“Yes,” I replied, the words wedged in my throat. “Tomorrow, I fly. Far away.” I held her hand as I straightened. “I’m going to miss you.”

Goma and Bahati came around. The four of us hugged in the shadow of the mountain as berry-laden coffee plants swayed around us. Then Goma broke loose.

“Okay. I’m done. My bones can’t take any more hugging today. Go.” She shooed me away. “Go get packed. I’ve left a little something in your room. Don’t open it until you’re on the plane.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.” My heart felt like it was going to snap, so I turned around and headed toward the house. Through the fluttering clothes on the line, I saw Jack watching us. He was standing by the four tombstones, under the acacia tree. Everything stilled as our eyes met. In that one instant, we relived it all—that first meeting on the porch, the way he’d cheated at book charades, the way I’d run from my own shadow in the mist, next time grab the oh-shit handle, his teeth grazing my neck, give me your tongue, him holding my hand on the train tracks, I turn around for two seconds and you’re at another tea party, me combing his hair, holding hands under the blanket on our swing. Our swing. Ours.

But our time was done. Except for one more night.

He watched as I walked over to him. I wrapped my arms around him, wanting to soak up the feel of him, wanting it to seep deep into my bones so I could store it in my marrow. We rocked gently, side to side.

As the afternoon sun warmed our backs, I sought out the little tombstone under the tree.

Goodbye, Lily. Every time the sun shines through the rain, I will look for you. I will look for you in rainbows, and I will remember a man who holds the whole sky in his eyes.





I STOPPED AT the entrance of The Grand Tulip and scanned the white expanse of the outside wall.

“The first time I saw Bahati, he was standing right here. I thought he was a statue,” I said to Jack. He was wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong, tanned forearms. I wasn’t used to women staring at him. I’d pretty much had him all to myself. Until now.

As we entered the lobby, heads turned, hair was fluffed, legs tilted, postures corrected. It was as if a hot wind had blown in, bringing with it a heady, intoxicating fragrance.

Down, girls. I lay my hand possessively on Jack’s as we checked in. For the first time in years, I had the urge to paint my nails, so they gleamed like sharp little talons. Keep off.

They were envious of me. I could see it in their eyes. And yet, jealousy was stabbing at my own heart, because I was leaving and I couldn’t stand the thought of him with anyone else.