Page 40 of Duty Preserved

He gave me a half smile. “It’s not terrible if it’s true.”

“—their presence alone was enough until now. I figured no poachers came here because the rangers were here. But now, someone has.” I pressed my forehead into my hands. “Poachers don’t care. They take what they can sell and they move on and they don’t care how many animals they destroy to get it.”

He didn’t say anything to that. He sat with it, his eyes on the mug.

I lifted my head. “Sorry. You didn’t come out here to listen to me spiral.”

“Believe it or not, I came out here because I can’t sleep in the quiet.” He looked out into the distance. “Twelve years of sleeping in places where any sound meant trouble. Out here, it’s too open and too still and nothing’s trying to kill me, and my body doesn’t believe it.”

“Actually, there are quite a lot of predators out there that would be quite happy to kill you.”

He chuckled. “I guess I mean nobody with guns trying to kill me.”

“That happen a lot? People with guns trying to kill you?”

“Sometimes. Occupational hazard. It’s hard to sleep when it’s too quiet. My mind won’t settle.” He took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

Something moved in the grass way beyond the canvas, big and unhurried. Elephants, probably. My mind briefly drifted to Daniel. About how much he hated this place, when so many vets would be delighted to be part of this fellowship.

“My family thinks I’m crazy.” I hadn’t meant to say it. The words just came out, pulled loose by the dark and the rawness of the day and the way Donovan had offered something real without being asked. “They love me, but none of them understands why I’m here. None of them understands why I’d want to spend time in Africa… No TVs, no air conditioning, wild animals roaming around.”

I stopped. He wasn’t interested in hearing any of this.

“You love it, but they worry.”

“And they’re not wrong to worry. It’s hard and it’s dangerous and it’s hot, and I miss them all the time.” I pressed my thumbnail into the grain of the table. “But Kenya, this conservancy, is the first place that’s ever felt like mine.” I took a deep breath and looked into Donovan’s eyes. “I know that sounds ungrateful. It’s not meant to be, though.”

“It doesn’t sound ungrateful.”

“It does if you’re my mother. My family loves me so much, but it wasn’t enough to keep me from feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

“But here is different?”

“Yes.” I looked out through the open side of the tent at the darkness that went on forever. “This is the first place that I feel like I fit. The animals, the work, the village, the children. I earned the right to be here, and I never take it for granted. This is mine alone, and I love it here.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can see that.”

“You can?”

“Are you kidding? It’s evident in everything you do. The way you are here in camp. The way you are with the village kids. The rhino on the tracking run the other day.” He paused. “You were fucking amazing. In Paris, I thought you were⁠—”

He stopped. Something I couldn’t place quickly flickered over his face.

“Thought I was what?”

“Brave. Walking up to my table when you were terrified. Most people don’t do the thing that scares them.”

I rolled my eyes. “I threw up on you.”

“After.” A smile crossed his face. “But everything before that was brave.”

“That is a very generous reading of events.”

“From my perspective, it’s an accurate one.”

I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. He wasn’t flattering me. He was just saying what he thought, unwavering and plain, take it or leave it.

Neither of us had moved, but the distance between us felt different. Charged.