The boy disappeared around the cabin and ran off in the direction of the trees. A dog. That was what he needed.
“I need to talk to you,” Zandi said.
He motioned at the flask on the porch. “Coffee?”
“No.”
“Do you want to come inside?”
“No.”
Now that the tribe had officially welcomed him back, he had a role to play as one of the male leaders. They’d come to him with their problems, especially since Dumile was getting older, and the adolescents had not yet gone into the sweat hut to become men.
“What’s bothering you?” he said, noticing the tenseness of her strong frame.
“You’ve been good to us.”
“You’ve been good to me.”
“Not always. I blamed you for her death.”
“I know. So did I. I still blame myself.”
“You’re not all bad, West.”
“I hope not.” He waited for her to get to the point.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Go on,” he urged.
“It’s about Khwezi.”
He grinned. “What has he done?” The boy was cute, but he bet Khwezi regularly got himself into trouble.
“He’s your son.”
If Zandi had punched him in the gut, she wouldn’t have knocked his wind out harder. The milk coffee he’d drunk an hour ago curdled in his stomach. “What?”
“He’s yours, and he needs a father.”
He gripped the rail next to him. “Mariana—She said…”
“She wasn’t going to tell you. Not at first.”
He died in that moment. A piece of him crumpled and turned to carbon. He turned his head toward the trees where Khwezi was running around with outstretched arms, making airplane sounds.
His son.
He clenched the wood hard to stop his hands from shaking. “Why?” It was all he could get out.
Zandi’s black eyes regarded him with the same hardness as always. “She was going to leave you. She didn’t want you to take away her child, and as a Xhosa woman, she had little chance of keeping him if you decided to fight her.”
Khwezi was a babe when Mariana was killed. He was barely a few months old when Wayne had gone to prison. His chest heaved with every painful intake of his breath.
“Why?” The sound tumbled over his lips, dry and breakable.
“When she found out she was pregnant with Khwezi, she went away to have the baby. The plan was to leave him with our family up north, but she couldn’t see it through, so she came back here and said he was from another man. She said things were not going well, and she was going to tell you it was over, but then she was pregnant for the second time with your child. She was going to come clean, West, but she never got the chance.”
Anger mingled with his pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want Khwezi to know his father murdered his mother, so I kept on feeding the same lie to everyone.”
“Does Dumile know?”
“You’re the first one I’m telling.”
He fixed his eyes on the vegetable patch where the weeds cracked the soil. “How could you do that to me?”
“What would you have done in my shoes?”
The truth. He never would’ve hidden the truth. “Why tell me now?”
“Because you didn’t kill his mother. Not on purpose. He’s a handful, and I don’t have a husband. Dumile’s too old. Khwezi needs a strong hand, the hand of a man.”
“Damn you, Zandi, for taking six years of his life away from me.”
“You were in prison. Is that how you wanted your son to see you?”
He pinched his eyes shut.
“Are you going to take him?” she asked.
He turned his head to her quickly. “He’s mine.”
“Your people will judge you, like they judged you for Mariana.”
“I don’t care. He’s my son.”
She nodded. “How do we tell him?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced at the boy again who was poking a stick down a mole hole. “Maybe we should let him get used to the idea of living with me first before we break the news to him.”
“What about your woman? What if she makes you choose?”
There was no more woman. He straightened. “He’s my responsibility. I’ll take care of him. Just give me time to find a new place to live.”
She nodded again and called for Khwezi. Wayne watched them take the path to the river until they disappeared behind the swell of the mountain.
His son.
He had a son. Cheated. They’d cheated him out of six years of his child’s life. It hurt like hell. And Sara … he loved her more than life, and that was how he knew he’d done the right thing to walk away. He had no land, no house, no job, and a son. He could never have expected her to raise another woman’s child. Every time she would’ve looked at that boy, she would’ve been reminded of the woman he’d loved before her, that she wasn’t his first love. He slumped in the rocking chair, allowing new grief to consume him for wasted time and something that never had a chance. When he got a grip on himself, he dropped off Sara’s bag at the address Odier had texted him, making sure it was late enough for Sara to already be asleep.
* * * *
The whole town came for the Therons’s funeral. Yet, Emily stood next to the two graves, carrying her grief all on her own. Nobody could shoulder the burden on her behalf or take it away. Wayne knew that feeling all too well. He also knew he wasn’t welcome, but he couldn’t stay away. It was the right thing to do. It was time for him to move on, even if he didn’t know where. The reason he was still bumming on a sofa in Christian’s house was because he couldn’t afford to rent a place of his own. He’d applied at the lumber factories around, but times were tough. Clive’s competitors had taken on the men they could from the closed factory, but there weren’t enough jobs going around for everyone. Because of him, Dumile and his people were homeless. There was nowhere for them to go but to the low cost housing the government saw fit. It would break the old man’s heart to leave this land, and God knew, his too. No matter what happened, he was going to be a good father for Khwezi. Like Bella had said, as long as he could use his hands, he’d find a way. He’d take care of his family and give Dumile a home. It was his responsibility, and he wasn’t walking away from it.
He kept on the outskirts of the graveyard until the ceremony was over. When the first lump of soil was dumped on the coffins, he cut across the lawn. He hadn’t progressed far when his name was called. Stopping short, he turned to see Emily make her way to him. She’d never looked more fragile.
“Mrs. Theron.”
She didn’t meet his eyes, but looked into the distance. “I wanted to see you.”
“If it’s about the cabin, I’ll have my furniture out before the end of the week.”
“I know how my husband obtained the farm.” She shifted her gaze to his. “I only found out after his death.”
He stood, waiting. If she needed to clear her conscience, he wouldn’t deny her.
“I want you to take it back,” she said, “all of it. I’ll have the paperwork signed and delivered in the next few days.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “It belongs to you. If you don’t want to manage it, you can make good money selling it.”
Her voice was harsh. “I don’t need the money. It was bought with blood money, and I don’t want that blood on my hands.”
No words took shape in his mind. He could only stare at her.
She lifted her chin, her expression polished but empty. “That’s settled, then.”
“Where will you go?”
“I have property in the Cape. After all that’s happened here…”
He understood. It wasn’t just Clive and Thinus. They’d been struck by a natural disaster even before Sara had left. A small earthquake had cracked open the earth, forming a gorge around the edge of the forest. There were
no earthquakes in Knysna. They all knew something supernatural was at play, and everybody feared it. Except him. He knew it was Cain and his team. The border separating the forest from the mountain was too perfect to be a natural coincidence. So was the Knysna River that had changed its course and filled the gorge.
“Goodbye, West.” She inclined her head and, keeping it high, walked away.
From the graveyard, he drove to Dumile’s place. The old man sat in his usual place in front of the hut.
“How was the funeral?” Dumile said.
“Like they always are. Sad.” Wayne sat down on a stool. “She gave me back the farm. Everything.”
“Ah.” Dumile dragged on his pipe. “So the wheel has turned.” He lifted his eyes to the mountain, in the direction of the farm. “Will you move into the big house?”
“No. I will tear it down, brick by brick. I want nothing to remind me of that family.”
“What family will you have up there?”
“You. Khwezi. I want you and your people to move onto the land.”
“You want us to work for you?”
“I want you to work for yourself. We’ll split it right down the middle. The land belongs to you. Nobody can ever take it away again.”
“When Sara offered it to me I didn’t take it because I don’t want to take away what is yours. You attach a lot more value to it than I do.”
“I don’t care if you value it or not. I know you love your home as much as I do, and I want to give it to you.”
“I would have moved there, West, even if it’s yours.”
“Well, it’s not.” He stood. “We can talk about how we divide the animals and where to build your new house later.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You’re family.” He took his hat. “Talk to your people. We need to mark off the building site.”
“You’re going to farm up there,” he motioned at the mountain, “all by yourself?”
“With you.”
Dumile laughed. “I’m not a woman. You need a woman by your side.”
“I had one. She’s dead.”
“You have another one who is very much alive.”
“She’s with another man, a better man.”
Dumile clicked his tongue. “West, you are thicker than a tree trunk. If you are talking about her boss, then you have the cat by the tail.”
“What do you mean?”
“When will you ever learn to be quiet and observe? He is not interested in women. He is a man who loves men.”
“What? Odier? He gave her jewelry. He called her by a pet name.”
“Maybe you should learn from him.”
If she wasn’t with Odier… No. It wouldn’t work. “I have a child.”
“You also have a farm and a house, now. You can take care of a child and a woman. Maybe a few more children, too.”
“She’s got a job in Pretoria.”
“Looked to me like she loved it here.”
“She won’t come back.”
“You won’t know until you ask. She belongs here. She gave herself to the forest and to you. If you’re looking for excuses because you don’t want her, at least be man enough to admit it to yourself.”
“Get your people ready,” he said gruffly. “We start building next month.”
Thoughts milled in his head on his way back to his truck. There was much that counted against him. For starters, he’d betrayed Sara’s trust by not listening to her. Secondly, he was a man with baggage. Big baggage. Lastly, he was going to ask her to give up everything that meant something to her—her flat, her job, and her friends—to take a chance on a man who’d spent time in jail. At least his record had been cleared when the truth had come to light. Still, Dumile was right. He’d never know if he didn’t ask.
He drove back to Christian’s house and found Christian flipping steaks on the grill in the backyard while Bella was stretched out on a deckchair, tanning in the nude.
“Emily gave me back the land, but I have to go to Pretoria,” he said even before he reached the deck. “Can you take care of the animals for a few days?”
Christian scowled and covered Bella’s body with a towel. “You could’ve knocked.”
“The door was open.”
“This has to stop,” Christian said to Bella. “You can’t flaunt your body any longer, baby. You know I’m a jealous bastard.”
She wrapped the towel around her and got up to peck Wayne on the cheek. “West is like a sister.”
“I don’t care if he’s gay.”
“For your eyes only from now on.” She blew a kiss at Christian. “I promise.”
Christian’s shoulders relaxed visibly. The man almost melted to a puddle at Bella’s feet.
“Well?” Wayne said, anxious to get going.
“Go,” Christian said. “We’ve got you covered, and bring that woman home.”
Home. Hell, that sounded just about right.
* * * *
Sara walked into the expensive restaurant in Pretoria dressed in a tight-fitting, red dress and black heels for the blind date Odier had set up. Pausing in the entrance, she fretted with her hair and her clothes. She was so not ready for this, but Odier was right. If she was going to get over Wayne, she had to force herself to move on. Plastering a bright smile on her face, she walked to the table at the back where a man in a black suit and silver tie sat. He was handsome in a manicured kind of way with a clean-shaven face and not a blond hair out of place, but he wasn’t Wayne. She missed the scruffiness of Wayne’s jaw, and the rebellious curls that tickled his collar.
The man stood when he saw her and offered a broad smile. “I thought you’d bailed out.”
“Sorry. Traffic.” She sat down and adjusted her dress.
“I’m glad Odier arranged this.” His eyes travelled over her. “He didn’t exaggerate when he said you’re beautiful.”
She couldn’t even appreciate the compliment. She simply felt … empty.
“Tell me about your job,” he said.
He was obviously skilled in this kind of thing, seemingly interested in what she did for a living and in her as a person. He’d order wine and get the bill, and they’d go home to her place, make love, and maybe he’d call her again. Maybe they’d see each other for some time, grow close, and if she were lucky, he’d become serious. They’d get married, have babies, and she’d cook for him and listen to his account of the day. Eventually, they’d grow bored with each other. He’d find a mistress and cheat on her a few times. When the kids moved out of the house, they’d retire by the beach.
It was so unfair to see the sequence unfolding before they’d even had their first dinner, but he wasn’t what she was looking for. Nobody was.
He cleared his throat. “Your job? Odier said you work together.”
Stop it, Sara. Life carried on. “I’m a park ranger.”
“Ah.” He nodded thoughtfully. “What made you choose this career?”
“A love of nature.”
“Of course. With the salaries the government pay, you can’t do it for the money.” He laughed at his own joke.
She regarded the Rolex and the Armani suit. “Do you like the outdoors?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “God, no. I’m not the camping type. I prefer a comfortable bed and a hairdryer.”
With that hairstyle, of course. What had Odier been thinking? Definitely not her type.
“Look,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table, “let’s cut through the crap. What do you want from this date?”
He looked aghast. “You’re very direct.”
“I don’t want to waste your time.”
His eyes became guarded. “If you’re one of those woman looking for a husband on the first date—”
“Relax, I’m not. Why did you agree to meet me?”
He shrugged. “To have fun?”
“Let’s get out of here, then.”
His laugh was nervous. “Are you saying what I think
you’re saying?”
“I’m saying let’s go back to my place and fuck. We don’t have to go through all the pretentious dating bullshit. I’m not looking for anything long term, and neither are you.”
“That’s all you want? A fuck?”
“I’m getting over someone, someone I’m still in love with, and it seems unfair to use you without your consent.”
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling. “I like you more and more. What if after we have sex, I want more?”
“I can’t promise you anything. If you’re here for sex, then we’re in the same game. If not, it’s better to walk away now.”
“Why didn’t you say so when we set up the date?”
“I didn’t know myself until this moment.”
The waiter came over and hovered next to their table. “Are you ready to order, sir?”
He gave her a pensive look and, after a moment, pushed back his chair. “I believe we’re not staying for dinner.” Getting up, he proffered a hand. “My place or yours?”
“Mine and just so we’re clear, you can’t stay the night.”
“I’m fine with that. I never stay, anyway.”
She allowed him to fold his fingers around hers and lead her to the parking.
Chapter Sixteen
Pretoria was a big city. Wayne hated the bustle, noise, exhaust fumes, and traffic. Now that he was here he had to admit he didn’t even have a plan. He should’ve stopped to think it through. He should’ve come armed with all the gifts an apology demanded–flowers, chocolates, wine—hell, whatever it took. Instead, he pulled into a parking slot in a strip mall—empty-handed—not even knowing Sara’s address. All he had was her telephone number. She could be with someone, right now. What was he going to say if she opened her door and there was another man in her apartment? No, he wouldn’t show up without telling her, first. He’d call and ask to meet her whenever it was convenient. They could get together for coffee or go for a walk in the park. That way, he wouldn’t put her in a difficult position, and he’d have her alone to beg for another chance.
He took a deep drag of the smoky, city air and punched the dial for her number. While the phone rang, his nerves shredded to pieces. Just when he couldn’t stand the tension any longer, her phone went onto voicemail. What if she didn’t want to speak to him? He hung up without leaving a message. For a while, he stared at the closed storefronts. Way to go, West. What now? There was another person who could help. He scrolled to Odier’s number and hit the green button.
Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 27