Maybe Mo was still playing hide and seek in these beams of sunlight, in the dance of elephant grass, in the fragrance of wild blossoms, waiting for me to find her again and again. Maybe Jack found Lily in thunderstorms, under the tree, by her grave. Maybe he looked for her in raindrops, because she felt like redemption pouring down from the heavens. Maybe when he recorded thunder and lightning, he was capturing bits of her, to carry with him on his phone.
“Can we stop here?” I asked, as we rounded a rocky outcrop. A lone fig tree grew on the patch of soft earth at its edge.
We got out and stretched our legs. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were getting longer on the plains below. I dug a small hole under the tree and buried the wooden statue we had picked up from theboma.
“What was that about?” asked Jack, when we got back into the car.
“For Juma,” I replied. “Every kid needs a lullaby. Now he can listen to the birds in the trees, and the wind in the valley.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, as the sun slipped slowly behind the silhouette of the giant tree.
Then Jack took my hand, lacing our fingers together. “We’ll get the next one.”
Something sparked and buzzed in the stillness between us. It felt like hope, like life, like my heart galloping away from me.
“We’ll get the next one,” I repeated, thinking of the other two kids on Mo’s list.
Maybe it was a necessary lie, one we were trying to convince ourselves of, but in that moment, with my hand resting in Jack’s warm, solid grip, I thought anything was possible. Because that’s the way holding hands with Jack made me feel.
BY THE TIMEwe got back to the farm, the lights were off and everyone was in bed. For the first time in weeks, I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
The shot rang out in the early morning—a single, jarring crack that echoed through the stillness like a clap of thunder.
Scholastica!It was my first thought as I bolted out of bed. I flung her bedroom door open, but she wasn’t there. I checked for Jack, but he wasn’t in his room either.
“Scholastica!” I called, spinning around and running straight into Goma. “I can’t find her,” I said, steadying her tiny frame.
“She’s fine. She’s been sleeping with me, in my room.” Goma held her door open, and there was Scholastica, snuggled peacefully under the covers.
“What was that noise?” I asked, trying to keep my voice down. “Did you hear it? And where’s Jack?”
“It was a rifle. And Jack is probably out already.” Goma belted a thick gown over her muumuu. She unlocked her wardrobe, parted the clothes, and reached for a shotgun tucked in the back. She loaded it calmly, propped it against her hip and racked the pump. “Never piss off an old bird. We’re cranky, constipated, and we need our beauty sleep.”
She signaled me to stay behind her as we made our way down the hallway. Had I caught sight of myself, creeping behind Goma’s frail form, I might have laughed. But she held the gun like she meant business, and my heart was still caught in my throat. I had no idea what was waiting for us downstairs. And neither did she.
The floorboards creaked as we checked out the ground floor. When we got to the kitchen, Goma pushed the sheer curtains aside with the tip of her shotgun.
“There.” She motioned to the glow of light in the fields. “Someone’s in the livestock pen.”
We stepped outside and made our way toward it, two dark figures against a violet dawn sky. Goma kicked the corral gate open, keeping the rifle pointed firmly ahead of her. Something was on the ground outside the barn, barely discernible in a weak pool of light.
My mind played out all kinds of scenarios. What if someone had come for Scholastica? What if Jack had gotten in the way? What if he’d been the target of the shot we’d heard?
Oh God. Please don’t let it be Jack.
“No!” I rushed toward the figure sprawled out by the barn. The ground was dark and wet around it.
Blood.
“Step away from there.” It was Jack’s voice. Gritty and raw. I turned towards it with the kind of relief that couldn’t be contained.
“You’re okay,” I said. Nothing else mattered, just that he was standing there.
I didn’t realize that I was running to him until I was a few feet away, when I caught a glimpse of Goma’s expression. She was watching me with a mix of curiosity and astuteness that made me stop short.
You care for him.She didn’t say it out loud, but she might as well have.You care for Jack.
Of course, I care for him.I stumbled and came to a halt.If anything happened to him because of me, I’d feel awful about it.
