After the Silence. Rula Sinara
to all his staff and colleagues—especially the ladies—but family always used his middle name, David. Hope, however, had called him Simba ever since she could talk, and she was the only person who could get away with it. He hated the fact that he shared a name with an animated movie character. She loved it.
“Jambo. No sandals in the lab. You know that,” he said.
She did know. Standard lab safety called for closed-toe shoes, something she’d gotten in the habit of wearing during medical school, especially when working with patients and blades or needles.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every cell on me needed to breathe,” she said, collapsing onto the swivel stool in front of the counter across from where he was labeling petri dishes. “Besides, I’m not staying long. Please tell me you got some.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up.
“I promised, didn’t I?” he said, still labeling and setting the dishes in organized rows.
She shook her head and chuckled at his smugness. Even as his sister, she had to admit he was a good-looking guy, on top of having a phenomenal reputation in the research world and a natural charisma women seemed to find irresistible. That actually worried her a bit. She had a hard time imagining him settling down, but at the same time, she didn’t want him trapped by some woman who only cared about his name and success. Men could be so blind.
“I do appreciate the fruits of your effortless labor, dear brother, but one of these days you’re going to meet your match, and she’s going to laugh at your smooth-talking ways.”
He flicked the on switch for the sterile hood that occupied a good five feet of the narrow lab’s right wall, set his tray of dishes under it, then leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.
“Smooth talking? It’s this face and the brains behind it,” he said.
Hope rolled her eyes. She knew he was kidding for her benefit. Mostly. It took about two seconds for his eyes to narrow.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Did you really just compliment your looks, then insult mine? Just give me the samples,” she said, hoping to deflect his concern.
“Hope, trust me, not even mud could mask your beauty—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, tell me you haven’t tried that one in public,” she said, tossing her head.
“—but you really do look pale. And yes, that one got you these,” he added, pulling two sample-size boxes out of his lab coat pocket and handing them to her.
“Thank you!” Hope jumped off the stool, took the boxes and gave Simba a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to work.”
“Not so fast.” He guided her back to the stool and made her sit. So much for a quick exit. Hope knew when she was in for another lecture. A part of her understood the good place it was coming from.
As the youngest, she was stuck with the position of the family baby. Considering how “delicate” she’d been as a real baby, Hope was used to her every breath being scrutinized or worried over. Yes, it was love, but it was also irritating at times. At twenty-five, she knew how to get things done. So far, she’d been successful with every step of the career that her parents had carefully outlined with her. It was just that, as a woman, it seemed as if she always had to work harder for the same success and accolades as her male peers. Even her brother. So yes, she was tired.
“I know I look tired. I am. I just left hell, but I’m headed home right after dropping these off, so I’ll be fine. Jamal is waiting for me. Okay?”
Simba rolled another stool near hers and sat down. He pressed his lips together and looked off to the side before turning to her. There was no trace of his fun demeanor left. This was all lion king.
“Listen to me, Hope. This isn’t just about today. I’ve noticed you going downhill for months now.”
“I’m an intern at a public hospital. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to have good days and bad days. But be honest. You’re miserable, Hope. Your face is like an open book. I see determination and exhaustion, but never joy. I see no peace in you.”
Hope licked her lips and looked away, blinking several times to fight the burn of tears. He was right. Everyone always said that she had such an expressive face. Kind of a curse at times. No emotional privacy.
“Sometimes I feel as though I need to be autoclaved. It’s expected.”
“Sometimes you simply need a break. You’re making yourself sick and I’m worried,” he continued. “When was the last time you visited this friend of yours? Do you even still have other friends?” He pointed to the boxes Hope held.
He didn’t really know Chuki, and she wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t recall her name. The women that caught his eye were in related fields...and not from Chuki’s side of town. But he was right. It had been almost two months since she’d seen Chuki in person, and even that visit had been no more than thirty minutes. She shrugged. She couldn’t do this now.
“Exactly. You care about her, yet you hardly see her. Do you know why I’m successful at what I do?” her brother asked. “Because I love this.” He waved a hand at the lab. “This is my passion, Hope. I went after it because I wanted to. It satisfied me. Hard work? Yes, but there has to be balance.”
Hope straightened and took a deep breath.
“That’s enough, Simba. You can’t tell me what I want and don’t want to do.”
“No, but I can tell you that your health comes first. Your happiness comes first. Can you tell me that if you had one wish on earth, it would be to join Mama and Baba’s practice?” He sliced his hand through the air. “Do you even have a wish?”
The door to the lab swung open and Simba’s friend and colleague Dr. Jack Harper stepped in. Yes. A buffer.
“Hey, you two slackers. Stop sitting around and get to work,” Jack teased as he carried two racks of sample-filled vials to the far end of the lab near the centrifuge. He set them down and pulled a pipette out of a drawer. Simba gave her a “this isn’t over” look and went back to his work.
“Jack. I didn’t know you were going to be here today!” Hope said, perching her sandals on the bottom rung of the stool and swiveling it gently left and right. “How is everyone at Busara? How is little Pippa?”
“They’re great. And Pippa... That little monkey is growing fast.” His eyes sparkled like only a proud father’s could. “Anna and Niara told me to say hi to you and to tell you they’d be around for some supplies soon,” Jack said.
“Tell them I can’t wait.” She resisted the urge to ask when exactly “soon” would be. She really wanted to see them, but her brain tensed from the mere idea of how the logistics would work with her current schedule. Unless, maybe, if the strike ended.
Hope had met Jack and Anna a little over a year ago, when her brother was helping them sort out US citizenship and paternity paperwork for their daughter, Pippa, whom Anna had been raising in secret at Busara, her remote elephant research and rescue camp in the Serengeti. Anna had brought along her devoted friend Niara, and Hope had had a wonderful time taking Niara and her little boy shopping, while Anna and Jack had dealt with the embassy. At the time, Hope had almost been done with medical school. Jack, Anna and Pippa had come to dinner at their home a few times since then, after Jack had moved to Kenya and started collaborating with Simba, flying from Busara to Nairobi a few days a week. They’d all grown even closer as friends when Jack was crushed by the death of his sister in the States six months ago. He wasn’t the biggest talker, but whenever he mentioned something about his niece and nephews back home, it was clear to Hope that they meant a lot to him.
“Sandals?” Jack asked, raising one brow at Simba, as if surprised he hadn’t chased