"Brave girl," said Goma. "Not afraid of old skin. You don't speak English, do you?" She switched to Swahili and soon Scholastica was giggling. "Come on." She held a hand out to her. "Let's get you some dry clothes."
I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye, relieved that Goma had left her underwear on. They returned, wearing colorful muumuus-long, loose dresses that covered them from head to foot.
"I make these out of kitenge. You'll never want to wear those jeans again," said Goma, handing me a muumuu.
Bahati looked at her like she'd lost her mind when she gave him a green and yellow one.
"Oh, go on." She shoved it into his hands. "You're dripping water all over my floors."
They faced each other for a few seconds, battling silently. Then Bahati snatched the muumuu from her.
"Bathroom's over there." She inclined her head and watched as he ambled towards it, his feet shuffling like he was heading off to a sacrificial altar.
"I'm Katherine Warden," she said, turning to me. "Everyone calls me Goma."
"Rodel Emerson." I shook her gnarled hand. "And this is Scholastica."
"Rodel and Scholastica," she repeated, looking at us with curious eyes. "So what brings you here?"
I explained the situation as concisely as I could.
"I'm sorry Jack was so rude to you," she said, when I was done. "It appears you are both bound by the events of a tragic afternoon. Jack hasn't been the same since he lost Li-" She stopped as Bahati returned, wearing the muumuu. It barely skimmed past his knees.
Goma pinched Scholastica-a quick, sharp nip on the back of her hand to stop her from giggling. Bahati in a muumuu was a very quiet man, nothing like the Bahati who rattled on and on.
"Excuse me." I needed to get out of there before Goma pinched me too. "I think I'll go change."
When I came back, they were all in the kitchen-Bahati and Scholastica huddled around the table, while Goma ladled hot soup into their bowls.
"You can hang those up in the laundry," she said, pointing to the wet bundle rolled up in my arms.
The rain was still falling hard as I made my way down the hallway to the laundry room. I found some clothes pegs and was hanging up my things when lightning illuminated the back of the house. I thought I saw Jack momentarily through the window, standing outside in the middle of a full-fledged tropical storm. I was about to chalk it up to my imagination when another flash lit him up again. He was just standing there, under a tree that looked like it was hundreds of years old, staring at the ground, while the rain whipped hell and fury all around him.
"I think Jack is still outside," I said when I stepped into the kitchen.
Goma nodded and continued having her soup. "He does that. Sits with her whenever there's a storm." She pushed a bowl toward me. "Eat."
"Sits with who?" I asked, taking the chair across from her.
"Lily. His daughter. She's buried out there. They all are. This place sure lived up to its name."
"Kaburi Estate?" I recalled the sign at the entrance.
"Yes. It was supposed to be Karibu Estate. Karibu means welcome, but I was still learning Swahili back then and I wrote Kaburi on the work order. It means a grave. Sam-my husband-thought it was hilarious. He refused to correct it. He always said he'd love me to his grave." Goma stared into her bowl. "And so he did. He loved me to the end."
I sensed the beginning of an epic love story, the kind I was always hungry for, but she didn't say anything more. She just smiled wistfully and swirled her spoon around the bowl in little circles.
"Should we . . . should someone go get Jack?" I asked as lightning pierced the sky again. I was starting to feel terrible about what I'd said to him.
"He'll come in when he's done. And he'll keep doing it, until one day, he doesn't need to anymore. It's what you're doing too, aren't you? Miles from home. Mourning your sister in your own way. You've got to let it run its course. Give in until it's spent and quiet, until you've learned to breathe through the loss."
I had a spoonful of my soup and thought about what she'd said. Mo's death was like a door that had been sealed shut forever. I could never walk through it, never listen to her go on about all the inconsequential things that I missed so terribly now. There is an invisible threshold of possibilities when someone is alive. It contracts when they're gone, swallowing up all the worlds that hover around them-names of people they'd never meet, faces of kids they'd never have, flavors of ice cream they'd never taste. Losing Mo hurt like hell, but I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to lose a child.
"I thought I told you to leave."
I jumped at the sound of Jack's voice. He was drenched to the core, standing by the back door in a puddle of water. The hoodie was gone and his T-shirt was molded to the kind of muscles that came with hard, physical labor. We were high up at the foot of the mountain, where the air held a touch of frost in the evenings, but he showed no sign of being cold. Perhaps that was the point-standing in the rain past the point of numbness.
"I invited them in," said Goma.
Jack followed her eyes and noticed Bahati for the first time.
"Habari, Jack," said Bahati.
Jack nodded in acknowledgment. He had no reaction to seeing a muumuu-clad man at his grandmother's table. Then his eyes fell on Scholastica, and everything changed. If he had been harsh with me before, he was positively hostile toward her. His hands clenched into tight fists by his sides, hackles rising until the air bristled with unspoken tension.
"That's Lily's," he growled.
"So it is." Goma didn't seem perturbed by his reaction. "Scholastica needed a change of clothes, so I gave her Lily's dress."
Jack's jaw clenched, like he had just stopped himself from biting someone's head off. Scholastica huddled closer to Goma, shriveling under his biting glare.
"I think we should go now," I said to Bahati. I had no idea if they'd let Scholastica board with me at the volunteer's hostel until I figured something out. All I knew was that I didn't like the way Jack Warden made me feel. I was used to constants with people-a nice, smooth line, with maybe a few blips here and there. But with Jack, it was like a polygraph test gone wild, the recording needle jumping all over the place. I went hopeful to insulted, from being sympathetic about his loss to infuriated by his attitude.
"No one's going anywhere in this weather. In case you haven't been listening to the forecast, the storm isn't going to clear any time soon," said Goma. "There are no streetlights for miles and the roads are treacherous in the rain. Besides, you have Scholastica to think about."
"I'm sure the hostel can accommodate her for one night," I replied. "I can call ahead and-"
"That's not what I-"
"It's not safe," Jack declared. "You leave in the morning."
I stared at him in silence. What made him think he had the right to call the shots on what I did? Or when? Maybe if he'd said it differently, like he gave a damn, I would have considered it, but he clearly didn't want us there, and I wasn't about to accept any grand favors from him.
"You can't make that decision for us." I lifted my chin and met his gaze.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. I was pretty sure I was seconds from combusting into a pile of smoldering ash when his scrutiny shifted.
"Bahati." He held out his hand. "Keys."
Bahati cast a furtive glance at me, but he clearly didn't want to lock horns with Jack.
The keys disappeared as Jack closed his fingers over them and slid them into his pocket. "You leave in the morning." He looked pointedly at me.
"Well. It's settled then." Goma shot me an expression that left no room for protest. She got up and filled a bowl of soup for Jack. "Now sit down and have a bite to eat."
"Later. I'm going to take a shower," he announced, peeling off his T-shirt and wiping his face with it. He was tanned all over, with no lines marking his skin, except for the dark cuts sculpting his washboard abs. He started heading upstairs and then turned around. Trickles of water ran down his back from hair that was still glistening from the rain. "Bahati, come with me. I have something you can borrow. You need to get out of that . . . thing."
Bahati glared at Goma before following Jack out.
"What?" She glared back. "You wear that tribal robe all the time. Same thing, just with sleeves."
"You know Bahati?" I asked, when the men were gone.
"Yes. Anyone who's been to The Grand Tulip knows him. Jack used to take his wife there on weekends-his ex-wife, Sarah. She wasn't made for life out here. They met while Jack was studying in Kenya. The farm seemed like a romantic notion to her then, but once she got here, it drove her nuts. She missed the shops and restaurants. The spa at The Grand Tulip was her favorite haunt, so Jack drove her to town whenever he could. He'd take her to see a show afterward. Sometimes they stayed over. He ran into Bahati there. The staff there is nice, but they all make fun of him. He stands out front like a brave warrior, but he'll squeal if a ladybug lands on him. He's the first to abandon post at the slightest hint of trouble. They laugh because, in spite of all that, he wants to be an action hero. Not Jack. Back then he was all about chasing your passion. He took one look at Bahati and told him he wasn't qualified. The Maasai walk everywhere, but that wasn't going to cut it. How was he going to handle a high-speed car chase, if he broke out in hives at the thought of getting behind the wheel? So, while Sarah was getting her massages, Jack taught Bahati how to drive."