Page 71 of The Secret
“Ugh, lawyers. A lot of stalling and very little progress,” he says.
* * *
Five hours later, after travelling east through rich farmland, Dan turns through rusting wrought-iron gates onto a dust-covered road. Trees point their branches to the sky on both sides of the pale-cream track, rust-colored earth butting up on either side. The road rises up before us, ridges of hills in the distance, and as we rumble over the uneven surface, the view starts to open up. I wind down the window and inhale the warm air and earthy smell of the soil, cicadas chirping and stones pinging off the underside of the truck. I glance over at Dan, and he grins, lifting my hand up and giving it a squeeze before placing it on his thigh.
“Tired?” he asks.
I’m sticking to the seat with my sweat, but nothing could be better than sitting next to him in this vehicle.
“A little. This is beautiful.”
“It certainly is.”
As the ground rises in front of us, the land transitions into vines on either side of the road.
“Wine?”
“Among other things. The grapes have been giving us the biggest problems.” He laughs, shaking his head. “The amount of work I’ve had to do learning about wine production. What was I thinking wasting my time on a PhD, when I could have been here gaining knowledge about something useful?” He pulls a face, eyes rolling toward me. “You can try some later.”
“Sounds good.” I smile, turning my head to gaze out the window. “You grew up here?”
“Yeah.” Something about his tone makes me study his profile.
“My mom left when I was young, and we only had sporadic contact with her before she died. My father was away a lot, but a ruthless bastard when he was here.” His hands tighten round the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead. “One of the reasons I went to Zimbabwe was to escape him, escape this legacy.” He sweeps his hand out in front of the window. “It’s a bit ironic I’ve ended up with the legacy anyway.”
“Your mother left?”
He shifts in his seat. “Problems with her family in Joburg. She went back to take care of her parents.” He shakes his head. “It was a mess.”
God, what a life he’s had. “And your brother? He lives here too?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God, I’m going to meet your brother.”
Dan laughs. “Well, you won’t meet him just yet—he’s out today seeing to the sale of some grain. He’ll be back tonight.”
It’s like opening a door to a different Dan, and my chest warms. We could have talked about all this on the journey down, but instead we’ve been talking about my work, about aid, about problems in Africa.He’s asked all the questions. But deflecting is probably a habit he’s developed over the years. I open my mouth, determined to ask more, but we suddenly top a rise, and a white house appears at the summit of a hill in the distance. The land is green and golden, the vines stretching as far as the eye can see on either side and in front of us, melting into yellow-headed sunflowers.
“You’re quite the farmer. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be.” He glances over at me. “Trust me the house looks great from here, but you’ll see what a state it’s in when we get closer. The amount of stuff we’ve got to sort out.” He gestures to the fields, blowing out a long breath. “You wouldn’t believe.”
“You said you weren’t happy here,” I say, “when you came to see me.”
He sighs. “Sometimes I love it here; other times I hate it. All my bad memories of my father are rooted in this place. When I was younger, I was desperate to escape.” He chews his cheek. “Zimbabwe was that escape, and having to come back here has been … it’s felt like quitting on the life I wanted.” He glances over. “I had a different future mapped out for myself.”
I nod, swallowing down the tightness in my throat. “Me too.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m wondering if I’ll feel differently about it with you here, seeing it through your eyes. The winter, though …” He shudders.
“No one to snuggle under warm blankets with.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
He swallows thickly, and the car rumbles to a halt in a cloud of dust. When he turns toward me, his eyes are bright and glassy. “You said you had dreams …” he starts. “You have no idea how much I wanted that.”
He puts his hand out across the seat, and I scoot closer to him. The pain is carved in the deep grooves of his face, the thin rigidity of his back.It’s been worse for him than it has for me. My heart aches for him.
“I’m here now.” It’s all I can think of to say.
