But last night … that had felt like more than friendship.
Perhaps she'd been warning him. Don't make more of this than there is. We're friends. Nothing more.
Lukewarm relief mixed with dragging despair swept across his heart.
As much as he longed to experience that exquisite feeling of closeness again, he couldn't allow it to happen.
He would have to pretend.
All his life, he had pretended. Pretended to be just like everyone else. Pretended he hadn't minded being a family-less, heritage-less, home-less, and anchor-less alien in a foreign world. Pretended his marriage had mitigated the need to pretend.
Lois turned to him, her smile glimmering in the pale light of dawn. "You might be able to work on the truck before they send breakfast."
The truck would give him much-needed distance. An excuse to avoid deep and searching conversations. An opportunity to set the tone of their association to superficially affectionate. "I'd like that," Clark said.
They walked through the gate and into the sanctuary they would share for another three days.
But Clark was no longer sure whether it was a sanctuary or a snare.
Part 14
Lois hadn't added one piece of fabric to the rug.
Not one.
She'd picked up a strip fifteen minutes ago, and it still lay in her hand.
Her attention had been fixated on Kent, watching him move through the muted light of early morning. The baby sun rays glistened off his bare shoulders as he handled the tools with confidence and familiarity.
He didn't appear to be aware of her scrutiny. Perhaps he was as engrossed in the truck as she was in him. Or perhaps her head-down-eyes-raised posture was enough to give the impression she was working on the rug.
He effortlessly climbed a rosewood tree, presumably in pursuit of a particular piece of wood, and her breath stuck in her throat.
She swallowed, blinked, and repeated her refrain: Kent needed friends.
He needed time. He needed to interact with good people. He needed to learn to trust again. He needed to be part of a community.
When was the right time to return to the village? Why had Matymbou ordered the extra days? Could she talk to him? Reiterate that Kent posed no danger of disease?
Timing was going to be critical.
If they went too early, Kent could feel overwhelmed and withdraw completely.
If they stayed in quarantine too long …
What were the risks of staying too long?
Just her and Kent? Together all day? Alone, around the campfire at night? Like last night -
"Lois!"
The call from beyond the gate jolted her from her thoughts. "Yes, Tsumbu?"
"I have your breakfast."
Glancing up, Lois saw Kent jump from the tree and land nimbly on the ground.
She rolled up the rug and fabric strips, feeling peevish disgust at its inability to hold her attention or provide any clear direction as to the way forward.
After breakfast, she was going to write.
~|^|~
As he'd worked on the truck, Clark's thoughts had leapt ahead to breakfast - not what they would be eating, but the topic of conversation.
The memory of last night would be with him forever, but he couldn't allow his mind to deviate from the only appropriate interpretation - that Lois was a medicine woman who had been trying to help a patient.
His strong inclination was to say nothing about last night and hope she did likewise. But that seemed unlikely. She was a medicine woman. If she sensed he was being evasive, she would probably feel duty-bound to question him.
Eventually, Clark had settled on a strategy. If he asked her about being a parent, that would allude to last night but steer the conversation away from both his despair over Lana and the closeness he'd felt with Lois.
It seemed a perfect plan because he was genuinely interested in Lois's relationship with Diddi. And didn't every parent enjoy talking about her child?
So, as they sat on the rocks circling the fire, he casually asked, "What's it like being a parent?"
Lois chuckled. "It's an equal mix of love, pride, fear, and guilt."
Clark could understand the love and pride. During the few weeks when he'd thought he was going to be a father, he'd experienced overwhelming love for his child. And immense pride. He'd known the fear and guilt, too. They would creep upon him in the middle of the night, tormenting him with the knowledge that, if his child were born with abnormalities, it would be his fault. But Lois had no reason for guilt. "Guilt?" he asked.
"Perhaps every mother feels a sense of guilt," Lois said.
"But you're a wonderful mother."
"Thank you," she said. "But I want to be the best mother I can be, and many days, I fall short of my expectations."
"Perhaps that just means your expectations aren't realistic," Clark said carefully.
"Maybe," she said. "It's strange - I never feel like an outsider with the Bangala, but I'm always conscious that Diddi is the only kid with a white mother. It has never bothered him, but I guess I want to give him everything, even the chance to blend in completely if that's what he wants."
"Feeling you're just like everyone else can be important," Clark said. "But it's not as important as knowing you're loved."
"I guess so."
Clark was silent for a moment, analysing his last statement. For the first ten years of his life, he'd known his parents loved him. He'd known they couldn't have loved him more if he'd been their biological child. But he'd never been able to shake the feeling of being different.
Of not fitting anywhere.
He'd always felt like that.
Until last night.
"You asked me whether I'd thought about trying to bring medical advances to the Bangala," Lois said. "I don't know what I would do if it were Diddi who was sick."
"That would be a terrible decision to have to make," Clark said.
"I'm not sure whether it's even possible to make contact with the outside world," Lois said. "I mean, there's talk of a big tribe living further up the river, but they could be just as isolated as we are. I don't know the nearest place where I could access communication equipment. I wouldn't even know what direction to take. And I would certainly never risk setting out with a sick or injured child."
"The fear you mentioned? I guess that would be even greater here than for a mother living in the US?"
"I don't think it's greater," she said. "Just different. Guns and violence dominate that world, and children are just as vulnerable as everyone else."
"I think they're more vulnerable," Clark said. "When the parents have lost all hope in the future, there seems less reason to protect and value the children."
Lois nodded sombrely, perhaps remembering the world she had left. "I'm glad I'm here," she said. "I don't want to go back."
For the first time, Clark fully believed her.
And despite the warnings echoing through his mind, he couldn't completely stifle the small part of his heart that was glad he was here, too.
~|^|~
Lois put down the pencil and stretched her cramping fingers. The words had come easily as the visions in her head had poured onto the paper. She'd been able to see the characters so clearly, hear their dialogue so precisely, and understand their feelings so unerringly that writing had been effortless.
She leant against the trunk of the tree and flicked back, surprised at how many pages she had to turn to get to the beginning of the scene.
She started to read and was immediately swept up, feeling as if she were right there with the two characters, silently cheering as they worked through the tangled knots of misunderstanding to reach the conclusion of the scene - the realisation that neither wanted a life without the other.
Lois reached the end and released a slow, satisfied sigh. In her mind, the characters rolled on, augmenting their verbal declaration of love with kisses - tentative at first, and then with increasing intensity as long-bound passions were set free.
As the scene played out in her imagination, Lois's eyes followed Kent.
They merged - the scene and the man.
And, suddenly, it wasn't her characters expressing their love, but Lois and Kent. She imagined kissing him, leaning into his chest, sliding her fingers through his dark hair -
Lois shook her head and pushed the book away, feeling her cheeks flush.
She stood abruptly and ran to the gate. "Tsumbu?"
"Yes, Lois?"
She opened the gate and saw Tsumbu ten yards away. Lowering her voice, she asked, "Could you ask Romaric if I can have one of his shirts, please? The biggest one he owns?"
"Romaric went over the Mokuse River to hunt for hog."
"When he gets back, would you ask him, please?"
"Yes, Lois."
She shut the gate and returned to the fire. She crouched beside it, still feeling shaken by the powerful images of her and Kent.
She couldn't be thinking about him like that. He was distraught over the break-up of his marriage. He was hurting. He was vulnerable.
She had concluded that he needed loyal and dependable friends. She had determined to be one of those friends as he learned to trust again.
Would regaining the ability to trust lead, eventually, to Kent being open to loving again?
He'd already come so far in just a few days. He'd wanted to die. He'd wanted to be alone.
She couldn't jeopardise his progress. She couldn't -
"Close your eyes."
His voice, low and gentle, rippled across her heart. "Are you done?" she exclaimed excitedly.
"Stand up, close your eyes, and turn around."
Lois closed her eyes and stood. His hand clasped her shoulder and guided her as she turned towards his voice. "Can I look now?" she begged.
"Hold out your hands."
She did, and the wooden truck was placed on her outstretched palms.
It was immediately obvious that Kent had done a great job. The toy felt sturdy and well-built - strong in stature and smoothly finished.
A bit like its maker, really.
She giggled.
"What's so funny?"
Hearing the twist of apprehension in his voice, Lois tempered her smile and hurried to say, "I want to open my eyes. It feels fantastic. Diddi is going to be overjoyed."
"Oh. OK, you can look."
Lois's eyes shot open. She glanced at the truck, quickly noting that it looked as masterfully constructed as it felt. But it was unable to hold her attention. Her eyes rose to Kent's face.
"Is it all right?" he asked anxiously.
"It's amazing." She knew she should examine the truck and add appreciation of detail to her admiration, but she'd become hopelessly trapped in his eloquent brown eyes.
"It isn't varnished yet," Kent said. "But the woodwork is finished."
Lois dragged her eyes away, forcing herself to inspect the masterpiece even though it wasn't nearly as fascinating as the man who had made it. "Wow," she breathed. "You didn't tell me you were so talented."
"I … I didn't think it would turn out as well as it has."
Lois ran her fingertips over the smooth wood, tracing the top of the cabin and down into the tray. She turned the truck onto its side and spun the wheels, laughing with delight at their smoothness. "This is incredible, Kent."
"I had one like this when I was a kid," he said. "The back of the tray slides in and out …" He reached forward to demonstrate. "… and this extra piece of wood fits to the back as a ramp."
She experimented with the back and the ramp, genuinely impressed by his workmanship. "Thank you so much for making this, Kent," Lois said.
"I'm the one who should be thanking you," he said gravely. "If … if you hadn't found me, I'd probably be dead by now."
His words gently curled around her heart, causing moisture to gather in her eyes. She blinked rapidly. "Are you glad I found you?"
He didn't reply at first. She lifted her gaze to his eyes and became caught there in the swirl of not-quite-veiled emotions. "Yes," he whispered.
"I'm glad I found you," she said in a thick voice. "So very, very glad."
His eyes dropped to the truck. "I should get on with painting this."
Lois constructed a tremulous smile as she said, "There's a pot of oil in the hut. And some brushes. And a table Clyde uses for painting small pieces. Tsumbu brought them over when he took the breakfast plates."
"Thanks," Kent said. "How long until it will be touch-dry?"
"About an hour, I think. It should dry in the shade. Drying slowly makes the finish harder."
"I'll need to paint the top, wait for it to dry, and then turn it over to do the underside."
Lois hadn't thought about that. "Is this what you did as a job? Before you came to Africa?"
"No."
"As soon as Clyde and Ines see this truck, they are going to want to talk to you about joining them."
Kent's fingers had been spinning one of the wheels, but he stopped at her comment. "Are you asking me if I'm going to stay?"
"Are you?"
Kent gave a low rumble from somewhere deep in that - still bare - chest. "What do you want me to do, Lois?" he said, holding her eyes in the depth of his gaze.
"I want you to stay," she declared.
"Are you sure?"
She had never been more sure of anything in her life. "Yes."
"I … I don't know … I'm not sure if it will work."
"We'll make it work," Lois promised.
His eyes darted back to the truck. "I need to get this done," he said, disappearing into the hut.
Lois waited until he emerged, carrying the small table, the pot, and the brush. "I'm very impressed with your work," she said. "You're brilliant."
His smile came hesitantly, but it was the slight dusting of pink that rose into his cheeks that tightened his grip on her heart. "Thanks," he said.
Kent walked away to the shade of the large moabi tree.
Lois went into the hut. Her knees crumbled, and she fell onto her bed, overwhelmed by a churning medley of feelings.
Longing. Excitement. Nervousness. Confusion. Clarity. Elation. Apprehension.
He felt it, too.
This thing between them - Kent felt it, too.
But he thought she was married.
He was a young man. A man with a huge and loving heart. A man whose natural state was to love and be loved.
'Friends' would never be enough.
Not with Kent.
She wanted to belong with him.
In every way possible that a woman can belong with a man.
She'd felt a connection with him almost from the beginning. The need to heal him. Physically at first. Then the need to alleviate his emotional pain - to free him from the memories of Lana's betrayal.
She'd wanted him to be happy, but it was so much more than that.
She wanted him to be happy with her. She'd longed for his heart to love again. She wanted him to love her.
Because she knew that without him, her life would be less than whole. She'd found the other part of herself. They were meant to be together as man and woman.
It was more than a choice. More than a conscious decision.
It was an innate part of who she was.
She loved Kent.
She would always love him.
Friends, yes.
Partners in life, eternally.
Lovers, definitely.
She loved him.
What should she do now?
They had another two days of quarantine. On the third day, Kent would move into the village, and they would co-exist in a close community.
There would be no way to avoid him.
But avoiding him was the last thing she wanted to do.
She had to talk to Kent. She had to find out exactly what he was thinking and more importantly, what he was feeling.
Would he deny the bond between them?
And if he did, would his denial be the truth? Or a lie? Would it be driven by decency? Or fear of being hurt again?
What if he refused to answer? What if her questions drove him back into the remoteness of their first day together?
She couldn't force him to tell her anything.
"Lois?"
She grunted in frustration at the interruption to her flow of thoughts. She went out of the hut and to the gate. "Yes, Tsumbu?"
"I have Romaric's shirt."
"Is he back already?"
"No. I spoke with Matymbou. He went to Romaric's hut and got the shirt."
"OK. Thanks, Tsumbu."
Lois slipped out of the gate. She bent down and picked up the shirt, hugging it against her chest in search of a way forward.
What was Kent thinking? What did he think she was thinking?
Whatever he'd felt, the knowledge she was married would cause him to repress it. Lois was sure that, even without his experience with Lana, Kent had never been the sort of man to flout marriage vows.
Right when he should be allowing his heart to become receptive again, he would be smothering the new buds of life. He would shut down when he needed to be opening up.
He was probably feeling confused. Guilty. Ashamed, even.
She couldn't let that continue. He'd done nothing wrong.
She couldn't force Kent to tell her anything, but she could ask him to listen.
If she explained the reasons she and Matymbou had married, was Kent going to feel as if she were trying to coerce him into something before he was ready?
She had to be the one to tell him. She had to do it before the quarantine ended.
But when? Was now too early? Should she wait another day? Would that achieve anything?
What should she do? What should she say? When should she speak?
They'd known each other for four days. It was too soon.
"Lois?" Kent's voice came from inside the quarantine area. "Is everything all right?"
She rolled the shirt into a bundle in her hands.
When she re-entered the gate, Kent was just a few yards away.
He saw the shirt. His faced closed. His throat jumped. "Is … is that for me?"
His voice - etched with uncertainty - struck a blow to her heart. "I …"
He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sorry, Lois."
He was retreating. She could feel him slipping away. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"I made you uncomfortable."
"It wasn't y-" But it was him. There was something about him - everything about him - that called to her. "It's not your fault."
He held out his hand for the shirt. Lois gave it to him. She looked into his face, hoping to send him a silent message of reassurance, but his eyes refused to meet hers.
She took refuge in detail. "Most of the men prefer wearing just a liputa - a loincloth - during the day," she said. "But the tailors, Barthelemy and Nlandu, make shirts and pants for the cooler times. This is Romaric's."
Kent slipped his arm into the sleeve. As he pushed his other arm into the second sleeve, it became obvious the garment was too small. He attempted to bring the fronts together. They missed by more than an inch.
"You can't wear that," Lois said.
With some difficulty, Kent wriggled out of it. Misery cloaked him as he held it against his thigh, the sleeve trailing on the ground.
"Kent," she said. "Please don't feel bad about this."
"We've been together for four days," he said, "and suddenly, you want me to cover up."
"Whatever you're thinking, you must know -"
"I know you're married. I'm married. This isn't right."
"Kent, there's something -"
"I don't want to talk about it." He pushed the shirt into her hand and walked away.
Lois turned and ran to the gate. "Tsumbu?"
"Yes, Lois?"
"Could you please tell Matymbou that I really need to see him? Could you ask him to come as soon as he can?"
"Yes, Lois. I will tell Matymbou."
"Thank you." Lois drifted back to the fire. Kent had picked up the table and moved to the farthest corner of the quarantine area. His back was to her as he continued painting.
All his joy over the truck had evaporated.
She'd humiliated him.
More than anything in the world, Lois wanted to go to him, take him into her arms, and convince him that everything was going to be all right.
But she wasn't convinced.
He'd felt the bond between them, and he'd rejected it.
Perhaps because she was married. Perhaps because he wasn't ready to allow another woman close enough to hurt him as Lana had hurt him.
Perhaps because he would never be ready.
Lois stifled a sob. Even from a distance of fifty yards, she could feel the anguish emanating from the figure bent over the small table.
And this time, it wasn't Lana who'd driven a stake into his heart.
She'd done it. Lois turned towards the gate, listening in anticipation of the sound of footsteps through the undergrowth. "Please come quickly, Matty," she muttered. "I really need you."
