“Lord.” Goma walked in and gave all of us the stink eye. “I send one to get the other and lose all of you. Everyone in the kitchen. Come along now.”
She marched us to the table and filled our plates with food. “Coffee from our farm,” she said, pouring Bahati and me a cup before sitting down.
“It’s delicious,” I said, after the first hot sip. “Thank you. And thanks for looking after my clothes this morning. I hope I’m half as active when I’m your age.”
“It’s the farm,” Goma replied. “Clean air, hard work, fresh food.”
Scholastica tied her balloon on the chair next to Jack, and sat down beside him. He buttered a piece of toast, slathered it with jam, and put it on her plate. He blinked when she thanked him, as if it was something he’d done out of habit, not realizing until after he was finished.
“I heard you saved an expectant mother and her child during the mall attack,” I said, as Bahati and Goma conversed at the other end of the table. “That’s incredible.”
“Is it?”
I put my fork down and looked at him. “What’s your problem? Every time I try to be nice, you throw it back in my face. Every time I think there’s another side to you, you go back to being a jerk.”
“That’s because Iama jerk. I’m the jerk who let his daughter die. I was in the mall that day. Right there. And I stopped to get a couple of strangers out first. I was too busy saving other lives.”
“Did you ever think that maybe they saved yours?”
“You think they saved me?” Jack laughed. Yet another kind of laugh. This one filled with deep, dark irony. Did he ever just laugh, like normal people?Reallylaugh?
He leaned across the table, so close that I could make out the gold rings around his icy blue irises. They were the color of parched Savannah grass, waiting for rain. “In a thousand lives, I would die a thousand deaths to save her. Over and over and over again.”
I believed him. Every word. Because of the way he said it.
I had no comeback, so I watched as he got up, opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of Coca-Cola. He placed the edge of the cap against the counter and hit it with the palm of his hand. After discarding the cap, he pulled up a chair, tilted his head back and drained the bottle in one go.
What an odd man, I thought. A coffee farmer who didn’t drink coffee.
Most people drowned their sorrows in something stronger. Jack chose a bottle of Coca-Cola. Maybe he wanted to be fully aware, fully awake to the pain. Maybe Jack Wardenlikedthe pain because he believed it was exactly what he deserved.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do next?” Goma asked me.
I turned my attention away from Jack and focused on her. “I was hoping you know someone who’d be willing to take Scholastica and me to Wanza, with a couple of stops along the way.”
“I know the perfect man for the job. He’s sitting right at this table, and he knows it too, but he’s too wrapped up in himself to give a damn.”
“You didn’t lose a daughter,” growled Jack, keeping his eyes on his plate.
“No, I didn’t,” replied Goma. “I lost my only son, your father. And I lost his wife, your mother, in the same accident. I lost my husband. And I lost Lily, my great granddaughter. That’s four generations I’ve buried out back. And I’m still standing. You think I didn’t want to go to sleep and never wake up from the loss? Each and every time? You think my heart and yours are so different? They’re not. I hurt as much as you do, Jack. But I get up becauseyou’restill here. You’re the only one left, and you know what? You’re enough. You’re reason enough to keep me standing. And it kills me to see you like this, alive on the outside but dead and hollow on the inside. You hear me? It kills me.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, like the knot that clogged my throat. I knew I should excuse myself, but I couldn’t move. Bahati was staring at his hands, no doubt feeling the same way. Even Scholastica, who had not understood the words, sat stiffly in her chair.
Jack looked at Goma and started to say something, but turned to me instead.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He tossed his napkin onto his plate. “I can’t help you. I couldn’t even help my own kid. I wish everyone would just leave me the hell alone!” His chair scraped against the floor as he got up and stalked out of the room.
Goma remained seated and finished her breakfast. When she was done, she wiped the breadcrumbs off the table, her skin stretched tight over translucent knuckles. “Growing old isn’t for sissies,” she said softly. “You lose the people you love. Over and over again. Some get taken away from you. Some walk away. And some you learn to let go.”
Bahati, Scholastica, and I cleaned up in silence as she sat there, staring out of the window. The previous night’s storm had cleared to reveal glorious blue skies.
“Where to now?” Bahati asked, when we were done.
“Back to Amosha,” I said. “Someone at Nima House must have an idea of what I can do.”
“I’ll get my keys,” said Goma. “My Jeep is still blocking Bahati’s car. I’ll meet you out front.”
I tidied my room and left Goma’s muumuu folded at the foot of the bed. When I stepped outside, Bahati was already waiting by his car.
