"That's because I am a 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? Really laugh?
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 Warden liked the 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 because you're still 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.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded and gave him a small smile, but I had no idea what I was going to do.
"Sorry it didn't work out," he said.
"I'm sure we'll find another way." I wasn't sure at all, but with Scholastica in tow, there was no turning back. I slid into the car and shut the door.
Goma was putting a hat on Scholastica's head. "She has no pigment," she said. "That makes her sensitive to the sun. Pick up some sunscreen when you get to Amosha."
"I will," I promised. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"You're most welcome. Kwaheri, Rodel. Kwaheri, Scholastica. Goodbye."
She opened the car door for Scholastica to hop in, but Scholastica went running to the porch instead. Jack was standing there, holding out her forgotten balloon. She gave him a wide smile as she took it, but he didn't notice. His eyes were focused on the hat she was wearing.
"Where did she get this?" he asked.
"Not again, Jack." Goma walked up to the porch. "I found it in your car."
"Lily was wearing it. She left it in the car when we went into the mall."
"It's just a hat, Jack. There's no part of Lily in it. She's here-" Goma touched his heart "-where she'll always be."
"It's the last thing I have of hers. Her sunflower hat. You have no right to give it away."
"I made her that hat. I can give it to whoever I choose."
"It's not just a hat. Not to me!"
They went back and forth, hurling sentences at each other.
Scholastica's eyes darted from Jack to Goma. It didn't take much to figure out what they were arguing about. She took off the hat, sliding it slowly from her head. For a moment, she admired the big, floppy flower in the center that looked like a little burst of sunshine. Then she folded it in half and held it out to Jack, squinting up at him with her bizarre, milky blue eyes. He stopped mid-sentence, staring at her. She nudged the hat closer and when he continued standing there, stiff and frozen, she placed it in his palm and curled his fingers around it.
My throat clogged as the sun beat down on her exposed head. Somewhere down the line, she had become my ward, my responsibility. I had moved beyond her startling appearance and saw her for the little girl she was.
Jack saw something too, something that made him grab her hand as she turned to go. He held his daughter's hat tight in his other hand and knelt before Scholastica.
"Her name was Lily. Jina yake ilikuwa Lily," he said.
"Lily?" asked Scholastica.
Jack nodded. "Mtoto yangu, my daughter. She liked rainbows and chocolate. Melted chocolate. See?" He pointed to the stains and slid the hat onto Scholastica's head. "She liked dancing. And singing. And taking photos." He adjusted the hat so that the sunflower was centered in the front. "She died," he said. "Alikufa."
"Pole," replied Scholastica. Sorry.
Then she put her arms around him and gave him a hug. They embraced under the gable of the house, Scholastica's balloon bobbing over them, and Kilimanjaro watching silently from the clouds.
It was a moment of big and small-the man, the girl, the mountain, the manor. I couldn't see Jack's face, but I knew something was happening-something powerful, yet tender. When it was done, they spoke to each other without any words. Jack straightened and led Scholastica to the car, where Bahati and I were waiting.
"You said you'll come back tomorrow," he said to me.
"Pardon me?"
"Yesterday. You said, 'Maybe this isn't the best time. I'll come back tomorrow.'"
I stared at him blankly.
"It's tomorrow, Rodel Emerson. Come back inside. I'll take you and Scholastica to Wanza."
"You will?" A small thrill shot down my spine. "What about the other kids?" I had other names to cross off. I needed a commitment.
Jack opened the car door and waited for me to step out. Then he extended his hand out. When I put my hand in his large, rough grip, he held it for a moment, as if allowing me the opportunity to back out.
Then he squeezed.
It was a silent handshake, an unspoken agreement. And although I had only just met him, I knew I could trust Jack Warden to keep his promise. Come what may.
I FOLLOWED JACK into the library after lunch and watched him unroll a map across the polished walnut desk. He took the three Post-its I handed to him, and laid them out on the map:
July 17-Juma (Baraka)
Aug 29-Sumuni (Maymosi)
Sept 1-Furaha (Magesa)
"We'll make one trip to Wanza," he said, after studying Mo's notes. "The last two stops are on the way there and the dates are close. Your sister and Gabriel probably planned it that way. Instead of driving back and forth, we'll go to Baraka and get Juma first." He tapped the location on the map. "We can leave tomorrow and bring him back to the farm. The next pickup isn't for another week. We'll set out with him and Scholastica then, stop at Maymosi and Magesa, and head on to Wanza from there." He looked at me for confirmation.
He was silhouetted against the window, dust motes dancing around him as beams of light slanted in through the pane. The edges of his hair shone like pale gold where the sun touched it, making him look like a dark, charcoal drawing, infused with light. He was still walled up, still barricaded from the inside, but something had cracked open.