After the Silence. Rula Sinara
She wasn’t going to last three months. He let her into the car before loading her bags into the back, then jogged around to the driver’s side and got in. Hope’s laugh caught him off guard. He’d have expected the cold to have irritated her more than the plane trip.
“I’d say I got my fresh air,” she said, rubbing her arms.
That was one way to think of it.
“I guess you did. Seat belt,” he said, nodding toward her shoulder strap and waiting for her to buckle up.
He cranked the heat as soon as the engine was running. The dash read forty-three degrees. Likely in the thirties with the wind factor. He backed out of the parking spot and hit the road.
“Just wait till our first negative temperature day,” he said. “Fahrenheit,” he added, knowing she’d be used to Celsius. He’d spent enough time overseas to do the conversions in his head. “It feels close to two or three degrees Celsius out there.”
Her eyes widened.
“Wow. Twelve is cold in Nairobi. We’re actually warming up this time of year. My brother won’t believe that I braved this in sandals,” she said, grinning.
“Might have been more tolerable a few hours ago.” She was enjoying this? First-time trip. New country. Maybe adrenaline was warming her up.
“Jack suggested that I wait and buy a few warm items here, since nothing in our stores was suitable for your winters,” she said.
“Makes sense,” he said. He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel, unsure of what else to say. He couldn’t talk about the weather the entire way home. How was this supposed to work for months? He hated gray areas, and he wasn’t quite sure how to treat her. Child-care helper or family friend?
The silver bracelets on her wrist sounded like wind chimes every time she reached up to touch her earring. She rubbed her hands in her lap and looked out the window. There wasn’t much she could see from the freeway in the dark. He looked at the dash clock, wishing the airport was closer to his house.
“Thank you,” she said, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m...I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m grateful for being invited into your home. I’ll do what I can to help while I’m here.”
Ben scratched his jaw, then settled his hand back on the wheel. He couldn’t really take credit for inviting her, though Jack had insisted that Ben would be doing both him and his friend’s sister a huge favor. Jack had never asked him for anything before. He’d said her family wanted to be sure she’d be safe...with good people. Her brother did take the phone and speak to him briefly during one of the calls. Sounded like a sharp guy. Joked about keeping her safe, especially from men. Despite his tone, Ben knew he wasn’t joking. He couldn’t blame him. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but Hope Alwanga could easily land a job as a fashion model and never make it back to her medical career. She’d be turning a head or two during her stay.
“Jack told me you’re in medicine. Pediatrics?” he asked, refocusing.
“No. Well, yes, a few young patients at the emergency room I’m interning in right now, but mostly adults. Eventually, I’ll join my parents’ orthopedic practice. They work a lot with professional athletes.”
Whew. She came from a family of docs. And money, or so it sounded, if they were working with athletes. And she was here, of all places, to help out with his kids? He’d been told that she was stressed, but stable, and needed a break...but, shoot, a break to him would be the Bahamas.
“So you must have a lot of little nieces or nephews,” he said. “Younger siblings?” Some sort of experience with watching kids?
“No. I’m the youngest. It’s just my older brother, Simba—Jack’s friend—and me. I can’t wait to meet your children, though.”
This time Ben laughed.
Forget a few months. Hope wasn’t going to last a day in his house.
Dear Diary,
Sometimes I close my eyes so that everyone will leave me alone. But I’m not really asleep. I hear everything. They fight because of me.
HOPE HAD WORKED with enough patients to know how to read body language, an important skill, given that many “cushioned” or omitted facts in their medical history or medication compliance out of sheer embarrassment. The hesitations. The flinches. Nervous laughter. Jack and Simba had assured her that she’d be doing Ben a favor and that he’d jumped at their idea of having her stay at his place and help with his kids for three months. But he sounded much more skeptical than enthusiastic. She wasn’t so sure the man wanted her in his house any more than she wanted to be in anyone’s way.
Oh, but this? She leaned her head back against the seat and looked out the window. Simba was so right. She needed this break. The good parts and the not so good, like over twenty-four hours of planes and layovers. She could have done without that. But she’d never in her life felt so free. This was spectacular. Ever since they’d exited the freeway, she’d been entranced by the dazzling lights that trimmed shops and street lamps. It was like a fairy tale. A scene out of a movie. Sure, a few places in Nairobi would set out some decorations at Christmas, but these were lights on steroids by comparison. She’d never seen anything like it.
“We’re here,” Ben said, startling her. He turned left onto a street lined with houses separated only by a few meters. Even in the dark, the glow from windows and entry lights revealed a well-manicured neighborhood.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she said, gaping at the house he approached. Forget fairy tale. After reading about it in stories, she now knew what “Santa’s workshop” really meant. And she was going to get to live in it. Her pulse picked up. Chuki wasn’t going to believe this.
The house looked as if all the colors of a Masai village had been brought to life and showered with Serengeti stars. A sleigh with St. Nicholas—or Santa Claus dressed the American way. Giant wrapped gifts held by elves in green hats. Trees made of nothing but white lights. Even the roofline and windows sparkled.
“Christmas is celebrated quite early here,” she said. “Your children are so lucky.”
“Not celebrated yet, just decorated. The commercial side of things. Thanksgiving comes first in the US,” he said, turning left into the driveway across from Santa’s workshop. He shoved the gear into Park and turned off the ignition. “This is my house.” He sank back in the driver’s seat. Hope looked through the windshield.
No lights. Nothing. Save for a lit doorway. Hope quickly stamped out the hint of disappointment she had no right to feel. She smiled.
“It’s beautiful.” She unbuckled her seat belt and put her hand on the door.
“Wait a sec,” Ben said, squinting from the reflection of lights in the car mirror. “I don’t know if Jack told you, but my daughter... Maddie... She doesn’t—”
“I know,” Hope said, placing her hand on his arm. It was a reflex. Reassurance. Sympathy. Her bedside manner. But her fingers warmed, and she pulled back when he stared at her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m aware and understand,” she said, hoping the words explained her touch.
“Okay.” He got out and went around back. Hope cringed when the rush of cold came through his open door. She took a deep breath, then exited, hurrying up the flagstone path. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed her arms and waited for him, but she didn’t mind too much. She had a great view of the display across the street from here.
The front door swung open before he made it. A woman in beige pants and a blue tunic-length sweater scanned her from head to toe.
“You must be freezing,” she said, ushering her in. “I’m Ben’s mother-in-law. You can call me Nina.”
“Nice