Chapter Thirty
Kelli
We soon left Dallas behind us and followed a long stretch of highway surrounded by fields on either side. Cows quietly grazed in the long grass; one of them, a long-horned steer, paused and gave us a long stare before returning to his meal. Out back behind a metal toolshed, a large sheepdog was barking at a herd of goats with malice and excitement in his voice. A farmer in overalls who stood ploughing the dirt with a red, rusted plough waved at us as we drove past.
Darren had been right: this was about as far from New York as it was possible to get. It was hard to believe we were even still in the same country.
“To be honest, I’m surprised Mama came with us,” said Zack as we passed a fisherman’s supply store. “Not because she don’t like you, sweetie, but because I figured she’d be gettin’ dinner ready.” I stifled a grin as he spoke; Zack had slipped easily back into his native accent and had never sounded more Texan.
“She’s been cookin’ something in the crockpot for the last five or six hours,” said Darren. “The reason we’re doin’ sixty instead of thirty-five is because I’m anxious to get home and eat. I’ve had nothing for breakfast but the leftover Dairy Queen from last night.”
“Well, don’t go too fast,” said Zack, “or you’ll get home before Mama does.”
“Neither of you is worried about getting pulled over for speeding?” I asked.
Zack shook his head, as if it hadn’t occurred to him. “Nobody’s going to pull us over on this road.”
Soon, we turned onto a dirt road bordered by hand-hewn wooden fences and barbed wire. Within another ten minutes, Darren had pulled into a long driveway leading up to a long narrow house with a wooden porch and a large back pasture above which hung a few scattered clouds. Behind a large iron gate, I could see horses and goats grazing, and one very excited black and white Border collie who nearly leapt over the fence in his haste to greet us. Even further back, there stood a tiny house with a pair of small wooden steps leading up to the front door.
“Well, this is it,” said Darren, pounding one last time on the steering wheel for effect and putting the car into park. “We’re home.”
“This is where I grew up,” said Zack. “Spent the first seventeen years of my life trying as hard as I could to get out of this place. But damned if it don’t feel good to be back.”
We got out of the car. It was a blindingly hot day, and the back of my neck was already covered in sweat by the time we reached the steps of the front porch.
“Y’all ready?” asked Mrs. Savery, bustling forward with keys in hand.
“I sure as hell hope supper’s ready,” said Darren, patting his belly longingly. “As much as I love Mama’s cooking on normal days, it’s always a hundred times better when Zack comes home.”
“Is that what you’re all excited about?” asked Zack.
Mrs. Savery pushed open the door. We followed her into a small, comfortably furnished living room containing a couple of rocking chairs, a sectional sofa that appeared to have been in the family since the 1970s, a hand-crocheted green and yellow rug, and a medium-sized flat-screen TV. Most of one wall was covered in framed sepia portraits of Zack and his brothers as children; Zack stood in the center of one, his hair neatly buzzed, flashing a gap-toothed smile.
Mrs. Savery threw on an apron, powdered her nose, and removed the lid from the crockpot. A cloud of steam instantly wafted out, accompanied by the mouth-watering smell of simmering pork roast. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy this dinner quite a bit more than any recent meal I had shared with Renee.
Zack and Darren set the table, and soon the meal was ready. In addition to the roast, we ate creamed corn, buttered rolls, and green bean casserole that had been baked just slightly longer than usual so the flakes were crisp. For dessert, we had our choice of cherry pie or pecan pie topped with whipped cream and several different flavors of ice cream. It was easily better than the meal Zac and I had eaten at Café Luxembourg, and I began to wonder why I subjected myself to mediocre food amid all the plenty of Manhattan.
Mr. Savery stayed mostly quiet during dinner, but Mrs. Savery wanted to know all about me: Where did I grow up? How had I met Zack? Where did I see my career in journalism leading? I deflected most of her questions about life in Somalia with stories of our time together in the Congo and was careful not to mention the offer Evan had made me the day before.
“Zack mentioned that he had met a girl down there in Zaire,” said Mrs. Savery, “and we were so surprised because you can imagine what we were picturing. When he said you were an American reporter, we were so relieved.”
“Would you have been upset if I’d come home with some Congolese woman?” Zack asked with a mischievous look in his eyes.
Mrs. Savery was spared from having to answer by the sudden arrival of two other Savery boys, who flung open the front door and came charging into the kitchen.
“Gimme some of dat,” said an auburn-haired man of about twenty-five, wearing a pair of newly polished dress shoes and a neatly pressed linen suit, as he opened the lid of the crackpot. I gathered from his immaculate appearance and general air of superiority that this was Marshall.
The second brother, slightly older, with thinning hair and a reddish-brown beard, came over and hugged Mrs. Savery. “Curtis,” she said, motioning to me, “this is Zack’s friend, Kelli.”
“Afternoon,” said Curtis, reaching over and shaking my hand. “It’s about time we finally met you.”
“How long has Zack been talking about me?” I asked with a feeling of unease.
“Well, when you’re the most interesting thing in the Congo,” said Zack, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied air, “you get talked about a lot.”
Mrs. Savery turned to Curtis and said quietly, “Where’s Allie?”
“Allie was feelin’ a bit under the weather,” he said sadly. “I think she strained one of her tendons at the bar when we was dancing the other night. She keeps telling me it’s because she’s old and her body’s fallin’ apart. And I told her, I said, ‘You’re twenty-six. If that makes you old, then just go ahead and bury me.’”
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” said Zack. Curtis shot him the middle finger where he was sure his mom couldn’t see it.
When supper had ended, Mrs. Savery lit a couple of scented candles while Darren and Marshall helped clear the table. Zack turned to me and asked if I wanted to see the back pasture.
“Yes, of course!” I motioned with my little finger through the kitchen window. “I’m assuming it’s… out back?”
Zack nodded. “See, that’s just the sort of keen analytical thinking I started dating you for. Come on!”
He took me by the hand and led me through the back door into a large yard surrounded by wooden fences. Right away we were swarmed by hogs—wild, thick-skinned brutes with dark hides and canny, intelligent eyes. I held tight to Zack’s arm as he took off one of his boots and waved it around in a menacing fashion, letting out a yell that sent them flying in all directions.
“We’ve had problems with them things for the longest time,” said Zack apologetically. “You know how hard it is to tame a wild hog?”
“Pretty hard, I’d expect,” I replied.
Still holding onto my hand, he led me across the pasture to the barn where the horses were grazing. Here, the air was dank and cool, and I felt relieved to get out from under the gaze of the scorching sun. “I can’t imagine anyone choosing to live here,” I said, wiping the sweat off my brow with my wrist. “This is worse than the Congo.”
“Almost,” said Zack. “But you were never in Libya, which I’m pretty sure is where Satan spends half the year. At least here we don’t have to worry about being blown apart by IEDs.”
The mention of his time in the service brought back to mind the injunction Evan had laid on me the day before, to find out about the book he was writing and to ask if he would let me write a piece on it. Maybe tomorrow , I decided as I watched him sweating in the intense heat. I didn’t want to ruin this moment, not when it was so perfect.
“It’s a bit late in the day,” said Zack as he stroked Bessie, his favorite horse, “but tomorrow, you and I’ll go out riding. Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“No, never,” I said, my eyes shining.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “It’s easy. In the meantime, let me show you where you’ll be staying for the night.”