“It must have been really hard for Andrew to see you like that.”
“It’s still hard for him to talk about how I looked when he saw me in the hospital in Botswana. Or how worried he’d been on the flight, and while waiting for me to wake at the hospital in South Africa. He remained by my side for the duration of my stay at the hospital. I will say that he and Kim kept their wits about them. Had they not made arrangements for a medical flight, I doubt I would have survived. But once I was in the rehabilitation facility, Andrew was always more optimistic than I was whenever he saw me. Because he only saw me once every two or three months, my improvement, to him, was proceeding in leaps and bounds. To me, obviously, it felt altogether different.”
“And you said you were there for three years?”
“In the last year, I no longer lived on-site. I still had hours of therapy every day, but it felt as if I’d been released from jail. I’d gone outside only rarely in the first two years. If I never see another fluorescent tube again in my life, it’ll still be too soon.”
“I feel so bad for you.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m doing well now. And believe it or not, I met some wonderful people. The physical therapist, the speech therapist, my doctors and nurses. They were outstanding. But it’s a strange period to remember, because it sometimes feels as if I took a three-year pause on actually living my life. Which in a way I did, I suppose.”
She inhaled slowly, as though absorbing the warmth of the fire. Then: “You’re a lot stronger than I probably would have been about the whole thing.”
“Not really. Don’t think for a second that I was unfazed. I was on antidepressants for almost a year.”
“I think that’s understandable,” she said. “You were traumatized in every way.”
For a while they both stared into the fire, Hope’s feet snuggled close to his legs under the blanket. He had the feeling that she was still trying to make sense of the things he’d told her and how close they’d come to losing each other forever. Here and now, the idea felt incomprehensible to him, a near miss too harrowing to grasp, but then again, everything about today was unfathomable. That they were sitting beside each other on the couch right now felt both surreal and wildly romantic until Tru’s stomach gave an audible growl.
Hope laughed. “You must be starving.” She threw off the blanket. “I’m getting hungry, too. Are you up for some chicken salad? Over some greens? If you’d rather, I also have salmon or shrimp.”
“A salad sounds perfect,” he said.
She stood. “I’ll get it started.”
“Can I help?” Tru asked, stretching.
“I really don’t need much help, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Hope draped the blanket on the couch and they carried their wineglasses into the kitchen. As Hope opened the refrigerator, he leaned against the counter, watching her. She pulled out romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and sliced peppers of various colors, and he reflected on what she’d told him that afternoon. The disappointments she’d experienced hadn’t hardened into either anger or bitterness, but rather acceptance that life seldom turns out the way that one imagines it will.
She seemed to sense what he was thinking because she smiled. Reaching into the drawer, she pulled out a small knife, then a cutting board.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” he asked.
“This won’t take long at all, but how about you grab the plates and forks? They’re in the cabinet by the sink.”
At her instruction, he placed the plates next to the cutting board and watched as she sliced the vegetables. Next, she tossed and dressed the salad in a bowl with a little lemon juice and olive oil before arranging two servings on the plates. Finally, she added a scoop of chicken salad to each. He’d imagined being in a kitchen with her a thousand times in the last twenty-four years, just like this.
“Voilà.”
“It looks delicious,” he said, following her to the table.
After putting her plate down, she motioned toward the refrigerator. “Do you want some more wine?” she asked.
“No, thank you. Two glasses is my limit these days.”
“I’m closer to one,” she said. She reached for her fork. “Do you remember when we had dinner at Clancy’s? And then went back and had a glass of wine at my parents’ cottage?”
“How could I forget?” he said. “That was the night we first got to know each other. You took my breath away.”
She nodded, a hint of color staining her cheeks. She bent over her salad and he did the same.
Tru nodded at the carved box sitting on the table. “What’s in there?”
“Memories,” she said, a mysterious lilt in her voice. “I’ll show you later, but for now, let’s keep talking about you. I think we’re up to around 2007? What happened after you finished your rehabilitation?”
He hesitated, as though trying to figure out what to say. “I found a job in Namibia. Guiding. Well-kept lodge and huge reserve, with one of the largest concentrations of cheetahs on the continent. And Namibia is a beautiful country. The Skeleton Coast and Sossusvlei desert are…among the most otherworldly places on the planet. When I wasn’t working or flying to Europe to see Andrew, I played the tourist, exploring whenever I could. I stayed at the camp until I retired and moved to Cape Town. Or rather, Bantry Bay. It’s on the outskirts, right on the coast. I have a small place there with a spectacular view. And it’s walking distance to cafés, bookstores, and the market. It suits me.”
“Did you ever think about moving to Europe to be closer to Andrew?”
He shook his head. “I get up there from time to time, and work brings him to Cape Town regularly. If he could, he’d move to Cape Town, but Annette won’t let him. Most of her family lives in Belgium. But Africa has a hold on him, the same way it does on me. Unless you were raised there, it’s hard to understand.”
Her gaze was full of wonder. “Your life sounds incredibly romantic to me. Aside from that awful three-year period, I mean.”
“I’ve lived the life I wanted. Mostly, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Did you ever think about getting married again? After your divorce?”
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t even feel like dating. I told myself that it was because of the kids, but…”
“But what?”
Instead of answering, she shook her head. “It’s not important. Let’s finish with you. Now that you’re retired, how do you spend your days?”
“I don’t do much. But I do enjoy being able to walk without carrying a rifle.”
She smiled. “Do you have hobbies?” She rested her chin in her hand, striking a girlish pose as she fixed her attention on him. “Aside from drawing and guitar?”
“I visit a gym most mornings for an hour, and usually follow that with a long walk or a hike. I do a lot of reading, too. I’ve probably read more books in the last three years than I’d read in the previous sixty-three combined. I haven’t broken down and bought a computer yet, but Andrew keeps insisting that I need to catch up with the times.”
“You don’t have a computer?”
“What would I do with it?” He seemed genuinely bemused.
“I don’t know…read online newspapers, order something you need, email. Stay connected to the world?”
“Maybe one day. I still prefer reading a regular newspaper, I have everything I need, and there’s no one I want to email.”
“Do you know what Facebook is?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Tru conceded. “As I mentioned, I do read the paper.”
“I had a Facebook account for a few years. In case you wanted to contact me.”