Roman dug deep to find his manners for Imani’s aunt. “Thank you Mrs. Morris. A good day to you.”
Charifa Morris left him with a pitying smile before retreating back into her home. Once the brownstone’s door closed, Roman lost the mask and let the true harshness of his expression take centerstage.
Imani was gone. Well and gone. He couldn’t even consider speeding to the airport to stop her from going. He’d learned from her aunt that she’d left the previous afternoon. He felt his palms ache, but fought the need to make fists.
Let her go.
The voice gave good advice, but it was nowhere near the best advice. He couldn’t let her go. Ever. He’d always known that even when he was trying to make himself believe otherwise.
And what if she had already let him go? Roman felt his lashes flutter, his temper stirring over the possibility. He told it to back off and exhaled when it listened. If she was done with him, so be it. But it would take a helluva lot more than hopping a plane to Africa for him to believe that.
She would have to tell him to his face and she was going to have to be damn convincing.
PART IV~Family Ties~
~1~
Mozambique, Africa~ 2 Weeks Later...
“Are you still with us, Sir?”
Roman managed to pull his disbelieving eyes from the wide bus window he had been all but glued to since leaving the train station outside of Sofala. Given the current unrest attributed to the country’s ongoing civil war, he had been advised against flying into the capital city of Maputo. Instead, his plane had landed in Beira, the fourth largest city in Mozambique. From there, the train had taken over the second leg of his trip to Vilanculos, a beautiful coastal town at the edge of the Indian Ocean. The third and final leg was a bus ride to the village of Inhassoro located just over an hour’s drive from the southeastern coast of the continent. The Kamande lands were half a day’s travel away.
Roman had been fixed on the passing terrain since boarding the crowded bus with its large windows that showcased the stunning landscape.
“Still here, thanks,” Roman said to the driver with whom he’d struck a rapport during the drive to Inhassoro. “This is incredible,” he added, not caring how much like a tourist he sounded. “She was right,” he sighed the last to himself.
“What’s that, Sir?” The other man’s keen hearing had picked up the comment.
Roman only shook his head. “Something a friend of mine said about feeling small and...humbled in the midst of such power.”
“Ah...she was right, indeed,” the driver sighed as well. “This is home.”
Smiling then, Roman eyed the driver consideringly. “Would you ever leave it?”
“Never.”
There was no hesitation in the response and Roman nodded solemnly. “Are you married?” he asked the driver who was decreasing the bus’s speed as they neared a small tin-roofed terminal in the distance.
“Married twelve years, Sir,” the man replied.
“Would you leave it if your wife was in another country and wanted you where she was?” Roman’s voice was quieter then.
The driver did not respond right away. He scratched at the salt and pepper stubble that sprinkled his otherwise smooth molasses-toned cheeks and seemed to be considering his answer. “I suppose I would leave for as long as it took to go back and get the woman I love and bring her back where I am.”
Hearty laughter followed the response.
“I wish you a good trip, Sir,” the driver was saying with laughter still hugging his words. “Inhassoro is a wondrous place to laze away.”
“I don’t doubt it,” again Roman cast a lingering gaze upon the vista beyond the windows. “I’d take time for it, but I’m here for the woman I love.”
“Ha!” The driver sent his passenger a quirky look.
Roman knew the other man thought he was teasing and decided not to correct him. “Thank you,” he patted the man’s shoulder.
“There are taxis and carriages. You will find them there,” the driver pointed to a white shed that shielded the horses and other drivers from the potent sunshine. “The carriages may be better suited for your travels, Sir. Depending on where you are headed off to.”
“Thank you,” Roman extended a hand and could see that the other man was both surprised and appreciative of the gesture. They shook hands and Roman set off with his bag.
Once again, he marveled over the beauty of his surroundings. He felt as though he were standing in the middle of an explosion of color and energy. The women in their elaborate headwraps and dresses were outmatched only by the swirls of natural color and sky overhead. The men were equally eye catching. Some wore native attire-long robes or dashikis while others sported trousers and tops. The colors of the material seemed even more vivid against the rich and deep shade of their skin tones.
Roman had to admit that it was an extraordinary place. He found a row of taxis parked intermittently between carriages waiting under a long canopy attached to the shed the bus driver had indicated. The lush shelter of leafy palms aided in protecting man and animal from the sun. Roman’s steps slowed as his reason for being there collided with the dynamic beauty all around him.
What if she wouldn’t come back with him? He could happily turn his back on family and the only country he had ever known to be wherever she was. But that’s what he would do. He had no idea what she would or could do. What if she was no longer his to want?
He winced at the sudden pressure put to his palm when he drew a fist. With powerful determination, he forced out those possibilities. He couldn’t think of leaving without her. He wouldn’t think of it because he was terrified...terrified of himself and what he would do if she couldn’t leave. Worse, if she wouldn’t.
It was some time before Roman realized someone was speaking to him-asking if he needed a taxi.
“Thanks um, I um, I’m not sure,” He squinted against the sun bouncing off the windshield of one of the white Fiat 1500s. “The bus driver said it depended on where I’m going. Do any of you know the Kamande family?”
The men chuckled in a harmonious chorus. One removed his worn Mets cap and held it aloft while scratching at his thin hairline.
“Everyone knows the Kamande,” he said.
“Is a taxi or carriage better?” Roman asked.
“Carriage is best. The Kamande live far outside the village. I’ll take you,” the driver set his cap back in place and glanced at Roman’s suitcase. “More bags?” he asked.
