by Leylah Attar
“No. Not your kisses.” I slid her cup toward her. “The coffee. I can taste it on you.”
A light seemed to go off in her head. She took another sip of her coffee and kissed me. This time the flavor of it was hot and strong in her mouth—sweet as hell because of all the sugar she’d dumped into it, but smooth and full-bodied, with a slightly nutty overtone.
“Kona coffee,” I murmured against her lips. “From Hawaii.”
“Very good.” She stepped back and looked at me. It didn’t matter where the hell it came from. What mattered was that it hadn’t made me sick or nauseated. “Would you like some?” She poured me a cup and watched as I inhaled the aroma of it.
I took a tentative sip and waited for the awful gagging that had plagued me ever since the mall attack.
Nothing.
In fact, my taste buds cried for more.
Coffee. My weakness, my livelihood, my passion. I’d processed close to a year’s worth of harvest without a single cup. Tasting it on Rodel, mingled with her sweet breath, had cured me. Or maybe she’d cured me with that first kiss. Or the time she told me she loved me. I would never know. All I knew was that she filled all the aching, gaping holes in my heart.
“Are you okay?” she asked, as I held my coffee and stared at the way the sun picked up the honeyed flecks in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I lied. Have you ever sat across from someone, fully clothed, and felt them slowly unbutton your heart? I reached for her hand and squeezed. “I’ve missed you. So much that my heart still hurts.”
“Good.” She stuffed a pastry in her mouth. “ImphgladImphnottheomphnlyone.”
I chuckled and had some more coffee. “What are we doing today?” I knew what I wanted to do. Absolutely nothing. Except, possibly, to get a bigger bed.
She dropped her pastry and went quiet. “How long are you staying, Jack?”
I didn’t know how to say the next part because I knew she’d fight me. “How long would you like me to stay?”
“Ha.” She threw me a small smile and went about clearing the counter.
“Hey.” I hugged her from behind as she put the dishes in the sink. “Tell me. Talk to me.”
“What if I said I want you here, always and forever?” She held her head high, eyes on the windowsill.
I swallowed. She had the guts to ask of me what I had not been able to ask of her. “What if I said okay? What if I said I’d stay? Always and forever.”
She stiffened in my arms. The tap dripped little droplets of water into the bowl.
“That’s not funny.”
“Does it look like I’m trying to be funny?” I nudged her around.
She searched my face with her coffee-bean eyes. “You can’t . . . you can’t just walk away from the farm. It’s your home, your legacy. And then there’s Goma.”
“Yes, and she kicked my ass for not coming sooner. She said if she caught me moping around the farm one more day, she’d get her rifle and put me out of my misery herself. She threatened to sell her share of the farm and be done with it, if that’s what was keeping me from you. She said she wants to go on endless cruises for the rest of her life, see the world, take Zumba classes, and dance on the decks all night, from the money she’d make off it.”
A small chuckle escaped Rodel before she sobered up. “She’s lying. That farm is everything to her. And so are you.”
“I know.” I stroked her cheek, wanting to wipe away the look in her eyes, the one that said we could never be. “Sometimes we have to let go of the people we love because we love them—because their hopes and dreams lie elsewhere. It’s the reason I let you go, the reason I never asked you to stay. And it’s why Goma is letting me go, because my heart is already with you, all day, every day. So if you want me, always and forever, here I am.”
I’d pictured her eyes lighting up when I told her. I thought she’d go a little giddy. My rainbow-haloed, all-or-nothing girl. But she just stared at me, her eyes sheening over, and it just about did me in. Bloody hell.
“No.” I kissed the tip of her nose. “Stop it, Rodel. I didn’t come all this way for a crabapple.”
She laughed, a little splutter, and wiped her eyes. “I thought you loved all my faces.”
“I do, sweetness.” I tugged her closer, my arms tightening around her. “And I want to spend the rest of my life learning them all.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. She just rested her head on my chest and let me hold her.
“I would have stayed.” Her words were muffled against my shirt. “If you’d asked, I would have stayed.”
My heart swelled with emotion. I knew she would have. She would have given it all up for me. So how could I not do the same for her?
SHE MADE SPACE for me in her wardrobe. She barely had enough of her own. I liked the way my shirts looked next to her clothes—like they belonged.
“It’s just for now,” she said, leaning back on the bed and watching me like she could read my mind. “I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you give up the farm.”
She was stubborn as hell, and she drove me nuts.
“You’re still fighting me on this?” I zipped up my empty bag and stowed it under her bed. “I show up, willing to rebuild my whole life around you, and this is what I get?”
“Hey, you got six inches of closet space. That’s not too shabby at all.”
“Oh yeah?” I grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed, so my hips were nestled between her legs. “How is that fair, considering you get more than six inches. Every time.”
“Show off.” She colored and wiggled away from me.
“Tease.” I loved that I could never tell what I was going to get with her. Sometimes coy. Sometimes bold. “I have something for you.” I walked over to the wardrobe and reached for the jacket hanging there. “From Scholastica.” I retrieved a letter from the inside pocket and handed it to her.
Her eyes lit up as she read it. It was a single sentence that took up the whole page.
“I’ve been writing to her. It’s good practice for both of us.” She pointed to an English-Swahili dictionary on her shelf. “She writes in English, I reply in Swahili.”
I knew that. I drove an hour to the post office in Amosha to mail Scholastica’s letters. I might even have encouraged it. Because when the reply came, I held it close, all the way back, hoping to catch Rodel’s scent on it.
“What about Billy?” I asked. “Do you write to Billy?”
“I’m never going to live that one down.” She laughed.
“Not if I can helpi it. But I could be persuaded to forget.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“For starters . . .” I sat on the floor beside the bed, facing away from her. “That thing you do with your fingers in my hair.” I leaned back and gave myself up to the feel of her massaging my scalp.
“So, how is Scholastica?” she asked, rubbing slow circles that made me want to purr under her touch. “Did Inspector Hamisi come up with anything regarding her father?”
“Unfortunately, no. Gabriel is now officially listed as a missing person. We’re pretty sure there was some kind of foul play involved, but we’ll never know. It breaks my heart sometimes, when I look at Scholastica. Her father was an exceptional man. I’ve always known about the terrible things that happen to kids like Scholastica, but I never did anything about it. But Gabriel, he was helping them all along, quietly, without any kind of compensation, way before any of us got involved. He probably lost his life for it, and no-one will ever recognize him for what he did. One day, when Scholastica is old enough, I’ll make sure she knows that her father was a hero. I’ll make sure she’s proud of what he did and what he stood for.”
“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 fee
ls 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.”
I clasped my hand over hers. We were sitting on the terrace, overlooking the river, with a haze of lavender and roses around us. It was incredible to think that I had survived a whole year without Lily. A lot of it had to do with the beautiful woman sitting across from me.
“Hey.” I couldn’t stand the sadness on her face. “I forgot to show you something.” I turned on my phone and played a video for her.
“Oh, my God.” She smiled. “It’s Bahati. And Olonana. But Olonana’s limping. I guess he never completely recovered from his encounter with K.K.? What are they doing?”
“It’s a Maasai ceremony. Bahati is getting his warrior name.” I watched the clip with her and explained what was happening.
“And that’s what Bahati is wearing?” She laughed. “Designer jeans, designer T-shirt, and an elaborate tribal headdress.”
“He’s straddling two worlds, and they’re both equally valid. I don’t think he’ll ever turn his back on either. It’s who he is, and he’s proud of it.”
“Oh, and there’s Lonyoki, their shaman! What’s he saying?” She strained to catch his words. “What warrior name did he just give Bahati?”
“Damn if I know.” I chuckled. “He still goes by Bahati. He said it’s too much of a hassle to change everything on his social media.”
“So, he’s okay? He’s made up with his father, but he still gets to do what he loves?” she asked, as Olonana and Bahati stood side by side for pictures.
“I guess Olonana figured he has enough kids to let one slip out of the boma. I think he’s rather proud of Bahati for finding his own way.” I put my phone away, and we finished the rest of our breakfast.
We were about to head back inside when I spotted something floating by in the river. Well, what they liked to call a river. I called it a wading pool. It was barely a foot deep, and the water was so clear, you could see the stones at the bottom. Maybe it turned into a real river farther along, or when it rained. When I thought of a river, I thought of crocodiles lolling on the banks.
“Rodel, there’s a rubber ducky bobbing in the water.”
“Oh, God.” She slapped her forehead. “I completely forgot. There’s a rubber duck race for charity, today. I volunteered to help.” She glanced at her watch and grabbed my hand. “Come on. We can still make it.”
Throngs of people were already lined up on the footbridges that spanned the river. Some of them were in the water, trousers rolled over their knees, as bright rubber ducks got launched off one bridge and made their way serenely toward them.
“The suspense is real, Rodel. I’m not sure I can handle the tension.”
“Go sponsor a duck.” She pushed me toward the table next to hers. “I’m going to be a while.”
I would never, ever in a hundred years have thought I’d say the words that came out of my mouth next, but I said them. For her.
“I’d like to sponsor a rubber ducky, please.”
“That’ll be ten quid.” One of the vol
unteers took my money and handed me a duck. “Good luck, mate.”
I held the little plastic toy in the palm of my hand. It stared back at me with its orange beak. “All right, little fellow. Show me what you’ve got.” I found a spot to launch my duck off. People seemed to just part for me. I took it as a good sign. My duck was a badass. Rodel waved at me madly as I stood there, towering over everyone else on the bridge.
“Don’t let me down in front of my woman,” I said to my duck, as I held it over the water, waiting for the next launch signal.
“Excuse me, sir.” A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop right away.”
I turned around to face a solemn policeman, with a baton in his hand.
“We’ve just received a complaint,” he said. “Apparently, there’s an ancient bylaw which says that the river and village green cannot be used on Sundays for fund-raising purposes.”
I scanned the area and noticed police cars all around us. Uniformed officers were pulling people away from the bridges and scooping yellow, plastic birds out of the water. Rodel was folding away her table.
“No rubber ducky race?” I asked.
“I’d advise you to let it go, or face arrest.”
For a moment, I considered letting my little duck go.
Run. Swim free, my friend.
I could claim I misunderstood the policeman’s instructions. But I pulled my duck out of the water and straightened. “It’s a little heavy-handed, don’t you think?”
“Just doing my job.” He seemed embarrassed.
“Everything all right?” Rodel walked up to us and stopped by my side.
“He won’t let me play with my rubber ducky, Rodel.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled at the officer and started pulling me away from him. “I’ve got him.”
I held on to my duck as she steered me toward a tearoom across the bridge.
“This is your solution to the atrocity we just witnessed?” I had to stoop to enter the establishment. “A tea party?”
She ignored me as the waitress sat us down at a table by the window. We watched the police drag the ducks away in fishing nets and lock them up in their vehicles.