Out of the Shadows

by Melanie Mitchell

  She shifted her position only slightly, but Ben’s eyes flew open and captured hers. His stare was alert, and he sat up. “Are you all right?” His voice was low, without a hint of grogginess.

  She nodded. Hesitantly, she said, “Yes. I’m okay.” She was surprised by the concern he displayed—she had expected him to be irritated or even angry.

  He studied her a moment and, apparently reassured, he turned away and rose from the bed. He reached for the shirt he had draped over a chair. She was still dazed, but for some reason she was fascinated by the movement of the thick muscles in his shoulders, back and arms as he slipped on the shirt and started to button it. When that was accomplished, he turned to face her. His eyes were now wary, and he seemed uncomfortable. “I...uh... After you went to sleep last night, I went downstairs and got a few things.” He gestured toward the closet.

  Leslie sat up and looked around the room. A sudden wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she had to brace herself to keep from falling over. His expression transformed from wary to alarmed, and in two steps he was by the bed.

  “You said you were okay,” he growled with exasperation.

  “I’m just a little light-headed.” She blinked and gradually her head stopped spinning. “It’s just that...” She rubbed her temples. “I’m so fuzzy.”

  “That’s probably because you haven’t eaten anything in at least twenty-four hours,” he answered. “I’ll order room service. What do you want? Pancakes? Eggs?” The words were abrupt, and his eyes did not leave her face.

  Suddenly, in a tidal wave of memories, Leslie recalled last evening’s events—being pushed to the ground and her bag being ripped away...screaming for the man to stop...the crowd yelling and hitting him...the bloody face. She was assailed with regret and shame. The poor man! Was he badly injured? Did he... What if he died? She swallowed hard and tried to blink back threatening tears. And then there was Ben... She looked up and saw that he was scowling at her.

  “Leslie?” He gripped her upper arm to steady her. Anger, frustration, apprehension and something unidentifiable warred in his voice.

  She remembered him washing her hands with soda and then practically carrying her to the room. Then he’d made her bathe before putting her to bed. Her blouse? Her bra? Dimly she recalled taking off her clothes to avoid the blood. She blushed and looked quickly away, studying her own hands resting on the rumpled sheet. What did Ben think of her now? And on top of everything else, he’d been compelled to stay with her. Obviously, he was annoyed at having to play nursemaid after she’d fallen apart last night. She didn’t blame him; there must be a dozen places he would rather have been.

  She sighed and, glancing up, she whispered, “Ben, I am so sorry...” Her voice broke. Tears flowed freely, and she brushed them away. “I know that I’m being a huge burden... I haven’t thanked you....” She lifted her hand to cover his much larger one, which was now digging into her arm. His hand was warm and rough, and she touched it softly, trying to express gratitude.

  His jaw clenched, and he snarled, “Look, don’t mention it.” He pulled away and strode back toward the desk. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  Mortified by her own virtual collapse and confused by Ben’s abrupt change in mood, she stared at his back. As if from a distance, she noted that his heavy, gold-streaked hair was still confined by a band and rested a few inches below the base of his neck. Oddly, she wanted to touch it. Her answer was very quiet. “Ben, I’m really not hun—”

  He whirled back to face her. “You’re going to eat breakfast if I have to shovel it in myself.” His green eyes glared. When she flinched in response to his abrasive tone, he scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed. His voice quieted when he said, “Leslie, you’ve suffered a serious shock. You’re weak, and you haven’t eaten in at least a day.” Accurately reading her continued reluctance, he tried a different tactic. “Look, we’re not leaving until I’m convinced that you’re not in danger of passing out.”

  Leslie was desperate to leave the hotel room and the company of the man who obviously wanted to be rid of her. She wiped at the tears again and squared her shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sure that I need to eat something. Pancakes will help with my blood sugar...and maybe coffee will help clear my head.”

  She pushed back the bedclothes and slid over to the side of the mattress. As she did, the large shirt was pushed aside to reveal her legs; her hip was barely concealed by the equally large gym shorts. Ben swore under his breath and looked away to pick up the telephone.

  Leslie paused for a few seconds to allow the room to steady before proceeding to the bathroom. Her hesitation brought his attention back to her, but she missed seeing the longing in his eyes as he watched her retreating form.

  “Wait just a second,” he called. When she turned and glanced at him, he gestured with his free hand. “In the closet... I got you a shirt last night. Yours isn’t wearable.” He punched the button for room service and added, “Also, I...um...bleached your bra...to make sure to get out the blood. Ah yes, room service...” He switched to Swahili and turned away to study the menu.

  Leslie slid into the bathroom after retrieving her skirt and a bag marked with the hotel’s logo from the closet. She found her bra draped over the top of the shower’s glass door. She reached for it and discovered that it was pristine white and nearly dry. She shook her head and sighed in bemusement. For the life of her, she could not picture Ben Murphy washing out her underwear.

  * * *

  BEN SPENT THE next fifteen minutes trying to recover even a modicum of control over his responses to Leslie. He had awoken to her wide-eyed, confused stare. The humidity had caused her hair to wave in striking disarray, curling around her lovely face, and his reaction was immediate.

  It had been necessary to leave the bed in haste to put as much distance as possible between them. When she sat up, she’d paled, and he was concerned that she would faint. He rushed to catch her, but touching her had been another mistake. He was furious. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t touch her, could barely even talk to her without wanting to hold her in his arms and kiss her. As she changed in the other room, his heart was thudding, and he was sweating. If he could have viewed the situation objectively, he would have thought it comical. On almost a daily basis, he dealt with all types of sordid men—gangsters, thugs, murderers and terrorists—coolly and with confidence. But suddenly he found himself having a panic attack because of a pale, slender woman with big blue eyes.

  He had shouted at her. He knew that she thought he was angry with her, and in a way he was. Indeed, her actions had landed them in this situation. And he recognized that it was imperative he get out of here—soon, before he did something really stupid like groveling at her feet and pouring out his feelings.

  With considerable effort, he managed to calm himself enough to order breakfast.

  * * *

  BREAKFAST HAD JUST arrived when Leslie exited the bathroom. She was much more alert following her hot shower. She’d used Ben’s brush to comb out her hair, but she had neither a band nor a clip, so it was necessary to wear it down. Along with shampoos and soaps, the hotel supplied packaged toothbrushes, so she was able to perform that little task. With grooming complete, having exchanged Ben’s clothing for the new pink blouse and yesterday’s knee-length skirt, she felt better equipped to deal with Ben.

  He was standing near the window sipping coffee and watching her approach. She sensed that his anger had subsided. Perhaps the coffee had helped his mood.

  Sporadic silence characterized their breakfast, as conversation was limited to essentials related to the meal. Leslie managed to eat about half her pancakes and drink a glass of orange juice. Feeling considerably stronger, she emptied the last of the coffee from the carafe into their cups. “Ben, if you don’t mind, I kind of want to talk about...yesterday.” She glanced up from the cup to catch his gaze.
“Could you explain, um... What happened with that man?”

  Ben finished the last of his omelet and leaned back. He was calmer and more in control now. He sighed and took a sip of coffee before he answered. “Beatings of that sort happen pretty much on a daily basis here. Kenyans, particularly those in the cities, deplore thievery—it’s much too common. Plus, they don’t really trust the police or court systems, so they’re willing to take matters into their own hands.” He toyed with a spoon, twirling it nervously between his fingers. “I’m not sure how accurate the tales are, but I’ve heard that at least one person is killed each day in situations like what happened yesterday. I saw something similar once before when a woman’s purse was snatched. She started screaming, and the guy was surrounded by a mob in seconds.”

  Leslie waited, but he didn’t continue. Her voice was quiet. “What happened that time?”

  “Leslie, I don’t think...” He placed the spoon on the table and frowned.

  “What happened?”

  He stared at his coffee and sighed. “The crowd dispersed quickly. The man was obviously dead. There was nothing anyone could do then, and nothing that could have stopped the people yesterday.” His eyes were full of compassion. “I’m sorry you witnessed it.”

  “Ben, I didn’t witness it, I caused it.” Distress marred her words, and tears threatened again.

  “No!” He spoke the word so adamantly that he nearly spilled his coffee. “No!” he repeated. He pushed his coffee out of the way and grasped her hands. “Stop thinking that! You didn’t cause it. You just reacted to the man stealing your bag. The man...the crowd caused it. They were responsible. Not you.”

  His gaze moved from her eyes to their joined hands. “Look, if either of us is to blame, it’s me. Leslie, I should have stayed closer to you. You dropped back to watch the kids... If I hadn’t walked ahead of you, the man most likely wouldn’t have grabbed your bag.” He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Don’t blame yourself,” he added quietly.

  Ben’s tenderness and touch made Leslie nervous again. She pulled away and spent a minute tidying the room-service cart to avoid looking at him. Finally, he reached out and stilled her. “Leave that for now. We need to talk about something else.”

  She sat back and looked at him squarely. His expression was wary. “Okay. What is it?”

  “Leslie, you got quite a lot of blood on your hands and face and shirt from the bag. The soda and water at the restaurant removed most of it, I think.” His concern was evident. “But...Leslie, you know there’s a possibility you might have been exposed to HIV. Guys like that—guys from the street—many of them are positive.” Leslie watched as his worry became more apparent, and she rushed to dispel his apprehension.

  “Ben. It’s probably fine. What you did really minimized the exposure. Plus, I don’t have any scrapes or cuts, and I don’t think I got any in my eyes.” She continued, “Regardless, Mama Joe keeps AIDS medications at the clinic, along with protocols on postexposure prophylaxis. I’ll read them over and maybe even call someone back in Dallas to see if I need to do anything.” She gave him a brief smile—of reassurance, she hoped. “You know, just in case.”

  He nodded but did not smile back. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea.” He rose. “We need to be going.”

  She followed his example but reached out to touch his arm. “Ben, thank you again for...well, for everything. And I’m truly sorry for messing up your evening.”

  He whirled back to face her squarely. “Damn it! Would you please stop apologizing!” He took a deep breath when she stepped back in retreat. “Look, you didn’t mess up anything.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. There was nowhere he would rather have been last night than here with her.

  “Leslie, it’s okay. I should be the one to apologize.” Holding her gaze with his, he touched her hand lightly in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture before turning away. “It’s getting late,” he added as he started to stuff items into his backpack. “We need to think about heading home.”

  Suddenly, she slapped her hand over her mouth and exclaimed, “Oh no!” Her eyes were huge. “Justin! I totally forgot about meeting Justin last night!”

  Ben’s irritation evaporated. “Don’t worry.” He clenched his jaw to keep from grinning as he answered, “I took care of Cooper.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS EARLY evening on a Wednesday in late April. The brief rainy season was waning, and Ben was grateful for a dry field when he landed the Cessna at Namanga. He’d been gone for nearly three weeks, traveling over the lowlands of Eastern Africa, meeting with various collections of greedy, selfish and often evil men. It was a relief to be home for a few days, where he could relax his vigilance. He’d radioed Simon earlier in the day, and the tall Masai was waiting patiently in the shade of the large metal shed. The Jeep was parked nearby.

  Simon jogged forward as Ben taxied to a halt. Together, they unloaded two medium-size boxes and a large ice chest from the plane’s cargo hold and placed them in the Jeep. Charles Endebbi’s teenage son joined the men to help refuel and clean the plane before pushing it into the shed.

  Ben needed to make a stop on his way home. The boxes, he explained to Simon, contained books and supplies Judy Merdian had ordered for the kids’ schooling, and he knew she was anxious to get them. Because the Merdians lived near the center of town, Simon rode with Ben only a few miles before exiting the Jeep at a dirt path that snaked off into the savanna. It was difficult for the Jeep to traverse the area, and Simon and Ben both knew that with his loping run, Simon could cover the five miles to his home in about half an hour.

  Johnny and Beth were playing on a tire swing in the yard when Ben’s Jeep pulled up. Their smiles were wide as they ran to meet the visitor.

  Johnny yelled toward the house, “Mom! Mom! Uncle Ben’s here!” Together the children hugged the pilot when he squatted down to meet them.

  “Did you bring us a sussie, Uncle Ben?” Beth asked excitedly. Her light brown hair had been pulled back into two no-longer-neat pigtails.

  Ben laughed, and in a single motion he stood up and swung the little girl into his arms. “As a matter of fact, I did bring you something. I’ll bet you can’t guess what it is!”

  “Is it something to play with?” Johnny questioned, tugging on Ben’s shirt.

  “Nope. You wouldn’t want to play with it.”

  “Is it something to wear?” Johnny asked with a concerned expression.

  “Nope. Nothing to wear.” Ben grinned. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s something to eat!”

  Judy had come out of the house and witnessed the exchange. Beth wiggled out of Ben’s arms and ran to her mother. “Mommy, Uncle Ben brought us a sussie.”

  Judy smiled at the tired-looking man and gestured for him to come up to the house. “Ben, it’s good to have you back. We’ve missed you.”

  “Boy, it’s good to be home, Judy. This trip was grueling. I’m anxious to get to the house to rest, but I wanted to drop these by first.” He walked back to the Jeep and lifted one of the boxes.

  “Wonderful! Our new schoolbooks!” exclaimed Judy. She hurried forward to open the door.

  Ben heard Johnny groan as he maneuvered through the door. “Oh, man. That’s just books and school stuff.” After Ben had carried in the second box, he turned to grin at the disappointed eight-year-old. “Hey, just a minute, dude. The surprise isn’t books. Remember, I brought you something special to eat!” Returning to the vehicle, he reached into the large cooler. He pushed back what remained of the ice on top and pulled out two half-gallon cartons of ice cream. He turned to the two children, who were waiting anxiously only a step away, and handed them each a carton. Their eyes were huge.

  “Wow! Ice cream! This is great!” Johnny cried loudly. “Mom, can we have some now?”

  “Mommy, pleeease,” whined Beth.

/>   Judy looked at Ben and winked. “Kids, it’s almost time for dinner....”

  “Please, just a little?”

  Judy sighed deeply. “Okay, but just a spoonful each. You can have a big bowl after dinner.” She turned to Ben and asked, “Can you stay? Paul’s in town helping Noah Mbruru with something on his computer and probably won’t be back until pretty late. He’ll be sorry he missed you.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve had for a month,” Ben replied. “There’s nothing much at home other than cans of beans. And since you’re the best cook in Kenya...”

  * * *

  BEN PLAYED WITH the two older children while Judy finished dinner preparations in the kitchen. Through the door, she told him that Stephen was still napping. “Poor little guy,” she explained, “I took him to the clinic this morning because he didn’t sleep much at all last night. I wanted Leslie to look at him, and sure enough, he has a bad ear infection.”

  Ben’s stomach responded with a quiver when Judy mentioned Leslie. During the past several weeks he’d found himself thinking of her much too frequently. She had become a serious distraction, and he didn’t need distractions. Even now, sitting in Paul and Judy’s home, he swore he could smell the lotion she used on her hands.

  He wandered into the kitchen. “So how are things at the clinic?” He was pleased that he’d succeeded in sounding casual.

  Judy did not look up from her task of slicing a pineapple. “Oh, the usual. There was a crowd of people waiting. I saw a child with a broken finger, a woman with AIDS complications, and everything in between.” She paused a minute and glanced at Ben. “Leslie seemed troubled, though. She was certainly not her usual self.” Her frown conveyed concern. “Something seemed to really be bothering her.”