Mists of the Serengeti(93)

“Jack?” Rodel’s fingers stilled. “What happens to Scholastica if you’re here? Goma can’t look after her on her own.”

“Goma won’t have to.” I turned around and looked at her. “Josephine Montati offered Gabriel’s sister a job at the orphanage. Anna feels like she’s been given the opportunity to continue with her brother’s work, and she’s looking forward to having her niece back. She’s thrilled they can all be together again. We’ve been working on new housing for the kids and staff. Once that’s done, Scholastica will be moving in with her cousins and aunt.”

“That’s great.” Rodel nodded, as if trying to convince herself. “That’s really great.”

“But . . . ?”

“But you’re going to miss her. I can see you’re already missing her.”

It hurt like hell to let another little girl into my life, and then let her go. As hard as I tried to keep it from showing, I couldn’t hide it from Rodel. “This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for Scholastica. She’ll always have me, but now she’ll be with her family, in Wanza. I think that's what Gabriel would want for her. And I’ll still be working with Josephine and Anna. It’s an ongoing process. Books, supplies, medical care. We need to put all those systems in place.”

Rodel chewed on her lip for a while, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts from spilling out. “That’s just a Band-Aid, isn’t it? You can throw all the money in the world at it, but it won’t solve the problem. These kids will keep showing up at the orphanage until people start thinking differently, until they stop believing the superstitions about them.”

It was true, and I couldn’t deny it. I folded Scholastica’s letter and put it back into the envelope. None of it was easy. For anyone.

You’re needed there, Jack,” said Rodel. “Goma needs you. The orphanage needs you. The farm needs you.”

“And what about what I need?” Something flared up inside me. “You think this is easy for me? You think I want to be standing here, arguing over stuff that I’ve turned over in my head every single day? I’m here because I need you, but if you’re going to start piling up the reasons against us, then we might as well call it quits. Right here, right now.” I glowered at her and stomped down the stairs. I bumped my head on the ceiling again and glowered at it too.

“Small beds, small closets, small fucking stairs,” I growled.

She came down a little while later, holding her handbag and an umbrella. “We need to go to the hardware store.” She looked at me expectantly.

“What for?” I was still pissed.

“To get something for the dents you keep leaving every time you come down these small fucking stairs.”

It was her way of telling me she wanted me to stay. No more arguments over it.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Pleasi?” Her Swahili was hopeless, but her voice was soft, and her eyes held a twinkle because she knew she had me.

“Surely you can handle a trip to the hardware store yourself, Harris.”

“What did you call me?” Her eyes widened.

“That’s right. I know your dirty little secret.”

“How did y—”

“Get your cute butt over here and give me a fucking kiss.” I patted my lap. “I’m not going anywhere until I have make-up sex. With Harris.”

A wicked smile curled her lips. “Oh, you want to meet Harris?”

She slipped the handbag off her shoulder. It dropped to the floor with a thunk. She tossed the umbrella and stripped for me, one slow button at a time, giving me little peeks of the lacy bra she had on underneath.

Fuck my heart.

I had the feeling I was really, really going to enjoy meeting Harris.





IT WAS SUMMER, the English countryside was beautiful, and I refused to take a single moment for granted. I couldn’t remember the last time I had days to myself, days that I lavished on Rodel. We stayed at a quaint bed and breakfast, and woke up brushing our teeth next to horses munching hay outside our window. We had fish and chips, wrapped up in newspaper. I doused mine with vinegar. Rodel dunked hers in ketchup. Some evenings, we sat on Rodel’s terrace, watching the golden bricks change from ochre to copper to cognac-brown in the light of the setting sun. We chilled at the local pub until the streets were empty and walked home holding hands and making up lyrics to long-forgotten songs. I felt a stab of guilt every time I thought about the farm, but it was up for sale, and I had hired someone to look after the front end of things until we accepted an offer. Goma started hanging up on me after a while and told me I was cramping her style.

Rodel’s parents came up to see us. We explored forts and palaces, dotted amongst the charming villages. I got the green light after her father examined my hands. The dirt was slowly fading from under my nails.

“They’re good hands,” he declared. “Big, strong, good hands! Hell, any man that can get my daughter’s nose out of those books gets my vote.” He bought me another round of beer, while Rodel and her mother sang god-awful karaoke under the dim lights.

“Are you sure you’re not adopted?” I asked, the morning after they left.

“Mo looked more like them.” She stirred her coffee absently. “I wish they’d stayed one more night, especially since today marks a year since the mall attack.”