Jack slammed through the kitchen and stopped short. I froze behind him, unable to go any farther, afraid of what I’d see. Bahati hovered behind me as the silence stretched out.
“What the fuck?” Jack swore and stepped forward, his frame no longer blocking my view.
Goma stood there, seemingly unhurt and unaffected, stirring a pan of milk over the stove. Scholastica was seated at the table. They were wearing matching muumuus. It was like we had just walked into a slumber party.
“About time you got here,” said Goma, pouring the hot, frothy liquid into a cup and handing it to Scholastica. “Want some?” She waved the pan our way.
We shook our heads and watched as she drained the rest herself and slammed her empty mug on the counter. “Ah, much better.”
“Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on?” asked Jack. “The place looks like it’s been ransacked, and there’s blood everywhere.”
I sank into one of the chairs, my knees still weak with fright. Jack took the seat across from me. Bahati turned on the tap and gulped down three glasses of water.
“That bastard K.K. barged in here, looking for you. Him and his buddies. Mangy as stray dogs. The look in their eyes when they saw Scholastica. Like they’d hit the jackpot. They wanted to take me too. Figured the old crone might be worth a shilling or two to you.
“We put up a fight, but it was pretty useless. I stopped K.K. as they were herding us out the door, and said, ‘Hey. I know you. I ran into you at the police station.’ He peered at me. And then his face lit up. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re the old woman with the crazy rainbow sunglasses. I remember what you said:Over my dead body.’ That tickled him. He laughed like a maniac. He wanted the glasses, so he marched me up to my bedroom.
“I opened my wardrobe and grabbed my rifle. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face when I turned around, andBOOM. The fucker was on the floor, clutching his leg. I was loading the gun again, when his men came up, dragging Scholastica behind them. They looked at me, looked at him—bleeding on the ground by my feet, and took off. I stopped them in their tracks. I don’t want garbage lying around in my home, so I made them carry K.K. out. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. I hope he’s burning in hell as we speak.” She took a big gulp of milk and shook her head. “Think they can mess with my grandson, come into my home, and steal this little girl from under my watch? The fuckers.” She wiped her milk mustache off with the back of her hand and sat down next to Scholastica.
No one said a word. We sat around the table, a little shocked and dazed, as the minutes ticked by.
Then Scholastica finished her milk and slammed her cup down with athump. Mo’s frames slid farther down her nose.
“The fuckers,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, just like Goma had done.
They were the first English words I’d heard her speak. She didn’t have a clue what they meant, but she mimicked them earnestly, her face beaming with pride.
Jack got up, opened the refrigerator, and stuck his head behind the door.
Bahati cloaked his laughter in a coughing fit.
I bit down on my lip and stared at my knuckles.
“That’s right.” Goma patted Scholastica’s hand solemnly. “Always tell it like it is.”
I RELAXED INTOthe crook of Jack’s arm and rested my head on his shoulder. He found my hand under the blanket and laced our fingers together. We sat on the porch under a purple sky, on the kiwi green swing that had become our favorite spot. Moon-splashed fields stretched out before us. Behind us, Kilimanjaro watched silently, brooches of opalescent snow shimmering from its lofty peaks. Night bugs hummed, leaves rustled, a dragonfly whirred and fluttered away.
I had always thought of home as a place, where you put down your roots, unpack your collection of mugs with snarky quotes, put up all the bookshelves you want, and watch the rain splash down your windows on wet, gray afternoons. But I was realizing that home was a feeling—of being, of belonging—a feeling that swirled through my veins every time I was with Jack.
“Why so quiet?” he asked.
I shook my head and picked out a coffee plant to focus on. If I spoke, my voice would crack. If I looked at him, my eyes would betray me.
Ask me to stay, Jack.
As stupid and impractical as it sounded, I was ready to give it all up for him. My job. My cottage. My life in England. Because that’s what love did. It turned you stupid and made you do things you never thought you’d do.
“Three more days.” I kept my eyes on the coffee plant, willing him to make a statement.Give me something, Jack. Anything to grab on to.
“We could make it work.” He had this uncanny ability to read me, to tune into the frequency of my thoughts. “People have long distance relationships all the time.”
“Yes, but not forever.” My heart sank. It wasn’t what I’d been hoping for. I had always known this is how it would be. He’d told me right off the bat that he’d never ask me to stay, but it still twisted and burned inside me.
“Rodel.” He put his hand under my chin, his blue eyes capturing mine. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
“I don’t want you to, but I’d rather say goodbye now than next year, or the year after, when we’re both worn out by the distance. When phone calls and video chats and seeing each other once in a while just doesn’t cut it anymore. We’d be okay in the beginning. It would take the edge off, but I’m done with okay, Jack. Okay is existing. Okay is ordinary. And you . . .” I cupped his cheek in a wistful gesture. There was so much I wanted to say to him. “You and me . . . we’re too grand, too magnificent to fit into ordinary. I love you, Jack. It’s big love. Huge. I can’t stuff it in a letter or an email. I’m not okay with that. I’m not an okay girl. I’m an all or nothing girl.”
A slew of emotions flashed across his rugged face. Pride. Joy. Sorrow. Heart-rending tenderness. He twirled a strand of my hair around his finger and gave me a poignant smile. “I always knew you’d be trouble.”
