She knew it was over now. He was gone, dead to the world. She did not want to think about what would happen next. Makaila had invited her back to Mombasa, when they had left for Paris.
When he was still with her, seated in the cockpit next to her smiling in those brown wooden framed glasses that made him look so handsome. “Stop it” she told herself as she struggled to return to her previous train of thought. She could always go back home, she thought. But then she thought of all the times he had been seated on the couch reading a book and had reached out to her as she walked in the room with a cup of green tea in her hand. How he always joked around and how her fingers felt when they came into contact with his. She could smell him, that subtle scent of nature, freshly cut wood and the far away smell of coffee beans, that was always so comforting.
How he would smile at her as he walked up behind her in the kitchen and put his strong arms around her. How he would pick her up, seemingly effortlessly and place her on the oak countertop. His cherry lips as he leaned in to kiss her, and the look of pure menace in his eyes. “Maaam….maaam” she began to hear from afar. She could feel him now, his arms as they pressed into her back and he moved in, kissing her even deeper now. The feel of his muscled back as she trailed her right palm down the middle of his back. The feel of the firm rubber knife handle as it fell out of her left hand.
“Maaaam….maaam” she heard again, it sounded closer now. She started to hear whispers and conversation around her and as she struggled to hold on to what she realized was a memory now, she looked up and saw the older waitress staring at her with a concerned look on her face. She lifted her eyebrows now, quizingly and waited for the waitress to speak. The waitress who was now seemingly compelled by her face, roused with a start and struggled for a second to gain back her composure. “Is…is that blood?, In your hair, it looks like blood, is it?”.
She lifted her hand to her hair, just now noticing how pale it looked as she brought it to her short hair and held up a strand of it in front of her face to look at it. It was crunchy to touch and now that she was seeing it in the light extremely dark red. She looked up smiling and said, “non, cette est mode.” The waitress glared at her looking confused. She continued, putting the strand of hair back in place, “fashion, hair couleur” the waitress seemed to understand. Calming down, she focused her gaze on the waitress. Who she now realized was carrying a coffee pot, she gestured to her cup. She was obliged . That was too close, she thought.
As she looked around the small coffee store she realized that most of the other customers were either staring at her or just now returning their eyes to their food or coffee. Something started to buzz in the back pocket of her jeans and it startled her. She quickly reached down and took her Android phone out of her pocket staring at the screen for a moment before accepting the call and bringing it up to her ear.
“Hi lovie” came the over enthusiastic voice from the other side of the line. “Hello mother” she spoke back into the phone. ” What’s wrong darling? you sound sad.” She struggled to keep her face straight as she replied, “He’s gone mom, he’s dead, Peter’s dead” she whispered struggling now to keep from crying. She averted her eyes from her coffee and watched as the waitress disappeared into a door that looked like it lead to the kitchen. “I’m so sorry honey, so so sorry” ,her mother said in a voice that sounded warm, caring and sad.
She heard a droplet fall into her coffee cup and realized now that she was crying. She got a handkerchief from the left side pocket of her jeans and wiped off her tears. She felt a sudden trance as she pictured her husband, on one knee proposing to her. She could remember it so vividly, the color of his eyes as he looked up at her as if she were a goddess who had somehow, come down from heaven. The smirk he had on as he popped the small red velvet box open and revealed the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. The tiny diamond on it was the same olive color of her own eyes. She could smell the wood burning close by, the barbequed chicken on the table and the distinct peppery scent it held. The scent of Peter and the understated cologne he had worn that night.
“Honey…honey, are you still there?” She heard over the speaker as she lightly lifted the handkerchief which she now remembered was a gift from Peter, from her right cheek. “I’m still here” she replied. “What are you gonna do now? Her mother asked. ” I was thinking of going to Mombasa, to stay with Makaila for a while.”
“Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while?” Her mother asked. She thought about it for a minute, her mother had moved to London two years ago when her husband had died. She had a nice place on the outskirts of the city, it was small and cozy but it would be insanely cold around this time of the year. She had never been a huge fan of the cold,but with what had just happened it seemed oddly appropriate.
“Okay mum, I just have something I have to do here, I’ll take a flight out as soon as I’m done” she replied. “Alright hun, I’ll leave the keys in the usual spot if I leave the house, I’m having lunch with Mrs Bennett tomorrow evening.” She heard over the line. “Okay” she said and hang up before her mother asked any more questions.