“Red, please.”
“A bottle of Meerlust, Rubicon.”
“The house wine will do just fine,” Kristi says.
“No, it won’t.”
“Say, you’re Jake Basson, right?” the waitress asks. While I’m wracking my brain for where I know her from, she continues, “I’m Tessa.”
I frown. “I’m sorry, but I can’t place where we’ve met.”
“My dad worked at the factory. He’s retired now.”
“I don’t recall you from school.”
“Oh, no, you won’t remember me. My parents sent me to boarding school in Johannesburg. I saw a few of your rugby matches. You were a legend for scoring tries.”
I shift on my seat. “That was a long time ago.”
“Don’t you play any longer?”
“I didn’t carry on playing provincially. I moved abroad.”
“Dubai, right? Must’ve been amazing. I hope I’ll be able to travel one day. Well, I’ll put in your orders straight away.” She smiles prettily. “It shouldn’t take long. We’re not busy tonight.”
“Snobbish, much?” Kristi asks when Tessa is gone.
“Because I can’t remember a woman I’ve never met?”
“I’m referring to the wine.”
“I suppose I cultivated a taste for the better stuff in the restaurant business.”
“No vodka then?”
“Sadly, I’m still a vodka drinker.” Especially when I want to dull my senses.
She leans her elbows on the table. “You said you wanted to talk about the settlement. This doesn’t have to be a complicated or drawn-out divorce. If you’re worried about your finances, you have nothing to fear. I don’t want anything from you.”
I can’t help my dry tone. “You got that point across when you returned the money I sent.”
“I’m glad we’re clear on that.”
“We’re not. I rented you a house and made monthly deposits for your expenses.”
“What?”
“I found out this afternoon my mother put tenants in the house and never handed over the money I transferred to her account. Apparently, she doesn’t have contact with Noah either.”
She stares at me as she seems to be processing what I said. After a moment, she utters a soft sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have accepted a house or your money.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to give anyone reason to think I caught you for financial reasons.”
Her words poke at an old piece of guilt, an accusation I once threw at her in the heat of the moment. “Your pride prevented you from giving Noah a proper home?”
Her face tightens. “He has a proper home.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We’re getting by just fine.”
“I don’t want to fight about money. I want to know you’re comfortable. That’s all.”
“Thanks for the noble intention, but I’ll manage.”
Tessa arrives with our food, placing a hotplate with a sizzling steak in front of each of us while a waiter uncorks our wine and fills our glasses.
“You’ll take the money,” I say when Tessa and the waiter are gone. “I’ll make sure it goes into your account.”
“You’re not listening to me, Jake. I said it’s not necessary.”
“What’s wrong with my money?”
“I haven’t heard from you in four years,” she exclaims softly. “Why would I take your money now?”
“I’ve always been giving it, ginger. What my mother did is unforgivable. Let me make it up to you.”
“Is that why you flew thousands of miles? To offer me money?”
“No.”
“What do you want then, Jake?”
Good question. What do I want? It takes me all of one second to make up my mind. I want her. I want my kid. “I want to be a part of Noah’s life.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Never when my kid is concerned.”
“You can’t just fly back into town and say, ‘Oh, hi, let’s pick up where we left off four years ago. Hey, I never kept in touch or answered one of your one hundred and twelve letters, but I want to tell Noah he has a daddy and break his heart when I leave.’”
“I’m not going to leave.”
Her lips part. “What are you saying? Are you back for good?”
Just like that, I am. “I’m back for Noah.”
Her voice becomes more animated. “He’s a sweet kid, and he hasn’t had it easy. He—”
That twist I felt in my chest when the swing lifted off its frame hits me again. Harder. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Taking a deep breath, she blinks a couple of times to get rid of the moisture she probably hopes I won’t notice. “I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
“I understand why you have doubts. You have all the reason in the world. I get that. I’m not asking you to tell him I’m his father and trust me when I haven’t earned it yet. Let’s just tell him I’m Jake for now. Let me have a little time with him. That’s all I’m asking.”
She takes a sip of wine and fiddles with the stem of the glass. “If he gets used to you and you leave again—”
“I’m not going to leave, but I won’t expect you to trust me on that. I’ll prove it. I’m only asking to be around him every now and again.”
“Why now, after all this time?”
Because I’m selfish that way. Because if I don’t fix this, I’ll have nothing left. “I finished the project in Dubai.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the hotel until I find a place to rent.” Just figured that out too.
She sighs again. “I won’t keep you from seeing him without a reasonable motivation.”
“Good. Now eat. The food is getting cold.”
She cuts into her steak and takes a bite.
“Why did you call him Noah?” I ask.
“It’s my father’s name.”
Of course it is. All Kristi ever wanted other than her mama is a daddy. “Have you tried to contact him?”
“He said he wasn’t interested. He has his own family.”
She says it factually like it doesn’t matter, but I recognize the hurt in her eyes, the longing. It puts Noah in much of a similar situation, and I’m not surprised she hates me for it.
When she’s finished a good portion of her food, I raise the question that’s been driving me insane since Ahmed made me read her letter.
“Why do you want a divorce, Kristi?”
She stops eating and gives me a level look. “Do you have to ask?”
Fine. I know damn well what I’ve done. “Why now?” Why not sooner?
“Does it matter?” she asks, avoiding my eyes.
“It matters. I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m going to ask for it anyway.”
“Jake,” she implores softly. “Don’t.”
“What do you want? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“My freedom.”
“You’ve waited four years. Can’t you put it off for another few months, give me time to prove myself?”
“No.”
“Why not? What do you have to lose?”
She lifts her pretty blue eyes slowly to mine. “The reason I want a divorce is because I want to marry someone else.”
Chapter 11
Jake
A shockwave travels through me. I expected many reasons, but I didn’t foresee this one, a most obvious one, no less, and it hits me straight in the heart. I hate the sympathy in her eyes, the pity she offers as she waits for the blow to settle.
“There’s someone else,” I say, disbelief like a golf ball stuck in my throat.
She takes a gulp of wine. “Obviously.”
I clench my fist under the table, resisting the urge to uplift everything and send the fine crockery shattering to the ground. “Who?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Come on, Kri
sti. You’re going to have to tell me eventually.”
“You and I haven’t spoken in four years,” she says as if to justify her decision.
I drag my fingers through my hair, letting the sharp pull ground me. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“Again, not your business.”
I’m sick with rage. My brain says my jealous anger is unfounded, but my heart doesn’t give a fuck. It feels what it feels. My appetite is gone. “I just want to know who Noah’s stepdaddy is going to be.”
“I don’t want trouble.”
“None offered.” I swallow down half of the wine in my glass, which tastes like nothing and makes my tongue feel like cotton in my mouth.
“I work for him.”
“You’re having an affair with your boss?”
“Technically, it’s not an affair. You disappeared.”
“Technically, we’re still married.”
“Are you for real?” The neckline of her dress gapes as she leans over the table, unknowingly teasing me with a flash of her cleavage. “Did you expect me to remain faithful to a non-existing husband who married me only to give me a medical aid?”
“So, you did sleep with him.” I want to smash the jug of water against the wall in a fit of burning jealousy.
“What about you, Jake? Did you sleep with other women?”
Fuck. Here we go. Staring at her, I weigh my options. I can lie, but I don’t want to build what I have in mind for us on the foundation of untruths. The ugly part of my life is over. If I’m to start with a new slate, there’s only one answer. “Yes.”
Something flickers in her eyes, but I can’t make out the emotion. She’s keeping it too well concealed. “How many?”
“Don’t go there, ginger.”
“Don’t call me that. How many, Jake?”
“A lot.”
“Like in five, ten?”
I’m going to come clean, and then I’ll make it better. I’ll work to make it up to her every day. “Try fifty.”
She swallows a gasp. Her pity turns into disgust, and then her face distorts into a mask of incomprehension and hurt she doesn’t quite manage to hide.
I watch her as she battles to come to terms with the knowledge. She must despise me, hate me even. Maybe she’s realizing everyone who warned her about me was right.
“Tell me what’s going through that pretty head of yours.”
“I’m tempted to call a cab and walk out on you,” she says.
“If you do, it’ll mean you care.”
Her eyes flash. I’m blackmailing her into a corner. Storming off now will be a declaration that I hurt her, something she doesn’t want to admit. I’m using the knowledge to my advantage, to keep her where I want her, which is right here in this very uncomfortable and hurtful moment with me. I’m a bastard, but I can’t let her go. Not like this.
She leans back and hugs herself, putting whatever distance she can between us, but she’s not reaching for her phone to call a cab. Even if I win, the victory holds no joy.
“God, Jake. How do you even find that many women to sleep with?”
“All of them were prostitutes. None of it meant a thing.”
“Why do men always use that excuse?” She drains the rest of her wine. “Not that it matters.”
It obviously does.
“I don’t even want to think what kind of diseases you have,” she continues, grabbing at stones to throw, anything to hurt me as much as I’ve hurt her.
I know the strategy well. I perfected it with my late father. “I’m clean. I’ve only gone bareback with you.”
She snorts as if it means nothing. “On the up-side, you don’t have any more children to neglect.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, for both of you.”
“Know what? I’m glad you shared that with me. At least you proved I’m making the right decision.”
“What’s his name?”
“Luan Steenkamp.”
“The lawyer, right? Didn’t Nancy get engaged to a Steenkamp?”
“Steve, his son.” She pins me with a narrowed gaze. “The guy you attacked at Sugar Loaf.”
“Fuck, Kristi. That means he’s old enough to be your father.”
“Luckily, you don’t have a say in who I choose to share my life with.”
Like hell. “Do you love him?”
“He’s a good person, and he’s great with Noah.”
That says it all. Kristi has huge daddy issues. On top of that, I fucked up her life. She needs stability, but I’d put my head under a guillotine if she loves him.
“I have a right to move on,” she says. “I want to build a new life.”
“Agreed.”
“Then there’s no problem.”
“You can build a new life with me.”
“Too little, too late, Jake.”
“I’m going to fight for you, ginger.”
“Spare yourself the effort. You’ll lose.”
We’ll fucking see about that. “Dessert?”
“No, thank you. I want to go home.”
After dropping her off, I go to my hotel and type the name of the scumbag Kristi wants to marry into the internet search field on my smartphone. He used to be a lawyer at a mediocre firm in Johannesburg. Moved to Rensburg the year I left. It’s as if worms crawl over my skin when I think about his hands on Kristi, and how many times he could’ve laid those hands on her in four years.
I shouldn’t have left to chase my selfish, pretentious dream. I wanted to be bigger. Better. Maybe the deep-cutting need to earn my father’s approval never worked itself out of my system, and I just wanted to impress my old man. Well, what do you know? I didn’t come back better or bigger. I came back with an ugly trail of destruction, a very good reason to continue staying away from my wife and child, but when I look at the old lawyer’s face on my smartphone screen, I can’t harvest enough selflessness in what’s left of my soul to let him have Kristi. I can’t because she’s mine. I may have left her, but that didn’t change the notion that she belongs to me. Fucking every whore in Dubai didn’t change that sentiment. I’m not an idiot. I know I’m scum. Kristi deserves better. I fucked up, and I want another chance. Screw everything. New boyfriend or not, I’m going to take that chance, even if I don’t deserve it.
Damn. I need a smoke. At this hour, the only gas station selling cigarettes is closed. I won’t mind a drink either, but there’s no mini bar in the room.
A lukewarm shower later, I crawl into bed. Stretching out on my back, I fold my hands under my head and stare at the green light from the pharmacy across the road reflecting on the ceiling. A bedspring stabs my kidney. I shift closer to the hollow in the middle of the mattress. The sheets smell like dry cleaning chemicals and the pillow is humid.
Closing my eyes, I hope for rest, but like the many nights in a foreign country, the sweet oblivion of sleep evades me. In Dubai, when I couldn’t sleep, I snorted drugs and fucked like an animal, and I can’t say I enjoyed it. It was a coping mechanism. Something to pass the time.
I throw the scratchy sheets aside and stride across the floor to grab the bottle of water I left on the desk. After a long drink, I go back to bed, but the hours stretch on, each one marked by the toll of the church bell tower on the town square. I switch on the television mounted on the wall. A grainy image flickers to life. The sound is tinny. I flick to a news channel, not that I register much of the broadcast. My mind is elsewhere, at a trailer with a haphazard swing.
Despite the air conditioner, I sweat on top of the sheets. When daylight breaks, I give up. I pull on a T-shirt and pair of shorts and go down into the quiet street. I used to hate this street and its cheap clothing, fabric, low-quality electronics, and pawn shops. I never stood in the middle of the main crossing at daybreak and saw the way the rays fanned out behind the stone church or smelled the scent of the Eucalyptus trees wafting on the breeze. My restlessness and a quest for something better chased me hard, never allowing me to stand still for
one second and take it all in. It’s like seeing my hometown for the first time.
Regarding everything through new eyes is more than a little disconcerting. The drive is gone. The belief that I was born to be someone, a man better than my father, has dissolved into the bitter realization that I’m nothing special after all. I’m tired and washed out. This is what all the chasing after things I can’t name has gotten me. A disillusioned morning on a deserted sidewalk. Despite my loathing of this town, there’s a measure of peace in homecoming, something about the familiarity that’s like a salve on my soul. A bittersweet hint of nostalgia haunts me, a longing for happier years long gone, and at the forefront of my sentiments lingers the sour regret of the biggest mistake of my life, leaving Kristi.
What’s done is done. I can’t take it back. I can only try to be a better man and be what she needs.
Filling my lungs with the fresh air, I turn the corner and jog south. My feet find a rhythm and my muscles adapt. Before long, I’m enjoying the strain. In no time, I’m drenched with sweat and out of breath, but it beats the crap out of tossing in an uncomfortable bed.
At the end of the neighborhood, I stop on the hill. The factory with its smoke-producing towers is a jagged line on the horizon, a choppy reminder of edgy days and sharp-cutting moments. In the midst of all those tainted memories something soft grows, something luminous emerging from a hazy cloud of dirty gray, a memory of a girl with strawberry blonde hair and an innocent face walking toward me in an over-sized sweater to tell me she was going to have my baby.
Brushing an arm over my sweaty face, I turn away from the black towers on the red soil and make my way back. After shaving and showering, I stop at the deli on the corner to buy three coffees and bran muffins before driving to the trailer park. It’s barely seven when I park. As I get the breakfast from the passenger side, a Volvo pulls up. The car rolls past me and stops at Kristi’s gate. Flicking my sunglasses up over my head, I watch.
The trailer’s door open at the same time as the driver gets out of the car. Kristi exits the trailer with Noah in her arms. Her hair hangs loose down her back. She’s dried it straight. The sun catches the long strands, making them glow like translucent copper fibers. She’s wearing a pink T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans, the epitome of shining, wholesome beauty. She shifts the strap of a tote bag on her shoulder and transfers Noah to the other hip. He’s chewing on a plastic toy. Like those quiet people who are often overlooked but who observes everything, his eyes find mine before Kristi notices me. When I give a little wave, he pauses in the middle of sucking a dent in what looks like a yellow giraffe. Curious, he watches me with drool running down his chin. The small hesitation catches Kristi’s attention. She turns her head my way. A small frown disturbs her pretty features.
Catch Me Twice Page 14
