Page 84 of The Secret
“Then go after her, goddammit! She’s only a flight away.”
“A flight to New York, yeah.”
“What?She’s gone back to New York?”
“Yeah. Seems like it.”
“It can’t be because of what I said to her, Dan. Honestly, I think she thought I was an ass.”
I look down at my phone. “I’ve been texting her since she left and heard nothing back, but I think she’s forgotten that this time around we shared our locations on Google Maps so we can both see where the other one is and it’s showing her in New York. Perhaps she’s got some guy in Manhattan.”
“She didn’t tell you she was going home?”
“No. I mean she told me her job in Kiwanja was a six-month contract, but I don’t know when it started and when it was due to end. Suddenly, Google Maps is saying she’s in the US: no warning, no explanation.”
“Look, just go and fucking sort it out. Stay there if you have to. I need you to deal with the legal stuff, but I can do the farm on my own.”
He’s offering this? “Go where? Manhattan?”
“Yeah, you idiot.” He gets up and starts clearing plates, taking them over to the sink, every line of his body tight.
“We can’t afford it.”
“We can’t afford new fencing, or a threshing machine or help in the house.” He grumbles. “It’s a question of priorities, isn’t it? If you need to go, you need to go. We’ll weather it.”
I look at him, heart lifting for the first time in days. “I didn’t take you for the romantic sort, jetting halfway across the world for a woman.” Maybe he’s feeling guilty.
He scowls at me. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
I grin at him. “Yeah.”
“It’s only because I can’t stand looking at your miserable face for one more day. You’ve been like a bear with a sore head.”
“Can bears even get sore heads?”
“Who the fuck knows? If you don’t shut up, I’ll give you a sore head with my fist. Just make sure you get the cheapest fucking flight out there you can find.” He growls and stomps out of the room.
38
LISS
Saturday, April 9, 2022
Ihaven’t told my parents I’m back when I ring the polished doorbell on their suburban New Jersey home. I don’t want to give my dad any time to marshal his usual bullshit or manipulate anyone into providing him with reinforcements.
When my mom answers the door, her face breaks into a huge smile and my chest warms. She won’t stand up to my father, but all the kind, caring parts of my family come from her. My dad lucked out, although the arrogant bastard has no idea how lucky he is.
“Liss, sweetheart. What are you doing here! Oh, my goodness!” She presses her hands to her face, and I step forward as she stretches out and pulls me into a Chanel-scented hug. Her cheek is soft against my face.
“I’m back for a short visit. I thought I’d surprise you.”
“Oh, it’s so lovely to see you!” She steps away. “Your father is out back. How’s the new job going?”
“Good.” I smile at her. “Lots of problems to solve.”
I don’t tell my mom about the trouble in Congo: the fighting, the everyday trauma of displaced people’s lives or the depth of their poverty. I don’t want her to worry.
My father comes in through the patio doors at the rear of the house as we enter the open-plan kitchen diner, the old pine table and oak cabinets gleaming in the spring sunshine.
