by Ann Walker
“You can choose from different timespans abroad,” she told me brightly; though I had a sinking suspicion she’d recited this same speech hundreds of times over to different volunteers. Eileen still managed to slip a brochure my way, which I then stuffed in my purse. “Six months is the shortest, two years is the longest. We usually recommend six months for first-timers.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
I guess. Six months is still quite a hefty chunk of time spent away from home, and I wondered the average age of volunteers applying to the organization. I mean, high school kids couldn’t go for that long, and college kids were probably in the same boat. So, most of these volunteers had to be established adults who had time to spend not making money in some foreign country.
But that wasn’t why I was doing it. I mean, we had to pay to volunteer, so money was the furthest thing from my mind.
We danced around the application process for another fifteen minutes, and after I’d exhausted all my questions, like “will I be able to get tampons if I run out?”—I shook Eileen’s hand and left. Head held high, I wandered back to my car, a pleasant sense of determination taking over.
I sent in my application from my tablet while still in the parking lot with no regrets.
Chapter Three
“Are you sure there’s going to be clean water there?” I tried not to roll my eyes at my mom’s question. She sat across from me at the massive table my parents had reserved for this very occasion, noting that she was buttering her free bread a little too aggressively. “I mean, do they even speak English?”
She posed the question with a disgusted look, her nose wrinkling.
“Well, I think English is on the curriculum that I’m going to cover,” I informed her, my hand wrapped around my wine glass tightly. “It’s an English-based volunteer program, so I would assume they speak English at a basic level.”
“I guess it’ll be charming, in a way,” she mused before stuffing a chunk of buttered bread in her mouth. “Quaint, even.”
My dad rolled his eyes at her muffled words, and I tried my best not to stab her with my fork. I couldn’t be too angry with her; she put together this wonderful dinner (well…. she’d called and made reservations) for me, my friends, and a few select members of the family. However, since she’d heard about my volunteer trip abroad, she’d been poking holes in the whole thing. Dad said it was because she was nervous, that she nagged when she was worried about me, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
It was also incredibly degrading to be twenty-nine and still nagged by your mother, but I guess that’s something that just won’t go away with age.
“We’re both very proud of you, honey,” Dad told me, patting my mom’s shoulder and smiling. “All I ask is that you stay safe and take lots of pictures.”
“That’s the plan,” I chuckled, toasting them both with my wine glass before drinking It. Mom had chosen one of my favorite restaurants in town, and she booked a room that was sectioned off from the rest of the establishment. It included a balcony area, usually inhabited by smokers, which overlooked the gardens. Seeing as it was springtime, this would have been the perfect setting for a romantic stroll.
As it stands, I’ve spent the night seated by my parents, not even at the head of the table, and my friends were chugging back the various bottles of wine my dad had ordered once we arrived. I could tell many of them were trying to keep their drunken exploits to a minimum with my family around, but the other end of the table was already getting noisy, a cousin of mine leading the charge with a slurred toast to me.
“Hey, do you want to grab some fresh air?”
To my right sat the guy who’d known me since elementary school. Mark had been a family friend for years, and even tonight, he knew how to swoop in and save the day. I nodded quickly. We weren’t the only ones getting up and away from the table; there were two couples chatting by the doors, wine in hand. The idea of a cozy dinner morphed into some weird, drunken party between two groups of people ….that never should have met.
Mark held the door to the balcony open for me, and I slipped out into the cool night air. With arms wrapped around myself, I briefly wondered if I should have brought my jacket. As thin as it was, it still would have helped against the chilly breeze.
I smiled when he sidled up beside me, his hands in his pockets. Most people grew out of their lanky phase, but Mark wasn’t one of them. He’d retained his gangly limbs, his hands and feet that seemed to outgrow the rest of his body, and the occasional bit of acne that myself and our other friends always told him wasn’t as bad as he was making it.. Despite his appearance, he wasn’t socially inept, and he never had been. Class clown would have been his high school superlative if our graduating class had gotten our acts together and actually did superlatives.
“So,” he mused, “six months abroad, huh?”
“I think it’ll be good for me,” I told him, nodding as I shuffled closer. He was a good windbreaker. Down below, little lights hanging on trees, intermingled with blossoms and budding leaves, lit the way for people to wander the garden trail. “I’ve always been independent, but I also feel like I’ve relied on my job to give me purpose, you know?”
“I guess.”
“It’ll be a great way to give back to the karma gods, anyway,” I laughed with a slight roll of my eyes. I wrapped my arms around myself, stuffing my chilled hands under my arms. “Apparently I’ve done something to piss them off.”
“You know, I bet I could find you a job in a heartbeat,” he insisted, brushing up against me as he spoke. I glanced up at him, then shrugged.
“Maybe I don’t want a job right now.” I mean, obviously he could find me a job: Mark worked at the employment office, and had done so since he graduated college. “This is the adventure I want.”
A silence fell between us, and when it had dragged on longer than I was comfortable with, I looked up at him again with a frown.
Just then, he kissed me. It lasted all of 2.5 seconds, and ended with me stumbling away, a hand flying up to cover my mouth.
“Mark!”
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. Even in the starlight, I could see the flaming blush on his cheeks. “I just thought…with you going away… You ought to know how I feel about you.”
I cringed on the inside, my face melting into a neutral, calm expression—the best I could muster given the circumstances. I’d known Mark had a thing for me. He had a thing for me in high school that went away when he dated the female class clown. He had a thing for me in college when my boobs finally came in. And now apparently he had a thing for me ever since I gotten fired, as if my sad life could somehow be fixed by his job hunting skills.
His attraction was sometimes insulting, actually. He usually wanted me when I was down on my luck, and try as I might, I could never find him attractive. I’d seen him in braces, and there was no going back from that.
“Mark,” I started, taking a little sigh as I tried to choose my words carefully. “Thank you, but—”
“But you’re not attracted to me like that,” he finished, and I glared when he rolled his eyes. “It’s the same old story, Clara, and I’m sick of it.”
So much for choosing words carefully. “Excuse me?”
“You flirt with me all the time,” he started, ticking off each thing on his finger. “Your parents sat us next to each other, and by the way, your mom loves me. You call me crying when you’re drunk—”
“Once! That happened once!” I snapped, mortified that he remembered—and even more horrified that I’d done it in the first place. Mark reached out to touch me, and I stiffened when he stroked my arm.
“I just think we’ve been dancing around this thing for a long time.” I knew he was trying to be a mixture of things with that smile: comforting, seductive, cool. It was a weird combination and a total turn-off. I pulled my arm away and took a step back as he said, “You don’t have to go away for six months to find yourself… We can do that toge
ther.”
“We finding myself defeats the whole purpose,” I hissed. I then turned on my heel and stalked back into the restaurant, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball under the table as my parents shooed everyone away.
But seeing as I was a grown-up, I sat back down in my seat, filled my wine glass to a socially unacceptable level, and played pretend nice with Mark and everyone else for the rest of the night.
In two days I’d be leaving for the trip of a lifetime, and I was pretty sure the simple act of packing my suitcase would help me forget about the downward spiral this night had taken.
Chapter Four
“Damn it.”
I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes tightly as someone bumped into my shoulder, though I heard no “excuse me”, “sorry”, or “pardon” as whoever did the damage walked away. I shouldn’t have been surprised; airports weren’t known for their pleasantness. In fact, every single airport employee I’d dealt with today had been stone-faced and distant, as if returning my smile might set off a national security threat.
Then there were my fellow travelers, carrying too many bags and screaming kids to baggage checkin and through the security gates. I’d waited in too many long lines already since arriving a whopping five hours before my flight—and now I’d learned that my plane was delayed.
Pressing my lips together, I waited for the updates board detailing all the incoming flight details to change again, and sure enough, my flight to Accra, Ghana expected delays by about an hour. Again, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. There were intensive spring showers acting as a blockade around the airport, and they’d been hammering the city for the last few days. Most flights were delayed.
Drumming my fingers on my boarding pass, a fat rectangular piece of paper that I clutched to my chest, I glanced at the clock on the black board. According to one of the info signs, my gate was only a ten minute walk from the airport’s food court and lounge area. There was no need to rush; my economy class seat at the very back of the plane—right next to the washrooms, if I’m not mistaken—wasn’t exactly going anywhere.
My backpack, filled with the essentials on the off-chance that my suitcase went missing, seemed heavier now as I slung it over my shoulders, adjusting the straps for comfort. I had a whole slew of brochures and print-offs about Togo to read—even if I’d read them a few times over already, they were probably worth another quick skimming. Although I was flying to Ghana first, my volunteering assignment was placed in a fairly rural setting in Togo (Togo is right beside Ghana and fairly close to Nigeria). I’d take a small connecting aircraft from the Kotoka International Airport in Accra shortly after my arrival, and from there a volunteer was supposed to take me to my outpost.
All in all, it was going to be a long, tiring trip, regardless of how excited I was to get started, an hour’s delay only added to the length of my travels. I threw my shoulders back and braved the crowds, making a beeline for the least busiest café . I ordered a coffee and a pastry, knowing we’d be fed at least two meals on the plane. With my order in hand, I found a vacant table near a window overlooking the runway, and that was where I decided to spend most of my hour’s delay.
The volume of the café’s patrons swelled and weakened with the departures of planes, and after scanning my brochures, I pulled out my phone and started playing some games to pass the time. I had actual books to read for the flight, but I didn’t want to waste them at the airport.
“Do you mind if I take this chair?”
I almost jumped out of my seat as a lone, deep, masculine voice cut through my thoughts, interrupting my debates about where to move a certain piece of fruit in my game. There were lots of voices around me, but none of them were close.
I looked up, surprised, and tried not to drop my jaw at the tall drink of water leaning on the chair across the table. Dressed well in a pressed pair of black trousers, he had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, the strap sitting comfortably across a broad chest and a white button-up. A jacket hung over his arm, and for a moment, I guess I was impressed. I then remembered that most guys in the corporate world wore a uniform like this, and I probably shouldn’t gaze at him…. I’d seen enough of his type before.
But I just couldn’t help myself. He watched me with a curious expression, waiting for my response. His shaggy brown hair seemed slicked back and off his face—a feat accomplished without looking greasy. A smattering of freckles crested his nose, and his blue eyes were an immediate contrast to my brown. In fact, he was almost my opposite, in a way. My dirty-blonde hair was thin compared to his brunet waves, and even though my skin was darker, I wasn’t graced with sun-kissed freckles.
Nor did I look like a movie star when I smiled.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said as the silence dragged on. “There’s nowhere else to sit.”
I didn’t need to glance around the café to know that it had filled up, but I did so anyway, as if contesting his claim.
“Sure,” I replied, waving toward the chair. “Take it.”
Much to my surprise, the man set his jacket on the back of the chair and took a seat. I couldn’t help but watch him, my eyes glued to the way his hands handled his laptop case. His fingers were so…elegant. Was that the right word? He moved each item with such care, and only paused when he must have realized I was watching.
“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me sitting,” he offered, “but all the other tables are full.”
“It’s fine,” I managed to get out, my cheeks tickling as a blush started to creep forward. “Really, no problem.”
I assumed that would be the end of our conversation once he got up to plug his cord into an outlet on the nearby wall. He then set up his laptop and started clacking away, much to my disappointment. Well, at least I had something nice to look at while I waited for my flight. Grabbing a piece of pastry, I stuffed the sweet bread in my mouth and returned to my phone game, not caring if it drained my battery. I had all my numbers and contacts written down in four different places: I wasn’t going to need my phone in Togo, and I definitely wasn’t paying any long distance charges to use it.
“So where are you headed?” The handsome stranger posed the question just as I successfully conquered a level that had been giving my trouble for the last ten minutes. I smiled victoriously as I looked up, my mind still in the game.
“What?” A blush crept across my cheeks in full force this time, embarrassed to realize that I’d been so wrapped up in a game on my phone that I hadn’t heard him.
Well, I had. It was one of those moments where there’s a delay in your brain as someone talks to you. I’d heard what he said, but apparently my first response was, “What?” So elegant, Clara, very refined and genteel. Glad all those years of working in the corporate world had done wonders for my manners. Luckily, he seemed not to mind. In fact, he seemed slightly amused by my conversational blunder, his lips faintly upturned and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Like he was trying not to smile at me, maybe to spare my feelings.
Great. Sympathy from a stranger who was probably some famous model/actor that I wasn’t aware of.
“Where are you traveling?” he asked again. I noticed his laptop had been pushed to the side, opening the space between us for conversation. My mom had gone on a huge rant about not giving travel details to random people while I was away, but this guy looked harmless…among many other things. Besides, he was obviously a traveler too; I could see his boarding pass poking out of the top of what looked like a leather-bound address book.
“Ghana,” I told him. He held my gaze for a second, looked down to pull his boarding pass out.
“As in the 4 o’clock Ghana flight?”
My eyes narrowed a little as I read the bolded text on the paper, I nodded. “Now the 5 o’clock Ghana flight?
Apparently we were travel buddies now, waiting for the same flight.
“Delays,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. He then tucked the ticket away and grinned. “Could
be worse, I suppose… I anticipated a delay of at least an hour given the weather.”
“Yeah.” Okay, we were not going to talk about the weather. After quickly shutting down the game of my phone, which was making cutesy little noises to entice me back to play, I extended my hand across the small table. “I’m Clara.”
His hand was soft and warm as it enveloped mine, his long fingers making mine look like stubby midget digits. “Grant.”
We both squeezed, neither of us pressing too hard, and my stomach did a fluttery somersault. He might have looked like a corporate guy, but I’d never seen one this good looking around the office before.
“So what brings you to Ghana?” Grant inquired as we pulled apart, my skin tingling. I brought my hand beneath the table to rest on my lap, pressing my thumb into my palm hard to detract from the sensation.
“Vacation,” I remarked, quickly deciding that he didn’t need to know the whole truth about my travels. He nodded, and I added, “It’s my first time there.”
“Accra’s beautiful,” he insisted. “I love spending a few days there when I have the chance.”
“Do you go for work?” Intrigued, I leaned in to the conversation, not caring how obvious I was being about the fact that I found him interesting.
“Sometimes,” he answered. “Sometimes for fun, this trip is a bit of both.”
“What exactly do you do?”
His smile turned to something a little more playful, teasing even, and he raised an eyebrow at me. “When did this turn into an interrogation?”
“Right about when you asked me where I was going,” I fired back, ready to play. My eyes flicked to my phone’s screen, noting that I only had fifteen minutes before I—we—needed to head to the gate. Grant could definitely help pass the time.
“I’m just a curious soul,” he said, holding his hands up innocently. The skin around his eyes crinkled when I laughed, his smile growing into something more genuine now. “I like hearing people’s stories too.”