“You said it’s for a good friend?”
“I’ve been friends with Ellen since college. We were in the same sorority—do they have sororities in Zimbabwe?” she interrupted herself. At his quizzical expression, she went on. “Sororities are a kind of all-women club at colleges and universities…you know, where a group of girls live and socialize together. Anyway, all the bridesmaids were in the same sorority, so it’ll be a little reunion, too. Other than that, it’s just a typical wedding. Photos, cake, a band at the reception, tossing the garter belt and all that. You know how weddings are.”
“Aside from my own, I’ve never been to one.”
“Oh…you’re married?”
“Divorced. But the wedding wasn’t anything like they do here in the U.S. We were married by an official of the court, and went straight from there to the airport. We spent our honeymoon in Paris.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It was.”
She liked the matter-of-factness of his answer, liked that he didn’t feel the need to elaborate or romanticize it. “How do you know about American weddings, then?”
“I’ve seen a few movies. And I’ve had guests tell me about them. Safaris are popular honeymoon destinations. In any case, the weddings sound very complicated and stressful.”
Ellen would definitely agree with that, Hope thought. Switching tacks, Hope asked, “What is it like to grow up in Zimbabwe?”
“I can only talk about my own experience. Zimbabwe is a big country. It’s different for everyone.”
“What was it like for you?”
He wasn’t sure what or how much to tell her, so he kept it general. “My family owns a farm near Harare. It’s been in the family for generations. So I grew up doing farm chores. My grandfather thought it would be good for me. I milked cows and collected eggs when I was young. In my teen years, I did heavier work, like repairs: fencing, roofs, irrigation, pumps, engines, anything that was broken. In addition to going to school.”
“How did you end up guiding?”
He shrugged. “I felt at peace whenever I was in the bush. Whenever I had spare time, I’d venture out on my own. And when I finished school, I let my family know I would be leaving. So I did.”
As he answered, he could feel her eyes on him. She offered a skeptical expression as she reached for her coffee again.
“Why do I have the sense that there’s more to the story?”
“Because there’s always more to the story.”
She laughed, the sound surprisingly hearty and unself-conscious. “Fair enough. Tell me about some of the most exciting things you’ve seen on safari.”
On familiar ground, Tru regaled her with the same stories he shared with guests whenever they asked. Now and then she had questions, but for the most part, she was content to listen. By the time he finished, the coffee was gone and the sun was scorching the back of his neck. He set the empty cup back on the table.
“Would you like more? There’s a little left in the pot.”
“One cup is plenty,” he said. “And I’ve taken too much of your time already. But I did appreciate it. Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do,” she said. She rose as well, walking him to the gate. He pulled it open, keenly aware of her closeness. He started down the steps, but turned when he reached the walkway to offer a quick wave.
“Nice meeting you, Tru,” she called out with a smile. Though he had no way to know for sure, he wondered whether she continued to watch him as he wound toward the beach. For some reason, it took a great deal of willpower to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder to find out.
AUTUMN AFTERNOONS
Back at the house, Tru found himself at loose ends. If he could, he’d call Andrew, but he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of dialing from the house phone. Overseas charges were substantial, and besides, Andrew likely wouldn’t be home yet. After school, he played soccer with his youth club; Tru always enjoyed watching him practice. Andrew lacked the innate athleticism that other kids on the team displayed, but he was a relaxed and natural leader, much like his mother.
Thinking about his son eventually made Tru retrieve his drawing materials, which he carried out to the back deck. Next door, he noticed that Hope had gone inside, although the towel she’d used on Scottie was still draped over the railing. Settling himself in the chair, he debated what he should sketch. Andrew had never seen the ocean, not in person, so Tru decided to try to capture the enormity of the sight before him, assuming that was even possible.
As always, he started with a general and faint outline of the scene—a diagonal point of view that included the shoreline, breaking waves, the pier, and a sea that stretched to the horizon. Drawing had always been a way to relax his mind, and as he sketched, he allowed it to wander. He thought about Hope and wondered what it was about her that had captured his interest. It was unusual for him to be so instantly taken with someone, but he told himself it didn’t really matter. He’d come to North Carolina for other reasons, and he found his thoughts drifting to his family.
He hadn’t seen or spoken to his stepfather, Rodney, or his half brothers, Allen and Alex, in almost two years. The reasons were rooted in history, and wealth had further compounded the estrangement. In addition to the Walls family name, Tru had inherited partial ownership of the farm and business empire. The profits were substantial, but in his daily life, he had little need for money. Whatever he earned from the farm was sent to an investment account in Switzerland that the Colonel had set up when Tru was still a toddler. The funds had been piling up for years, but Tru seldom checked the balance. From that account, he arranged for money to be sent regularly to Kim and he paid for Andrew’s schooling, but aside from the outright purchase of the house in Bulawayo, that was it. He had already arranged to sign over a chunk of the money to Andrew when his son reached the age of thirty-five. He assumed that Andrew would find more use for it than he would.
Recently, his half brothers had started to become resentful about that, but theirs had always been a distant relationship, so it wasn’t altogether unexpected. Tru was nine years older than the twins, and by the time they would have been old enough to remember Tru, he was already spending most of his time in the bush, as far away from the farm as possible. He moved away for good when he was eighteen. In essence, they were, and always had been, strangers to each other.
Things with Rodney, on the other hand, were more complicated. Tru’s equity in the business had been causing problems with Rodney ever since the Colonel had died, thirteen years ago, but in truth, the relationship had been broken far longer than that. To Tru’s mind, it dated back to the fire, when Tru was eleven years old. Much of the compound had gone up in flames in 1959. Tru had barely escaped by jumping from a second-floor window. Rodney had carried Allen and Alex to safety, but Tru’s mother, Evelyn, had never made it out.
Even before the fire, Rodney had never been supportive or affectionate with his stepson; he mostly tolerated Tru. In the aftermath, Rodney’s attention became almost nonexistent. Between dealing with his grief, raising toddlers, and managing the farm, he was overwhelmed. In retrospect, Tru understood that. At the time, it hadn’t been so easy, and the Colonel hadn’t offered much in the way of support, either. After the death of his only child, he sank into a profound depression that seemed to lock him away in a vault of silence. He would sit near the blackened ruins of the compound, staring at the wreckage; when the debris was hauled off and construction began on the new houses, he stared without speaking at the ongoing work. Occasionally Tru went to sit with him, but the Colonel would mumble only a few words in acknowledgment. There were rumors, after all; rumors about his grandfather, the business, and the real reason for the fire. At the time, Tru knew nothing about them; he knew only that no one in his family seemed willing to speak to him or even offer so much as a hug. If it hadn’t been for Tengwe and Anoona, Tru wasn’t sure he would have survived the loss of his mother. The only thing he could really remember from that period was regularly crying himself to sleep and spending long hours wandering the property alone after school and his chores. He understood now that those had been his first steps on the journey that led him from the farm to living in the bush. Had his mother survived, he had no idea who he would have become.
“I’ve been friends with Ellen since college. We were in the same sorority—do they have sororities in Zimbabwe?” she interrupted herself. At his quizzical expression, she went on. “Sororities are a kind of all-women club at colleges and universities…you know, where a group of girls live and socialize together. Anyway, all the bridesmaids were in the same sorority, so it’ll be a little reunion, too. Other than that, it’s just a typical wedding. Photos, cake, a band at the reception, tossing the garter belt and all that. You know how weddings are.”
“Aside from my own, I’ve never been to one.”
“Oh…you’re married?”
“Divorced. But the wedding wasn’t anything like they do here in the U.S. We were married by an official of the court, and went straight from there to the airport. We spent our honeymoon in Paris.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“It was.”
She liked the matter-of-factness of his answer, liked that he didn’t feel the need to elaborate or romanticize it. “How do you know about American weddings, then?”
“I’ve seen a few movies. And I’ve had guests tell me about them. Safaris are popular honeymoon destinations. In any case, the weddings sound very complicated and stressful.”
Ellen would definitely agree with that, Hope thought. Switching tacks, Hope asked, “What is it like to grow up in Zimbabwe?”
“I can only talk about my own experience. Zimbabwe is a big country. It’s different for everyone.”
“What was it like for you?”
He wasn’t sure what or how much to tell her, so he kept it general. “My family owns a farm near Harare. It’s been in the family for generations. So I grew up doing farm chores. My grandfather thought it would be good for me. I milked cows and collected eggs when I was young. In my teen years, I did heavier work, like repairs: fencing, roofs, irrigation, pumps, engines, anything that was broken. In addition to going to school.”
“How did you end up guiding?”
He shrugged. “I felt at peace whenever I was in the bush. Whenever I had spare time, I’d venture out on my own. And when I finished school, I let my family know I would be leaving. So I did.”
As he answered, he could feel her eyes on him. She offered a skeptical expression as she reached for her coffee again.
“Why do I have the sense that there’s more to the story?”
“Because there’s always more to the story.”
She laughed, the sound surprisingly hearty and unself-conscious. “Fair enough. Tell me about some of the most exciting things you’ve seen on safari.”
On familiar ground, Tru regaled her with the same stories he shared with guests whenever they asked. Now and then she had questions, but for the most part, she was content to listen. By the time he finished, the coffee was gone and the sun was scorching the back of his neck. He set the empty cup back on the table.
“Would you like more? There’s a little left in the pot.”
“One cup is plenty,” he said. “And I’ve taken too much of your time already. But I did appreciate it. Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do,” she said. She rose as well, walking him to the gate. He pulled it open, keenly aware of her closeness. He started down the steps, but turned when he reached the walkway to offer a quick wave.
“Nice meeting you, Tru,” she called out with a smile. Though he had no way to know for sure, he wondered whether she continued to watch him as he wound toward the beach. For some reason, it took a great deal of willpower to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder to find out.
AUTUMN AFTERNOONS
Back at the house, Tru found himself at loose ends. If he could, he’d call Andrew, but he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of dialing from the house phone. Overseas charges were substantial, and besides, Andrew likely wouldn’t be home yet. After school, he played soccer with his youth club; Tru always enjoyed watching him practice. Andrew lacked the innate athleticism that other kids on the team displayed, but he was a relaxed and natural leader, much like his mother.
Thinking about his son eventually made Tru retrieve his drawing materials, which he carried out to the back deck. Next door, he noticed that Hope had gone inside, although the towel she’d used on Scottie was still draped over the railing. Settling himself in the chair, he debated what he should sketch. Andrew had never seen the ocean, not in person, so Tru decided to try to capture the enormity of the sight before him, assuming that was even possible.
As always, he started with a general and faint outline of the scene—a diagonal point of view that included the shoreline, breaking waves, the pier, and a sea that stretched to the horizon. Drawing had always been a way to relax his mind, and as he sketched, he allowed it to wander. He thought about Hope and wondered what it was about her that had captured his interest. It was unusual for him to be so instantly taken with someone, but he told himself it didn’t really matter. He’d come to North Carolina for other reasons, and he found his thoughts drifting to his family.
He hadn’t seen or spoken to his stepfather, Rodney, or his half brothers, Allen and Alex, in almost two years. The reasons were rooted in history, and wealth had further compounded the estrangement. In addition to the Walls family name, Tru had inherited partial ownership of the farm and business empire. The profits were substantial, but in his daily life, he had little need for money. Whatever he earned from the farm was sent to an investment account in Switzerland that the Colonel had set up when Tru was still a toddler. The funds had been piling up for years, but Tru seldom checked the balance. From that account, he arranged for money to be sent regularly to Kim and he paid for Andrew’s schooling, but aside from the outright purchase of the house in Bulawayo, that was it. He had already arranged to sign over a chunk of the money to Andrew when his son reached the age of thirty-five. He assumed that Andrew would find more use for it than he would.
Recently, his half brothers had started to become resentful about that, but theirs had always been a distant relationship, so it wasn’t altogether unexpected. Tru was nine years older than the twins, and by the time they would have been old enough to remember Tru, he was already spending most of his time in the bush, as far away from the farm as possible. He moved away for good when he was eighteen. In essence, they were, and always had been, strangers to each other.
Things with Rodney, on the other hand, were more complicated. Tru’s equity in the business had been causing problems with Rodney ever since the Colonel had died, thirteen years ago, but in truth, the relationship had been broken far longer than that. To Tru’s mind, it dated back to the fire, when Tru was eleven years old. Much of the compound had gone up in flames in 1959. Tru had barely escaped by jumping from a second-floor window. Rodney had carried Allen and Alex to safety, but Tru’s mother, Evelyn, had never made it out.
Even before the fire, Rodney had never been supportive or affectionate with his stepson; he mostly tolerated Tru. In the aftermath, Rodney’s attention became almost nonexistent. Between dealing with his grief, raising toddlers, and managing the farm, he was overwhelmed. In retrospect, Tru understood that. At the time, it hadn’t been so easy, and the Colonel hadn’t offered much in the way of support, either. After the death of his only child, he sank into a profound depression that seemed to lock him away in a vault of silence. He would sit near the blackened ruins of the compound, staring at the wreckage; when the debris was hauled off and construction began on the new houses, he stared without speaking at the ongoing work. Occasionally Tru went to sit with him, but the Colonel would mumble only a few words in acknowledgment. There were rumors, after all; rumors about his grandfather, the business, and the real reason for the fire. At the time, Tru knew nothing about them; he knew only that no one in his family seemed willing to speak to him or even offer so much as a hug. If it hadn’t been for Tengwe and Anoona, Tru wasn’t sure he would have survived the loss of his mother. The only thing he could really remember from that period was regularly crying himself to sleep and spending long hours wandering the property alone after school and his chores. He understood now that those had been his first steps on the journey that led him from the farm to living in the bush. Had his mother survived, he had no idea who he would have become.
