Given New Worlds Read online

  Abby opened her bag and found a small piece of fabric, frequently used. It was a handkerchief. She placed it in front of Sean, knowing that the tears in his eyes were begging to be released. But he stared into the evening sun waiting for the heat of the day to burn them away instead.

  Leaving the handkerchief on the table, Abby went to close her purse. As she peered into it, she saw a business card featuring the logo and address of the restaurant at the Panari Hotel. She lifted it out and wrote on the back before sliding it across the table to Sean.

  His eyes continued to stare at the dropping sun, ignoring the fabric and the card on the table. After several minutes, his damp eyes glanced down at the card and she saw his face cringe in shock and confusion. She could feel the pain emanating from him. He was so damaged, so angry. But Abby wouldn’t be able to fix him, she was broken herself, and would never be able to put her own pieces together. Only God could save them now.

  Abby took one last gaze at the man that her one true love had become, then walked off without looking back. She had to get away and allow herself time to think. She had to wrap her brain around the fact that she still loved him… and that she’d invited him on a date.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  THREE days later, Abby sat on a bench across from the restaurant in the Panari Hotel. She wore a new outfit. Yellow cotton skirt, white blouse, tan sandals. It was far from the fashionable outfits she’d sported in the States, but it was the prettiest set of clothing she’d worn in over a year.

  She had simply asked for Frank to wire her a small bit of money, just enough so that she could buy some new clothes and a nice dinner for a friend. She was almost sure she could hear Frank chuckling through his reply to her email, but it didn’t matter. Frank wasn’t one to judge.

  Abby was fortunate in that the clothing and shoes only used half of the money Frank had sent and had plenty left over for the dinner. Of course, she could have used her pay from the hospital, but most of that money went to rent and her lunch account.

  Nervously, she sat adjusting her skirt, watching the people go about their business, and wondering what she would say to Sean when he arrived. Panari hotel was near the airport, and Abby saw many white faces amongst the black skin she was used to. Every time she saw a foreigner, she would instinctively bow her head and avert her eyes.

  Please don’t know who I am, please don’t know who I am.

  She should have picked a more discreet setting. The busyness of the Panari was too close to her old life, too full of people who knew who her parents were. But the business card had been there in her purse, screaming at Abby to meet with Sean. And here she sat, avoiding visual contact, and trying to blend in to her surroundings.

  Then Sean came into view. He was wearing a tan suit and light blue shirt. It was very different from what she’d been used to. It was a corporate casual that matched the style of the hotel, not the jeans and t-shirt she’d expected him to wear. He was older now, aged by twenty years in little more than one. His eyes were harder, his expression emotionless, his hand… Abby flicked her eyes away. It wasn’t as noticeable peeking from the suit, but Abby knew it was there. She knew that pain. She could still feel it when the air was damp, and nerves and tendons that had never fully repaired ached and moaned. The surgeries had stopped when Abby moved to Bern and even the plastic surgery that Mom had recommended had been out of the question until Abby was able to speak for herself. And now, she was working at a hospital in Africa, where complications much more pressing than a few misplaced bones and external scarring came into their rooms daily. Abby’s pain was nothing in comparison.

  Yet, her heart hurt for the pain that Sean had gone through - whatever it had been. Most likely something that had happened with the military. But he didn’t want her to know. He’d said that it was something she didn’t want to hear. That was fine. God revealed everything in His own time.

  “Good evening, Abby. You look lovely tonight,” he said in a monotone, practiced voice.

  Abby wanted to reply, but the communication lines between them were still not connected, at least not on her end.

  He lifted his left hand to assist her from the bench. Abby reached up and pressed her fingers into his palm. Rough callouses greeted her, along with a warmth that she hadn’t felt since… since that night. Her mind spun memories like a web, trapping each thought and devouring it before moving on to the next. She recalled his warmth as they’d sat on the gazebo bench overlooking the lights of Los Angeles, his touch as they embraced the night he’d given her the necklace, his breath on her skin as he’d leaned down in front of the theater to Swan Lake - ‘I have you’.

  She couldn’t stand up, it was all too much. Abby closed her eyes and felt the blood drain from her face as thoughts continued to flash through her, but she didn’t let go of the hand that held hers. She sensed the bench shift as Sean sat down next to her. “Are you okay?”

  Abby nodded her head and willed her eyes to open. Seeing dark, African faces as they walked casually through the lobby of the hotel eased Abby’s nerves, but then she turned to the one next to her. Not dark, not white, but a tanned, weathered look that she hadn’t noticed at the orphanage. As if he’d spent the last year outdoors in the burning sun.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  After taking a strengthening breath, Abby allowed Sean to lift her to a standing position and followed him to the restaurant. It was a beautiful venue, very different from the small hospital cafeteria where she ate her one meal of the day.

  As they walked into the restaurant, the host nodded at Sean with a cordial smile and immediately escorted them to a table overlooking the courtyard. It was set with starched white linens and red tablecloths. The chairs were a dark leather, and elegant silverware lined the place setting. Abby found the dim lighting comforting and appreciated that Sean let her sit in the corner, away from prying eyes.

  “Good evening.” A waiter in a perfectly pressed suit and kind eyes handed them menus as he smiled at Abby. “My name is Joel. May I offer you a drink?”

  “I’ll have a scotch,” Sean stated tersely.

  Abby looked at the wine list. She hadn’t ordered a drink in years. The few times she’d been out since then, only water and soda had been served. The wines and beers listed were familiar, but distant.

  “May I recommend our house wine for the lady?” Joel asked. Abby nodded her head and handed the wine list back. “Very good. Our dinner specials are listed on the center of the menu. We hope you shall enjoy a lovely dining experience this evening. I will return promptly with your drinks.”

  When he departed, Abby turned to the window, taking in the beauty of the gardens. She wondered how the landscapers had managed to change the familiar tans and browns of the Kenyan landscape into the lush green that was painted in front of her.

  “I know that you can talk. I’ve heard you,” Sean said. It wasn’t accusatory, only a statement of fact. Abby continued to stare out the window, but she could see his reflection in the glass. His arms were resting on the table in front of him, left hand pinching his lower lip in thought, right hand laying limp next to the silverware. She had nothing to say. Hundreds of questions, but really, nothing to say.

  “You shouldn’t have come here alone,” Sean said.

  That was something her parents would complain about. Abby felt her muscles tighten and her nerves go on edge. The lock on her tongue broke open and she turned from the reflection in the glass. “I make my own decisions now.”

  Sean peered at her for a moment, his eyes glazed over in a combination of shock and reassurance. Then it was his turn to stare out the window. Abby watched as moisture gathered on the lower lids of his eyes. His throat convulsed in an involuntary swallow and tightening of his muscles indicated the emotion flowing through his body. What had she said? Or maybe it was simply the fact that she had talked. Her voice wasn’t the same, she knew it.

  But he’d said that he knew she could talk, that he’d heard her. It must have been
the words.

  After Joel brought their drinks and left them to peruse the menu, Sean wiped at his eyes and attempted what appeared to be a smile but came out as more of a grimace. “So, that’s it then,” he said quietly. “You’re finally free.”

  Abby nodded her head. Yes, she was free. Freedom was so much more than the one word though. Sean’s expression was somber and cold. He knew nothing of the joy and peace that she’d come to find amidst the Kenyan people. He couldn’t see what a blessing it was to be able to walk out the front steps of your own home and decide to turn left or right without wondering what other people would think. Sure, she had a challenging job and had experienced situations that no normal young woman in the States could even imagine, but this was her world now. And she cherished it with all her heart, knowing that it was a gift from God.

  “For seven years of my life, I fought for the United States,” Sean said in a low growl, his eyes heated and small. “For the freedom it represented. For what I considered to be the most wonderful country in the world. All those years of fighting for the United States - a place where you had been trapped in your own home, not able to live a decent life. And where do you find freedom? Fucking Africa?” He said it under his breath, in a heated shot of anger and disbelief.

  Abby startled. She’d never seen Sean like this. Even when the paparazzi came too close and threatened Abby’s safety, he’d been able to keep his cool and reprimand them with a polite denouncement. But now, this Sean was different, changed. The rage that boiled through this man’s veins was almost palpable in the air.

  Tucking her head into her menu, Abby glanced over the selections, not wanting to see that disheartening fury in Sean’s eyes.

  “Have you made a selection?” Joel was back, and no, Abby didn’t have a selection.

  “May I recommend the lamb? It is roasted in a sauce of garlic and rosemary and served with a rice dish and greens.”

  Abby nodded her head.

  “I’ll have the veal,” Sean said, handing his menu to Joel. Then, once again, they were alone.

  Abby knew she needed to talk to him. Words stood in front of her like tall hurdles. She had to call on God for the strength to make the leap.

  “Did it take you long to get here?” she asked. It was all she could think of. Growing up, Abby had been taught not to discuss politics, religion, or feelings. The weather and travel were always the safest subjects.

  Sean tightened, then closed his eyes as if blinded by an intense blaze, then opened them and answered, “Three minutes.”

  Abby was surprised. Three minutes was like seconds in the city traffic of Nairobi. “You’re living in the city?”

  A look of confusion passed over Sean’s face, “If you don’t know, then how did you get this card?” His eyes narrowed, and he pulled a business card for the restaurant out of his pocket and set it in front of her. It was the one she had given him at the cafe. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, waiting for an answer. It was like an interrogation. What had she said?

  Another prayer of guidance muddled through Abby’s brain as she attempted to answer his question. “A dinner party for work.”

  He leaned back in his chair, silent, but clearly suspicious. “I’m living here, at this hotel.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  NOW it was Abby’s turn to be confused and suspicious. How long had he been here? Was he here when they’d attended the dinner party? Oyana had said she’d seen him at the cafe by the apartment. Why were so many coincidences being thrown at her?

  “I thought you’d been staying near the hospital,” she said.

  “So, you knew I was here? In Kenya?” he asked, once again leery in his questioning.

  “My roommate, Oyana, recognized you. She didn’t know who you were until you came to the orphanage. She told me on Tuesday that she’d seen you at the cafe near our apartment.”

  “But you hadn’t seen me.” His lips pursed in unbelief, his left hand clasped around his scotch. Not drinking it, only holding it.

  “I guess I’m not as observant.” Abby said. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen him. Perhaps the Holy Spirit had directed her vision, knowing that she wasn’t ready. Abby wondered if she was even ready now. Her heart had been beating erratically since he’d walked up to her in the lobby. The act of breathing was shooting pains through her aching lungs. It was as if she were running a marathon. A marathon without an end.

  “I guess not,” he said.

  Once again, Abby scrambled for words. Words that were polite, acceptable. But this wasn’t a polite, acceptable meeting. This was a battle. She knew it now. A battle of two souls that had been torn apart and now needed to find each other’s worlds again. Oyana’s words about her sister echoed in Abby’s subconscious.

  They found out what they could build together in their new worlds.

  She looked up at Sean. Was it possible that she might be involved in this man’s new world? Did she dare to discover his demons? Or did she want to run away screaming? And, would he want to be a part of this new world that she lived in? One of anonymity, floating from one day to the next without glamour, without notoriety, just a simple life, but one that had been good to her. She looked into his eyes, into their depths. This wasn’t a time for polite conversation and apprehensive questions. It was time for truth.

  “Veena told me that you were sent out of the country on a military deployment.”

  His expression shifted through various emotions, like a slot machine, finally landing on the one where he quirked an eyebrow up. But it wasn’t the same eyebrow that had brought giddy laughs to her soul. It was now one of condescension and sarcasm.

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  “But isn’t that where…” Abby motioned to his arm.

  “No.” He shifted in his chair, Abby could see a warning in his eyes, telling her not to ask. “It happened before I left.”

  “Oh, I see.” But the truth was, she didn’t see. Before he left? While he was still in the States? Abby recalled the pictures she’d seen online after her attack. The bruises on his face, his arm in a sling. It must have happened while she had been at the hospital.

  Sean’s face was dark and angry. She needed to change the subject before she completely fell into the void that had become his heart. “I lived in Switzerland for a while, did you know that?” she asked.

  The area between Sean’s eyes scrunched up with wrinkles. He picked at the tablecloth nervously, turmoil clearly played out on his face. “No. I didn’t know that.”

  “That was when I started talking again. It took seven months.” Abby’s words faltered. She counted it out on her fingers, trying to verify the words she’d spoken. Yes, seven months of nothing, no voice, no emotion. Only existing. And then the torrent of feelings and pain. Seven months. Seven fingers. Abby looked at the hand that rested on the table. His thumb and forefinger were intact, but clearly damaged. The middle finger ended at the second knuckle, and the last two fingers were absent.

  “Gunshot,” Sean said, his eyes sinking deep into the untouched glass of scotch.

  “Does it still hurt?” Abby asked, knowing the answer, but just wanting to hear some truth, some uncovering of the mystery that hung so thickly between them.

  “Does yours?” His guttural words pierced her. She could see instant regret in his face but chose to answer anyway.

  “Yes,” she said, confirming his thoughts. “Mostly at night. During the day I’m too busy to think about the pain.”

  “You’re working as a secretary?” he asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, yet not drinking a drop.

  “I am now. During the doctor’s strike, I spent most of my time in the ER and surgical unit.”

  “You did surgeries?” his voice changed from sullen to curious.

  “Mostly just assisting, but occasionally I had the opportunity to repair a hernia or remove an appendix.”

  Abby saw Joel approach from the kitchen with two covered trays, followed by a server c
arrying plates and serving spoons. They arranged the dishes neatly on the table and the server walked away.

  “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Barrage?”

  Abby’s eyes flicked towards the waiter, now it was her time to be curious.

  “No. That will be all. Thank you.” Sean picked up the serving spoon and began to lift rice and veal to his plate as if nothing had happened. “Barrage is my nickname. Got it in the service.”

  “How does Joel know your military nickname.”

  “They guys you saw at the orphanage were part of my team.” He cleared his throat and Abby wondered if he was telling the whole truth. “They needed a break and convinced the Lieutenant Colonel to send them on a mission to Kenya for some R and R. We ate at this restaurant a couple times while they were here. I’m not going to use my real name here. Just like you, Jamie Poser.”

  Abby nodded her head in understanding. “Fixing roofs and digging wells doesn’t seem like much rest and relaxation.”

  “And most people would say that living in a cramped apartment, working sixteen hours a day at a mission hospital in Kenya doesn’t seem like a fruitful life, but you would probably beg to differ,” Sean said harshly, then paused to look at her, and towards her untouched tray. He began dumping food onto her plate. “You need to eat,” he said.

  “I eat when I want to,” Abby pointed out, then jerked the spoon from his hand and shifted a few more morsels from the tray to her plate.

  “You’re so damn skinny,” Sean’s voice communicated a thread of concern, but mostly accusation. Abby had heard it many times before from nurses, her mother, and then Mama Zawadi. She knew it was all her own fault. She could eat more. At first, when she was still at home, it was because of the pain. It hurt to swallow, it hurt to digest, everything hurt. And then in Bern it was because she no longer felt hunger. There had been nothing to convince her to put food into her mouth and chew, until the night that Frank had given her a simple plate of Sandra’s chicken and rice - after her breakdown, or breakthrough, depending on how you looked at it. She’d tasted again and had managed to gain a few pounds before traveling to Kenya. And now she was just too busy and felt too guilty to eat much. She often gave her portions to the children and patients that were barely hanging on nutritionally.