Page 43 of Scarred Crown

I pick up a few trinkets for my younger sister, a few for my friends, and a Christmas tree ornament for my mother. At the last stall, I finally find a beaded bracelet that appeals to me, but when I dig into my wallet, I discover I’ve run out of cash on hand. I rummage around in the bottom of my bag hoping for some stray dollars, but nothing is appearing.

“Let me,” Nick says. He passes the woman a few dollars around me and across the table.

“You don’t have—” But when I glance up, there’s a softness around his hazel eyes that I remember so well it stops my heart. The ache I thought I eased a long time ago with other friends and boyfriends bursts to life across my chest.

“This one’s for you, yeah? Looks like something you’d pick.” He fingers the bracelet before opening it to slip on my wrist.

We’re standing so close, I catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. Not the one he used to wear when we were younger, but underneath is the familiar smell of him, and I long to rise onto my toes, bury my face in his neck, and take us back fourteen years. What would I change? I don’t know. Something. Anything. Whatever I had to do so I could reclaim the comfort and security he once gave me. I’ve never found that depth of feeling with another man, but I’ve wanted to. So badly.

“We should return these clothes and get back to camp.” Nick’s voice is husky, and he clears his throat while stepping back.

When he turns to find Kafil in the crowd, I stare at his back like I’ve come out of a daze. Why am I the only one struggling with the mingling of our past and present? He’s always so blithe, so easy, as though none of our interactions matters.

Maybe I never had that deep of a connection with him. Maybe his absence from my life made me give the relationship more importance than it deserved. We were something and then we were nothing. Happens all the time, right? I need to let the past, and my rosy memories, go.

Nicholas

There’s a reason none of the charities I’ve started have anything to do with medical issues. No matter how rich you are, not everyone can be saved. So when we climb back into the Landcruiser, and Julia practically vibrates with the desire to butt into Kafil’s family problems, I’m tempted to thwart her. From what I gathered of the conversation they were having in Swahili, there’s a sick or injured child, and the family can’t afford the medical intervention.

Did I lead Julia astray about the depth of my understanding? Sure. But I needed to get my head wrapped around how far I’m willing to go to offer aid. Reasonable and efficient. That’s the help I can offer.

“Kafil,” Julia says as soon as we’re on the road. “What were you and those Maasai boys talking about? The bad news?”

“Nothing for you to be worried about. A personal matter.” He scratches his head and glances at us in the rearview mirror.

“Can we help?” Julia prods. “We’d like to help if we can.”

She’d like to help. I’d like to avoid the whole situation. Medical issues are not for me.

Kafil catches my gaze in the rearview mirror as though asking for permission. I take a deep breath and release it. The things Jensen gets me into.

“We’d like to help.” I reiterate. He’ll believe me since he knows what else I’ve been up to in his village. Hopefully, I can throw money at the problem and be done with it. Nothing too complicated.

“My relative, their child was born with a,” he gestures to his leg, “wrong foot. She needs a surgery.”

Julia draws out her phone from her pocket. A clubfoot is something that can be fixed, I’m sure, assuming I’ve understood him correctly.

“What have you got?” I nod at her phone.

Julia comes over to sit beside me, and shoulder to shoulder, we pour over articles, chatting easily about the information we find.

“Can we go see her?” Julia asks, glancing up.

Inside I brace myself for Kafil to deny her. It took me almost a week and laying out my plans in great detail to get him to take me.

“Yes,” Kafil agrees. “If it’s okay with His Royal Highness.” He meets my gaze in the mirror.

“Call me Nick,” I mutter. “Yes, it’s fine.” Is there anything a man won’t do for a pretty woman? A week. It took me a week and a detailed plan to gain his confidence, and it’s taken Julia two days and a few thoughtful questions.

While we drive, Julia and I search the web for more information. There’s a program that performs the surgery for free in Tanzania, so I’m not sure why they’re stressed about having the procedure done. When Julia and I read the article, our gazes connect, and the same question is in her eyes but neither of us voices it. I guess we’ll find out.

When we arrive at the village, I try to see the place through Julia’s eyes. Tiny houses, some made of brick, others of blocks of stone, some of mud and sticks like the Maasai community. The sun is setting in the distance as we make our way to one of the small brick houses. Kafil indicates for me and Julia to wait some distance away while he knocks on the door.

The woman who answers breaks into a wide grin at the sight of Kafil. They speak in hushed tones for a moment, and then he indicates to the two of us standing awkwardly.

“Jambo,” Julia calls with a smile.

The woman steps back and ushers us into her home. I’ve been in the village houses before, so the open space, the beds on the floor, the small pot for cooking aren’t a surprise. Near one of the windows is a makeshift wooden crib.