by Rula Sinara
Ron’s condescension might have irked him, but it was guilt that really gnawed at Dax.
Giving up on researching earthquake prediction hadn’t been a choice, it had been a necessity. And now any research he did was in the name of serving the oil company.
He knew about the relatively recent uptick in tremor activity in the area, some too weak for anyone to feel, but environmental groups were beginning to make waves. The same anti-fracking environmental groups Sandy used to support. Most oil companies insisted post-fracking water injections had nothing to do with increases in seismic activity.
Dax wasn’t so sure. Yet, here he was. That made him an enabler, didn’t it? But he had debts to pay off and the girls to raise and working for a petroleum company paid well. Six-figures well, which was more than double what he’d been pulling in before from research grants.
Don’t overanalyze. It’s a steady job. Just do it. But “doing it” meant he required full-time help with the twins more than ever. He rubbed the back of his neck as he scrolled down the emails in his inbox, finally spotting one from Melissa. He needed her here yesterday. He opened the email, but the knots in his neck only tightened. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Ivy! Fern! Come in here. Now.”
The carved wood door to their room swung open and the two appeared dressed in shorts and T-shirts with their wet hair loose and half-combed out. Their eyes flitted toward his laptop and back up to him, widening just enough to look innocent.
“What’s up?”
“Nanny Number Seven quit. What do you two know about this?”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to call her that,” Fern said.
“I’m a little upset here, so I’ll call her Seven if I want to, especially since I now have to take time I don’t have to search for Eight.” He was sounding just like the twins. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled, long and deep.
“He’s at a 5.0,” Ivy muttered. “We’ll live.”
“Are you kidding? His neck is red. That puts him at a 6.5,” Fern countered.
Dax ignored their habit of using the Richter scale to gauge how mad he was at their shenanigans.
“It says in her email that the giant spider in her purse was the last straw.”
“It was fake. Besides, that’s such an overused prank, she should have expected it. She’s just a wimp. So much for her acting all sergeant-like. All bark and no bite. And she’s lazy—anyone who uses that as an excuse to quit doesn’t really want to work,” Ivy said.
“And you two certainly are a job.” He had no doubt the spider had only been a warm-up for the twins. A test. It didn’t come close to their somewhat scary creative capacity.
“It was harmless, Dad. We pulled it out of our Halloween supplies. We were just having fun. Fun is a necessary part of raising well-rounded, healthy, psychologically balanced children,” Fern added.
Wow. Just wow.
He closed his laptop. Three years and he still had to pause and ask himself what Sandy would do. Only lately, he kept coming up blank. She didn’t even visit in his dreams anymore...not the way she had after she’d left him and kept the girls. They had been five at the time.
Looking back, he couldn’t blame her for leaving. She’d been right. He’d been too busy chasing after his obsession to find better ways of predicting earthquakes and saving lives. He’d spent more time in tents doing field research than he had at home, protecting his family.
But he had tried to make it up to her. He’d been as present as he could possibly be after her diagnosis...but it had been too late.
He checked his watch again. He was supposed to be at the site by midmorning tomorrow to start setting up equipment, laying out geophones and cables. But now he had no nanny and there was no way he was taking the girls to the site. Too dangerous and not allowed.
He stared pointedly at each one. They looked so much like their mother all three could have been triplets, but for the generation gap. Their hair had lightened back to dark blond as it dried, and their hazel eyes sparkled with hints of gold that matched the freckles on their noses. That reminded him to pull out the sunscreen from their bags.
“Ivy. Fern. You need to think before you act. Everything you do has consequences.” Now he was sounding like his mother. He cringed. “That fake but—according to your nanny—very realistic spider caused her to scream and jolt. That caused her to spill her hot coffee all over her hand and into her purse, which resulted in both a burned hand and a fried cell phone, which I’ll be paying to replace. Nope. Correction. Which you’ll be paying to replace.”
Ha. There was an inkling of parental genius in him yet. The twins crinkled their foreheads, and the corners of their mouths sank.
“We’re really sorry,” they said simultaneously. It almost...almost...sounded rehearsed. Like synchronized swimming. Maybe he should look into signing them up for a class. Burn off some of that energy.
“Apology accepted.”
“So how do we earn the money to pay for her cell phone? We need jobs, right?” Fern asked. Always the logical one.
Jobs. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Darn it. At their now-rented-out house in Houston, he could have had them weeding for the neighbors. But here? No way were they sticking their hands under shrubs where predators could be lurking. Not that the lodge needed any help with weeding. There were no jobs for eleven-year-olds here, not even lemonade stands or bake sales or... It hit him. That was Fern’s not-so-innocent point. No job availability. They were trying to get out of paying. Not happening. He scratched the back of his neck and stood up.
“You’ll stick to our bargain regarding your next nanny. Behave and you’ll get an allowance bonus. Consider yourselves docked for losing Melissa, so you’ll have to earn that back, too. And for now, your allowance goes to paying it off. Plus, I’ll pay a few extra bucks for keeping your room clean, beds made and bathroom wiped down.”
“Sounds fair,” Ivy said.
“Good. Now go brush out your hair and get your shoes on so we can get a bite to eat.”
The two closed their room door behind them, and Dax leaned his head back against the wall. The tribal mask hanging over his bed on the opposite side of the room scowled at him, as if it disapproved of his parenting skills. This was going to be a long day.
He started to head for his bathroom, but their whispers stopped him. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop—or maybe he did. The words he picked up required listening to. It was his parental duty.
“Doesn’t he realize?” That was Fern.
“Are you kidding? Maybe there’s an advantage to him being too busy to pay attention to us most of the time. It makes it easier to get away with things.”
“Yeah, like the fact that, technically, he’s the one paying for the broken cell phone. If you take into account that cleaning up is part of getting our allowance to begin with, then add the bonus for doing so, it covers what we were docked and then some.”
“And on top of that, we have a little freedom before he hires us a supervisor. But do you think we should get rid of the worms we put in his shaving kit before he opens it in the morning? If he docks us for that, we’ll be in the red.”
“You’re right. He hates worms about as much as Number Seven hates spiders.”
My shaving kit?
Dax gritted his teeth and eyed his toiletry bag. He’d always wanted to try the short-stubble look.
God, he needed to focus on his job, not the twins’ antics. He needed to be able to work without worrying. He’d made a lot of sacrifices to get through the past few years, but having the twins grow up away from him was where he drew the line.
He’d promised Sandy that he would stay with them. Keep them safe. Their grandparents disagreed with him moving them every time his job took him somewhere for months. They had insisted that the girls required structure and time management. As far as he was concerne
d, he could provide that. Sticking to a schedule wasn’t rocket science.
He just had to find a nanny who could do it.
* * *
PIPPA HARPER TUGGED against the stiff leather of her watch band and finally forced it to unbuckle. She shuddered as she shoved the new gadget in the pocket of her khakis and rubbed the imprint it left on her wrist. If anything ranked up there with flies and mosquitoes buzzing persistently around her face or deceptively delicate ants forging a trail up her back during a relaxing nap under the Serengeti sun, it was wearing a watch or following someone else’s schedule.
She unfolded a handwoven, flat-weave rug over the dusty, red earth that flowed through the small Maasai village enkang and beyond its thorny fence, then stretched out on her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. The tribe’s oldest child, Adia, sat down next to her. At thirteen, she was making huge progress with her fourth-grade-level reading and writing. Pippa was proud of her.
“I’m ready and listening,” Pippa prompted with a smile. Adia was used to her relaxed teaching style. Of course, she sat up and gave the lesson more structure when they were writing or doing math, but reading was different. Reading was meant to be enjoyed. She wanted the kids to see that.
Adia opened the book to her marked paged and began reading. Her musical lilt drew Pippa into one of her favorite storybooks. The girl had a future ahead of her, so long as her father agreed to let her leave home and continue her education beyond what Pippa could offer. Trying to teach the children of the Maasai and other local tribes—particularly the young girls, who weren’t always given the opportunity—was a lot for one person. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only teacher who was trying to help. Some well-known people from the university...some who were born in these villages...had programs to teach and give back. But a few people and a couple of programs weren’t enough to teach all the rural children in Kenya and the children in the tribes around here were counting on her. She needed more money to help them. She was spread thin, traveling on different days to different enkangs. At some point, the girls had to be given the chance to move beyond her limitations.
She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun as she listened. It felt so much better not to have her watch on. Who needed clocks when they had the sun and stars? Who needed alarms and schedules when all they had to do was listen to the diurnal rhythm and sounds of wildlife announcing everything from daybreak to dusk to the coming of rain?
Rain, fluid. Earth, solid.
The simple facts flashed through her mind the same second that the ground rippled against her like a river current against the belly of a wildebeest trapped during the floods.
She stilled and pressed her palms against the rug, her mind registering fact and logic. Earth. Solid. She glanced around. Adia’s rhythm hadn’t faltered. The others in the village were going about their routines.
The herdsmen had taken their cattle and goats out to pasture, and the enkang’s central, stick-fenced pen, where their goats were kept safe from predators at night, stood rigidly against the backdrop of the Serengeti plains. Women were laboriously mashing dried straw with cow dung and urine for the mud walls of their small, rounded inkajijik. Simple homes made with what the earth offered. The solid earth.
Clearly, she’d imagined the ripples. No one else seemed fazed. Maybe the sun was getting to her. It had shifted in the sky, stealing away the shade that the branches of a fig tree had offered. She took a deep breath and sat up, brushing off her hands, then pushing her curly hair away from her forehead.
“Is everything okay? Should I stop reading? Did I make a mistake?” Adia fingered the rows of red and orange beads that graced her neck, then smoothed her hand across the vibrant patterns of her traditional wrap dress.
“No, no. It wasn’t you. I need to get out of the sun.”
There was no point in frightening the girl. Unless... No, she doubted it. She hadn’t felt a tremor in forever. Sure, they happened here. She’d studied geology as an undergrad. She knew all about the earth’s tectonic plates moving.
She’d felt mild quakes in the past. The Great Rift Valley ran through western Kenya, including the Maasai Mara and the area where the Serengeti ecosystem lay and merged across the border into Tanzania’s famous Serengeti National Park. There was more earthquake activity in that region, but minor events happened here, too. Even to the east in Nairobi.
But what had happened a minute ago had been a different, odd sensation. Nothing had shaken. No one else had noticed. Most likely, the sun had made her dizzy. She got up and sat upright next to Adia.
“Okay, you can keep reading. Let’s get to the end of the chapter before we stop. That way you can write me a summary for next time.”
Adia looked down uncomfortably and bit her lip.
“What is it?”
“I shouldn’t ask you for more.”
“Adia, if you need something, ask me.”
“I can’t write a summary. A goat ate the pencil and paper you gave me. I set it down to help my sister when she fell down. And then the goat ate it.”
Pippa gave her a reassuring smile. If this had been anywhere else and a student had told her teacher that the dog had eaten her homework, she would have been accused of making up stories. But this wasn’t anywhere else, and Adia was as honest and conscientious as a kid could be, which meant a goat really had eaten her pencil and paper. She placed her hand on Adia’s shoulder.
“Not to worry. I have some extra supplies in my jeep.” Pippa reluctantly pulled the watch out of her pocket. She glanced at the time and stuffed the watch away again. “I didn’t realize how long we’ve been sitting here. You are reading so beautifully, you made me forget. And you’re at my favorite part in the book, too. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve read or heard the story, I still feel my heart race when Captain Hook hears the ticktock of the crocodile approaching.”
“Me, too,” Adia said. She smiled and marked her page. “Thank you for teaching me to read.”
“You’re a fast learner. You can do anything you set your mind to. I hate to leave. On my next visit, you can help me teach the little ones, then we can talk about what I mentioned last time.” Pippa sighed as she stood. This is why she hated schedules. It didn’t seem fair to end class right when a student found his or her stride. Not that this was an official class or standard school, but still. She could remember the day Adia had read her first words when she was nine. Pippa hadn’t been teaching formally back then, but she had been donating books to some of the local Maasai villages her entire childhood.
She had taught a few of the kids to read back then because she wanted to. It made her happy. But it took years for her to realize teaching was her passion.
Adia and other children had missed out on lessons when Pippa left Kenya two years ago and spent a year traveling and studying in Europe—an escape she had needed after having her heart broken. But she was glad to be back home this past year. And dedicating herself to teaching children who otherwise had no access to education was more rewarding than she ever could have imagined.
She wanted others to read their first words, too, which was why making it to the tourist lodge on schedule mattered just as much. She had an arrangement with the lodge and the guided children’s hikes she provided there allowed her to earn money for teaching supplies. She also hoped to save for a small schoolhouse—or school hut—where she’d be able to teach children from different homesteads all at once, rather than losing so much time driving long distances across the savanna.
The problem was that tourist schedules weren’t sun—or Africa-time friendly. Five minutes late and they’d start complaining. Five minutes late was nothing around here, but add an hour or two and she’d have no customers at all.
She had found that out the hard way a few weeks ago. No one had even cared about the fact that a male ostrich had decided to challenge her jeep. And then she’d inadverten
tly driven too close to a rhino and her calf in the brush. She’d made her escape only to hit a piece of scrap metal in the middle of nowhere that resulted in her having to change her tire. No doubt, the lodge director and tour group parents had thought she was making up stories when she’d finally arrived at the hotel.
The trumpeting of elephants in the distance shook the air as if to give her a warning that she would be running late soon. She gave Adia a hug, then quickly scanned the enkang. The place bustled with activity, from the familiar act of women grinding corn, to making beaded jewelry and continuing to repair and build their huts. The village would crumble without the tireless work the women did here. Most had never left their clan, yet they had the focus, strength, persistence and motivation that so many students and people Pippa had met during her recent year of travels lacked. People who took the opportunities they had in life for granted.
“I don’t see your father. Did you talk to him?” Pippa asked as they walked toward her jeep. She really hoped that Adia’s father wouldn’t be opposed to the girl pursuing an education in Nairobi. Adia scratched her tightly cropped hair, then fidgeted with the colorful bracelets that ran halfway to her elbows.
“No, not yet. I’ll talk to him when you are here next time. With you. Please?”
“Okay. But I don’t want to offend him. This discussion is between you. The decision is his.” There was a fine line between advocating for a kid like Adia and crossing boundaries when it came to family, expectations and culture. The fact that everyone knew Pippa around here might help a little, but upsetting the tribal leader might put a hitch in her efforts to teach others in the village. She respected the Maasai and this particular family tremendously, and offending them was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Of course,” Adia said, following her outside the enkang’s fence to where the jeep was parked. Pippa reached into a backpack on the passenger seat and pulled out another pencil and small notebook. She handed them to Adia, gave her a hug and waved as the girl hurried back to her hut.