by Jackie Wang
Our fingertips touched briefly, sending a frisson through me. “It’s not too bad. I’m sure they’re tough enough to handle it.”
After loading up all the dishes, we went upstairs and found Jason and Greg already changed and snuggled in bed. They shared one bedroom, and each staked out a half and decorated it to their taste. Jason was younger, so his side of the room was covered in stuffed animals, a rocket ship bed, and a hanging planetary mobile. Greg’s side had a few posters of rock bands, more complicated action figures, and several wooden sculptures.
I pointed to the wooden sculptures, which appeared to be sticks glued together. “Did you make those, Greg?”
He nodded. “Popsicle sticks and toothpicks, Roman. It’s supposed to be a sea monster. I named him Gilly.”
“That’s really cool,” I said. “I’m impressed.”
“What about this, Roman?” Jason said, sitting up in bed. He held a modeling clay sculpture in his hand. “I made this last month. It’s a Bigfoot called Benny. Cool, huh?”
“Equally impressive. You two are very talented individuals,” I said, grinning. I ruffled Jason’s hair. “Who would win in a fight, Benny or Gilly?”
The boys named their respective champions simultaneously. I laughed.
“Can we hear the lion story now?” Greg asked. “We’ve been waiting all night.”
“Mom, can we?” Jason added, glancing over at Maggie, who lingered by the doorway.
Maggie looked at me. She hadn’t stopped smiling all night. “It’s up to Roman if he wants to tell you.”
“He promised he would!” Greg said.
“Yeah, he promised,” Jason agreed.
“A promise is a promise,” I said, settling down on the edge of Greg’s bed. “Now let’s see. It all started when I went on a college graduation trip to Kenya. It was 2003. You two weren’t even born yet. Me and five of my mates went to Tsavo National Park on a week-long safari. Of course, one of the first things our guide told us was: these animals are wild. This isn’t a zoo. If you turn your back, make loud noises, or worse, run, you will get injured, or worse, eaten.”
Greg’s eyes flew open. “Why did you choose Africa?”
“It’s a bit embarrassing, but, I’d wanted to visit Africa ever since I watched The Lion King. My favorite animals are still lions, funnily enough.”
“Even though you got mauled by one?” Jason asked.
“It wasn’t the lion’s fault. It’s in their nature to kill. It was my fault for exposing myself. Or rather, it was my friend’s fault,” I said, shuddering at the memory. “Now, Tsavo is one of the largest parks in Kenya. We were lucky we saw as many animals as we did. There were mongoose, monkeys, jackals, foxes, leopards…the reserve was brimming with wildlife. But what my mates and I really went to see were the famous Tsavo lions. They’re unique because, see, the males lacked manes, and some of them were documented man-eaters. They had a reputation for being ruthless and unrelentingly aggressive. Gave us lads a real adrenaline rush, you know, trying to spot one.”
Jason clasped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t tell me you challenged one to a fight.”
“God no. I was young, but I wasn’t stupid. My mate, David Finch, however, wasn’t the brightest fella. The guide had told us about this pair of legendary Tsavo lions who massacred twenty-eight railway workers in the nineteenth century. ‘Since 1990,’ he told us, ‘Over six-hundred people have been eaten by lions. They won’t stop attacking a human until it’s killed’. David, who was an amateur photographer, and the biggest adrenaline junkie of the group, he wanted to snap a photo of these terrifying beasts and auction it off for a charity event.”
“For the first five days, we didn’t spot any lions. But on the last day, we saw them. Two of them, lying in the grass, faces dripping with blood from a fresh kill.”
Greg winced at this point and buried his face in a pillow.
I rubbed my jaw. “Do you want me to stop?”
The boys shook their heads.
My scar prickled as I continued. “Like I said, they’d just killed a jackal, and their faces and fur were matted with bright blood. The jackal corpse was already buzzing with flies. The lions were lazing around, licking their fur. The sight elicited visceral reactions from our group. Fear, awe, wonder, terror. David said he wouldn’t head back until he’d gotten his photo. And not just any photo. He wanted a close-up.”
“The second rule of safari was: never leave the vehicle. Only a madman would leave his group and venture out alone. But that’s exactly what David did. At dusk, while everyone was having dinner, he stole away to chase the lions before the sun set. When I found him the next morning, he was already dead. His body had been dismembered beyond recognition and—” I coughed, choking at the grisly memory. “—I tried to bring back his body. That’s when I got attacked. The two male lions jumped out of nowhere and refused to part with their deceased prey. I didn’t give up, though. They began stalking me, curious at first. I dragged David’s body over twenty feet before they began to draw closer. I remembered what my guide told me, and faced the lions the entire time, walking backward towards camp. To turn my back on them would be to show weakness. But you see…there was this muddy bank. I got stuck. I turned for just a few seconds to pull out my foot and—RAWR—they lunged at me.”
Jason screamed, which made Greg scream too.
“I held out my arm to defend myself, and that’s when one of the lions clawed my forearm to bloody shreds. They were about to slash open my chest next, but that’s when I heard a gunshot. It all happened so fast. Within seconds. When I came to my senses, I saw both lions dead at my feet. Blood stained everything: the dirt, the grass, my clothes, my skin. It was everywhere. My guide reprimanded me the entire way to the hospital. He’d shot them without hesitation.”
I displayed my scar again, and the boys ran their trembling fingers over it. “Whoa…So you…saw your friend…” Jason began.
I nodded. “Needless to say, I lost my appetite for the next couple of months. I was severely traumatized for over seven months. This—” I pointed to my scar. “—Forty stitches. It still burns sometimes. But those memories…they’ll haunt me forever.”
“You were really brave,” Jason said. “You didn’t have to get your friend, but you did.”
“Brave, but also stupid,” I admitted. “He was already dead, and I risked my life to get him back.”
Maggie cleared her throat behind me. “Wow. That was…quite the story, Roman.”
I shrugged, smiling weakly. “It’s the most exciting story I’ve got. I tell it to everyone.”
“You were trying to honor your friend’s memory…I think that’s…admirable,” Maggie continued.
“Thanks…Maggie.”
When it was all over, the boys made me promise I’d tell them another story tomorrow. I said I’d do my best, and then wished them both good night.
Chapter 12
After we had shut the door to their room, Maggie turned to me and laughed. “You were great in there. What do you mean you’re not good with kids? They worshiped you.”
My lips quirked up. “I was surprised myself. Most kids hate me.”
Maggie padded downstairs, and I followed. “I can’t see why. You’re a natural with them,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just your boys. I’ve never gotten along with my little cousins before.”
“Listen, Roman, I want to thank you. For coming over. And helping with them,” Maggie slipped her hands in and out of her jean pockets. “They really liked you.”
“I liked them too. They’re great boys. You’ve raised them well.” I looked around the cozy living room, noting all the framed family photos on the wall. Pictures of the three of them tobogganing, swimming in the ocean, hiking in the forest. They were an active and happy family. There was even a larger family photo with all the Summers in it. There wasn’t a single one of Maggie’s ex-boyfriends, though. “So where do the boys go when you’re at work?”
“Our neigh
bor, a retired nurse, helps me babysit. Mrs. Godfrey. She’s a Godsend. Doesn’t have any grandchildren of her own, and she loves kids, so she takes care of mine for free. Won’t take a dime from me.”
“That’s very generous of her.”
“I’m very lucky, yes.”
We made our way back to the kitchen, and Maggie reached for a bottle of red wine on the counter. “Would you like a glass?”
“Sure,” I said. “Just half a glass.”
As Maggie poured, she said, “You know, this is the first time since we moved in that I’ve brought a man over.”
“Oh. I’m honored.” She handed me the glass, and I took it. “You must think I’m special.” I winked.
“You’re saving my family business. Pro bono. Of course, you’re special.” Maggie took a sip. “I just didn’t realize how much the boys needed a male presence in their lives until tonight.”
“All the more reason you should move to the city, and start dating again,” I said.
“No eligible bachelor wants a woman with baggage,” Maggie said. “I gave up dating the day Jason turned two.”
“Why that day?”
Maggie swirled her wine around in her glass, and focused on the liquid. “I’d gone on a date with a nice carpenter. His name was Lawson. By the end of the evening, he wanted me to spend the night at his place. I explained I couldn’t, because I had two sons waiting for me at home. I’d never seen a man run so fast.”
“You just haven’t met the right man yet,” I said. “Doesn’t mean you should give up completely.”
Maggie took a sip. “Be honest, Roman, if you had the choice, would you pick me over a woman with no kids?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Would you?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. But I still like you as much as I did before I knew you were a single mum, I wanted to say.
“I’ve made my bed. Now I lie in it. I don’t regret anything. This is my life now. That’s just the way it is. My boys are my life. And I love them more than anything. I’d do anything for them.” Maggie leaned her elbows against the counter, deep in thought. In that moment, she reminded me so much of my own mother.
“What about your personal needs? You can’t let your life revolve around your parents, Rita, and your children. You need time for yourself.”
“When you have kids, your life isn’t your own anymore. You have a duty to give them the best kind of life you can. That’s my focus now,” Maggie said. “Dating…that ship has sailed for me. A long time ago. I don’t mind; God knows how exhausting finding a good man can be.”
“Don’t you get lonely?” I asked.
Maggie gave me a sad smile. “I don’t have time to feel lonely. Not between running around like a madwoman at the lodge, and coming home to chase around two little boys. Time flies faster than anything.” She drained her glass and began pouring another. “What about you, Mr. Finnegan? Anyone special in your life?”
“No time to date,” I admitted, finishing my drink. “Haven’t gone on a proper date for almost a year.” I neglected to mention how the last two women I’d seen both turned out to be obnoxious gold diggers.
“So you just sleep with them, then?” Maggie teased, poking my chest with her index finger. She took my glass and refilled it. I didn’t object.
“Really, Maggie. What kind of a—yeah, you got me,” I admitted, taking another sip of wine. “It’s not a crime if the feeling’s mutual.”
“I never said it was a crime. And I don’t judge you,” Maggie said, her breathy voice more intoxicating than the wine could ever be. “A man like you? Must have women throwing themselves at your feet.”
I shrugged. “Something like that, yeah.” She had no idea how true that was back in the UK. I had something of a fan club there; a small group of women who were obsessed with everything about me. No idea when or how it started, but it took hold, and now, everywhere I went, I’d bump into one or two members of my fan club. Most of the time, they just wanted to take a selfie with me. Other times, they aggressively pursued me. Borderline stalked me. It was absolute madness.
Maggie laughed, her voice like tinkling bells. “Zero modesty, I see.”
“I didn’t get to where I am today because I was modest about my abilities,” I said, taking a step closer.
“Your abilities? In bed?”
“And out.” I winked. Then I sat up a little straighter and picked imaginary lint off my jumper. “Maggie, who knows…Maybe one day you could fly to London. I’d give you a grand tour, and treat you the way you deserve. Or I could fly back here, and we could go on a holiday.”
“What, just like that? You’d whisk me off? Like in a fairy-tale?” Maggie tipped her head back and laughed, then sipped more wine.
“Why not? If neither of us has met anyone by then. I like you. I really do.” I raised her chin until her eyes met mine. “I think if we’d met under different circumstances…”
Maggie pulled back. “My life is no fairy-tale, Roman. I’m haunted by more demons than you can imagine. You’re idealistic, optimistic, and a bit cheeky, and I appreciate your encouragement, but…I don’t see myself having a future off the island.”
I shrugged. “Don’t sell yourself short. Life is full of surprises. You never know, Maggie. You never know.”
Maggie emptied her glass and placed it in the sink. “You’re right, I do have a bad habit of being pessimistic.”
I took Maggie’s hand, and looked straight into her tawny eyes. “You know what, Maggie, I promise: if you ever decide to leave Penderton Island one day, come find me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Maggie squeezed my hand. “I’m going to hold you up to that, Roman Finnegan.”
“Hold away, Maggie,” I said, brushing the crook of my finger against her cheek. “I never go back on my word.”
Maggie shivered, wrapping her shawl tighter around her body. I watched her glistening pupils flick over my face, studying me. “I think we’ve both had a little too much wine. At least I have, anyway. Let me…uh…see you out. I’m tired.”
“I’m perfectly sober, Maggie. So trust me when I say this: I’ve never felt quite like this with any other woman before. I know, it’s corny as hell, but it’s the truth. You do something to me, Maggie. Something strange, hypnotic, and addictive. You exert this pull on me. I can’t stay away from you.”
“That’s silly.” Maggie laughed and began pushing me toward the door. “You must be drunk, even if you say otherwise.”
“Drunk off you,” I said, my head swimming. I flashed her a grin. “Drunk off your smell, your laughter, your voice.”
“Good night, Mr. Finnegan,” Maggie said, helping me with my coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Sleep well, Magnolia Summers.” I didn’t want to leave, but I knew that my time was up.
Chapter 13
11 Days Left
“All right, everyone. Each of you should have a copy of the new menu I’ve planned out,” I announced. “Please take a look, and I’m happy to answer any questions you may have before we begin.”
“How do you pronounce this?” Bob asked, pointing to the second item on the list. He chewed on his thick lower lip, and stroked his cleft chin with a square thumb.
“Coke-O-van,” I said. “Literal translation, chicken with wine. It’s French.”
Bob looked skeptical. “This is a lodge, not a place that serves fancy-sounding French cuisine.”
“It’s not fancy. In fact, paired with root vegetables and crusty bread, Coq au Vin embodies the heart of rustic home-cooking,” I said. “I’ll be demonstrating each of these dishes on the menu with the help of my friend, and head chef at Moulin International, Daniel Dumont.”
Daniel, who’d flown in early this morning on the red-eye, nodded to each individual assembled in front of us. He was a short, stocky man with a thin handlebar mustache and a slick, dirty blond ponytail. “Morning,” he said in a French accent. “It is a pleasure meeting you al
l here today.” At 6’6”, Daniel towered over the staff. Even I (at 5’11”) had to look up to meet his eyes.
“After we prepare these dishes, I’d like you all to taste them. Daniel will teach the kitchen staff how to replicate them. The servers are responsible for memorizing each item on the menu as well as their ingredients. Questions?”
“No, sir!” everyone chimed.
“Then let’s get to work!” Daniel said, clapping his hand. “Allons-y!”
Daniel and I spent the morning demonstrating various dishes, from veal risotto to fresh, homemade mushroom ravioli. And when the staff sampled all the dishes, their faces lit up with pleasure.
“This is literally the best food I’ve ever tasted,” Tina said, chewing on a tender piece of veal. “It just melts in your mouth.”
“That’s what your customers should be saying to you when they finish their meals,” I said. “They shouldn’t be crying for a refund.”
“We’re not trained chefs,” Ray said, cutting into the ravioli with a fork. “It takes years of practice to make food this good.”
“Every journey begins with the first step, Ray. With enough practice, you’ll master all these menu items before I’m done here,” I said.
Ray’s eyes grew wide, as if he didn’t think he could achieve the monumental task ahead of him. “I’m just a home cook from the island, Roman. Not some fancy Michelin star, executive chef from London.”
“Where do you think Daniel started out?” I asked, gesturing to my best mate. “Washing dishes when he was sixteen. For free. Just so he could watch how the chefs worked.”
“Now, now, Roman. I only worked for free for the first month,” Daniel said. “But he is right, everyone must begin somewhere. I will stay here as long as Roman needs, to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rhodes said. “I’ll let Mrs. Summers know. I’m sure she’ll prepare the finest suite for you.”
