“I don't care. I need you, Fred. I really need you. And I love you. I want to be there for you too.” He was like the boy he had been when he had broken his arm when he was twelve. It was Faith who had held it for him when her mother drove him to the emergency room, and he had made her swear she wouldn't tell anyone that she had seen him cry.

“I'm here for you … I always will be … but I can't steal you from someone else, Brad. That's wrong.”

“We'll talk about it later.” He didn't want to miss the plane, he couldn't. But suddenly, they had a lot to resolve, and to think about, and he had no idea when he'd see her again. He could be gone for months, and now this would be hanging over them until he came home, and God only knew what horrors would have happened by then. “I just want you to know I may be half out of my mind, Fred. But I'm not crazy. I've wanted to do this for a long time. I just didn't think it would be fair to you.” It wasn't, to either of them. It was forbidden fruit, for both of them.

“I've been praying that this wouldn't happen. It's my fault. I shouldn't have …” And with that, he kissed her one last time and ran. He looked back over his shoulder once and saw her crying. He waved, and then he was gone. And Faith cried all the way back to the city in the cab. They had done something terrible, she knew that. She had allowed him to cross the line of friendship, not only allowed him, but provoked him to. There was no doubt in her mind that it was her fault it had happened. And she knew that when he came back, they would have to take back everything they had said and done, and promise not to do it again, or they could never see each other again. It was one more grief to add to their worries about Jason. All she could do for him now was pray.

She got out of the cab at St. Patrick's. It was eleven o'clock at night, and there were still people milling around, mostly tourists, as Faith stepped inside. She went straight to the altar of Saint Jude and lit a candle, and then she got on her knees, bowed her head, and cried. She had the rosary in her hand that Brad had given her for Christmas. It seemed a sacrilege now to be holding it, after the sin she knew she had just committed. He was a married man and they both knew he was going to stay that way.

She knelt for an hour, praying for Jason, and for wisdom and courage for Dylan, and peace for Brad as he made his way to them. She left the church after midnight, and went home in a cab. She let herself into the house and walked up the stairs to her room, looking as though someone had died. She was devastated by everything that had happened, the terrible news, the worry, the shock she saw in Brad's eyes, and the terribly foolish thing she had done, which she knew was so wrong. No matter how much she loved him, she had to disappear from his life. She knew that now after praying. Saint Jude was the patron saint of impossible causes. She had no choice. She was dangerous for Brad. She stood in the darkness in her room for a moment and then turned a single light on, as Zoe came out of her room and stood across the hall, watching her. She hadn't seen her mother look like that since Alex had walked out on her months before.

“Are you okay, Mom?” she asked, looking worried.

“No,” Faith said sadly, with a look of total devastation. And without another word, she quietly closed the door.





23


BRAD DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO CALL FAITH WHEN HE switched planes in London. He had to run to another terminal, and he barely made the plane. He had managed to call Pam, but there was no news from Dylan or anyone else. And he sat on the flight to Lusaka looking like a wounded man. Most of the time, all he could think of was Jason. His imagination had run wild with him since he'd heard the initial news and nothing more. And the rest of the time, he thought of Faith, and wanted to reassure her that what they had done wasn't wrong. But there was nothing he could say. She would just have to hang tough and believe in him until he got home. He had no idea what they were going to do, but there was no question in his mind that he was in love with her. He had known it in his soul for a very, very long time.

He slept for part of the flight, and arrived in the morning, and changed planes again, to a miserable egg crate that would take him on the last leg of the trip. And this time, when he arrived in Kalabo, there was no van waiting for him, and no Jason or Dylan. He hired a man with a truck to drive him to the game preserve. But as they drove through the town, he saw what had happened. The roof of the church they'd been restoring in Ngulwana had fallen in, and the steeple with it. Just looking at it, he started to cry.

“A bad thing happened, Bambo,” the man driving him said, as Brad told him to stop. “Men got hurt bad. Four of them.” Brad nodded. The term the driver had used for him was “Father,” a gesture of respect.

“I know. One of them is my son.” The man only nodded in answer, as Brad went to look for someone to tell him where the wounded men were. And finally he found one, a tribesman wearing shorts and sandals, with scars on his face. He pointed to a building where the men had been taken. And as soon as he walked in, he saw women crying, and children squatting, and others shooing flies off the faces of the injured men. He found Dylan kneeling beside Jason, among them. Jason was unconscious and there was a tremendous blood-soaked bandage on his head. Dylan stood up instantly and collapsed sobbing in his father's arms. Dylan was so exhausted he couldn't stop crying. The only good news from what Brad could see was that Jason was still alive. But he appeared to be close to death, and Dylan told him that one of the others had died several hours before.

“Has he seen a doctor?” Brad asked, trying to fight panic. He knew he needed to be strong for both his sons, particularly Dylan now, who had been brave and sensible on his own for two days.

“He came yesterday, but he had to leave again.”

“What did he say?” Brad looked tense.

“Not much. I tried to get the plane, Dad. But I couldn't.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“They said it's probably in Victoria Falls, but no one seems to know for sure.”

“Okay. Let me see what I can do.” Brad walked into the bright sunshine, not sure where to start, and as though he could hear Faith's voice in his head, he started to pray. He walked to the post office, and asked the only man working there who to talk to about the plane. He gave Brad a number, and told him how to call. It took half an hour to get a local line, and then it occurred to him to radio the game preserve. There was no answer at the phone number he'd been given, and the man in the post office told him where to go to find a radio. And from there, Brad radioed the game preserve, and asked them to radio for the plane. And then he went back to Dylan, standing guard over Jason. He kept swatting the flies off his twin and staring miserably at him. Even with his deep tan, Brad could see that his son was gray. Dylan said he hadn't regained consciousness in two days.

It took another six hours for the game preserve to get the plane. And then they sent a boy in a Jeep into town to tell Brad that it would be at the airport at eleven o'clock that night. If he could get the wounded men to the airport, they would fly them to the hospital in Lukulu. He helped load two men into the Jeep, with their relatives following on foot. And they got a truck for Jason, laid him carefully on a blanket, and put him in the back of the truck, with Dylan kneeling next to him, and Brad in the front seat. They were a motley crew when the plane finally arrived two hours later than they said.

It took nearly an hour to get everyone settled in the plane. And shortly after that, they took off. For Brad, it was like an out-of-body experience, in a totally primitive place, with people who responded at their own pace. The plane was going to land in an open stretch of terrain the pilot was familiar with, and they had an ambulance standing by. Someone had radioed ahead. The ambulance made three trips back and forth with the injured men, as Brad paid the pilot of the plane, and took off with Jason and Dylan. And finally, once they got to the hospital, he knew that Jason would be in halfway decent hands. Most of the hospital staff was British, and there was a New Zealander and an Australian doctor as well. It was easy to see why Jason had wanted to study in the health care field and come back to a country like this. They needed help desperately, and he could make a difference here. If he survived.

After examining him, the doctor in charge told Brad and Dylan that Jason had a head injury of some magnitude, and had both swelling and fluid on the brain. And the only way to relieve it was to drain it. In normal circumstances, it was not a complicated surgery, but setting a broken arm was complicated in a place like this. Brad gave them his permission, and within seconds, Jason was wheeled away, as Brad and Dylan sat together, talking quietly, and watching other people come and go. It was an endless day.

The sun came up while they were sitting, waiting for news of Jason. They were told hours later that the procedure had been done, and he was still alive, but there had been no visible change in his condition so far. And they knew nothing more when the sun set again.

Brad and Dylan took turns sitting by his bedside, and he never stirred. They sat there, never leaving him for three days. Brad felt tired and filthy. He hadn't changed his clothes, showered, or shaved, but he never left his son for a minute. They ate whatever the nurses brought them, and on the third day, he realized that Pam had never arrived. He wondered if she was waiting for them at the game preserve, but there was no way to find out. He finally asked someone to radio there, and the message came back that she wasn't coming. But they had no other details. It was impossible to call her from where they were.