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“I’ll tell you in a couple weeks.”
Craig laughed heartily. “I’m glad you could meet me here.”
“No problem.”
“Once a week I come down to volunteer. For two hours every day they serve a hot meal to over a thousand people. Makes me feel good to give back.”
“Of course.” Ashton smiled, but as soon as he entered the busy church, he felt his muscles tense as long-forgotten memories of the dinners his parents had organized for the locals resurfaced.
As a kid he’d resented the hours of free time he’d lost helping his mother fix and serve the meals while his father practiced his ministry on the captive audience. Now, as he put on an apron and rolled up his sleeves, he recalled the day when his outlook had changed—when a loathsome chore had become an opportunity to create something amazing in the kitchen. But for a long time after he’d left home and joined up with Chapman’s gang, he’d equated his love for cooking with surrendering to his parents’ insistence that he become more like them.
He fell into the rhythm of serving as if twenty years hadn’t passed. Looking back on those days, he could recall his resentment and frustration, but lacked empathy for his younger self. Seeing the gratitude in the eyes of those who moved past him now, Ashton recalled how many people his parents had been able to help.
So maybe he’d been too hard on his mother and father all these years. But he still wasn’t able to excuse his father’s insistence that everyone should believe the same things he did. His disregard for any opinion that wasn’t his had put father and son at odds too many times. If his father had listened to him once or twice, maybe Ashton would have felt valued and wouldn’t have left. He’d never know.
Several hours later, Ashton waved off the thanks from the volunteer leaders and followed Craig outside. It might not have been how he’d chosen to spend the morning, but it had given him some fodder for thought.
“Thanks for the help. Can I drop you somewhere?”
Ashton shook his head. “I’m going to walk a bit.”
“It was good seeing you. Perhaps when your new series gets rolling you can come have dinner with me.”
“I’d like that.”
The two men parted ways and Ashton strode down the street as if he had someplace to be, when in truth, he was ju
st trying to escape the pressure inside himself.
He’d not yet heard anything from Giles. Given that Harper’s flight time was a little over twenty-six hours and the time difference between New York and Johannesburg was seven hours, he imagined she should be arriving in Pretoria around one in the morning New York time, depending on her stops and layovers. Being out of touch with her bothered him. He craved the sound of her voice and longed to share with her his revelations while serving at the soup kitchen.
Something about her invited him to confide his secrets. He wasn’t sure why he’d told her about his parents or how he’d left home. Disclosing his past wasn’t something he did. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want anyone to know that he was the son of missionaries or that he’d left home at an early age. Maybe it was the mess he’d been involved in when he left home that he was ashamed of. What he’d been forced to do. The darkness he’d faced in his soul.
He reflected on his decision to keep those things hidden. Who was he really protecting? If Harper had an inkling of what he held back, she would dig until she unearthed the truth. Would she turn away in disgust or understand? She’d grown up in a cocoon of wealth and polite society. Instinct told him she’d be appalled to learn what he’d done while living with Chapman’s gang.
They were so different. She, all bossy businesswoman, planning every little thing to death. He, the go-getter, leaping before looking because what fun was life without a little danger? She conquered. He explored. Very different philosophies.
That they’d been able to work together these past nine months without driving each other mad continued to baffle him. Maybe it worked because they were good for each other. He needed her planning capabilities to keep him in check. And he knew his adventurous side had rubbed off on her. Why else would she have hopped on a plane to South Africa?
* * *
Harper gripped the armrest as the train sped through the flat landscape dotted with buildings. She was traveling in the wrong direction. How far out of her way had she gone? Almost as soon as the question surfaced, the train began to slow down. She was on her feet, her luggage in her hand by the time the doors opened.
No longer able to assume the people around her were innocuous fellow travelers, Harper regarded everyone who drew near her as a potential threat. When no one in her vicinity seemed at all interested in her, she took a seat on a nearby bench and took stock of her situation.
Her cash and passport were gone. She still had her rail pass and the credit card she’d used to purchase it tucked in her back pocket. Her phone had been in her hand at the time of the attack and she’d managed to keep ahold of it. And she had her luggage. All was not lost. She would get on the train to Pretoria and catch a cab to the American Embassy there.
All she needed was her birth certificate and the extra photo...which she kept in the luggage she’d left behind in Las Vegas. Anxiety swelled once more. Without identification how was she supposed to prove who she was?
Frozen and unable to function, Harper stared at her hands. She was far from home and quite alone. Not to mention her head ached and panic was jumbling her thoughts. The ebb and flow of train passengers caused her suspicion to spike.
By fits and starts her brain began to function again. She needed to figure out which train traveled north so she could get back on track. The Gautrain’s schedule was still in her internet browser. She located the route map and discovered she wasn’t in as bad a shape as she thought. The train to Pretoria passed through this station, as well. She just needed to find the correct track.
Fifteen minutes later, Harper collapsed into her seat on the Pretoria-bound train and patted herself on the back. With the shock of being robbed fading, she was better able to function. During the journey north she pinned the American Embassy on her map app and located the hotel, as well.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since her stopover in London. She would worry about that later. She had to secure a home base where Mary could send her documents. Once she had those in hand, she could go to the embassy. Ashton had told her to ask for his friend. Perhaps that would be enough to enable her to check in without her passport. She crossed her fingers and hoped.
An hour after stepping onto the platform in Pretoria station and taking a taxi to the hotel, Harper launched into her story of being mugged for the third time. Hunger and frustration were draining what few reserves she had left.
