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"What's this one?" Drake asked, pointing to it.
I covered my mouth and didn't look at him.
"I can't." I shook my head.
He tried to turn my face towards his but I fought him, not wanting him to see the tears that stung the corners of my eyes. I turned my body away. He touched my arm softly, and then let his hand drop and just that small show of understanding warmed me to him a bit – against my better judgment.
Before we got a chance to speak more about the photos, in walked Nigel and our little bit of private time was over. Nigel strode right over to us and I smiled with relief. I glanced quickly at Drake and put my drink down for the hug that I knew was coming.
"Kate, my dear." Nigel bent down to me. "Your father let slip that Dr. Morgan was coming a bit early, and so I thought I'd be chivalrous and offer my services…"
We hugged and he kissed me on both cheeks. I was so glad to see him. He rescued me, and I clung to him as if he were a life preserver.
"Can I get you a drink?" I asked.
"Please." Nigel smiled at Drake but by his sour expression, it was clear he wasn't pleased Drake was here. "My usual."
I nodded and left the two men standing in front of the wall of photographs.
When I returned with a glass of red wine for Nigel, the two men were staring each other down as if in some disagreement. I smiled up at Nigel and then turned to Drake without meeting his eyes.
"How is your drink, Dr. Morgan?"
"Please, call me Drake." He bent down a bit, trying to catch my eye, smiling. "Considering. And it's still fine, thank you."
I caught Nigel giving Drake the stink eye over my head.
What the hell was that about?
Guests arrived over the next half hour and I watched Drake meet and shake hands with two-dozen people. All the while, I tried to stay close to Nigel, but Drake was determined to prevent Nigel from acting as my wingman, stepping beside me whenever I was alone. Then Nigel would come to the rescue and get between us, try to take me over. It was almost comical to watch.
A half-hour in, we stood in the living room when my father pulled Nigel and me back into the study, waving several of the people he'd been speaking with to follow, including Drake.
"Kate has some wonderful photographs from her trip to Africa. Come dear," he said to me, "and talk about your trip."
I frowned, not wanting the limelight he was forcing me into. Once inside the room, the three of us stood in front of the wall of photographs, each one mounted and arranged in several rows.
"Go ahead, dear," my father said to me, ushering me to his side. "Tell us about your trip. Start here, with this one."
I recounted arriving in Africa, of the airport and the questionable plane we took to Niger. I spoke about the UN High Commission for Refugees aid agency I worked for, my term lasting a month and how we distributed supplies and formula to mothers and babies in the camps. I described all the photos with the exception of the one that I couldn't talk about – the empty desert with the tiny figures in the distance.
"Tell them about Alika and Chinua," my father said, touching my back as if to encourage me. He turned to the guests gathered around. "A couple and their baby that Kate and Nigel rescued from the desert."
He turned back expectantly. I tried to force a smile but it pained me to even think of them. Finally, I took in a deep breath, but my voice betrayed my reluctance.
I told the small group about my first trip to the camp, when Nigel and I made our way out to Mangaize, taking the main road there. It was the height of the exodus from the war zone and there were thousands on the road, walking to the camps to escape the bloodshed. We were travelling in a truck, bringing in some supplies.
I shook my head as I told the story. "Each time a vehicle passed, they had to walk down and then walk back up the ditches and they were exhausted, having walked for hours or days."
I turned to Nigel, who nodded as if in encouragement.
He took up the narrative. "Kate finally said, enough is enough. Let's be the one to go in the ditch, and so we did. We drove off the main road and took to the open desert, bypassing the road and the thousands of refugees. We were driving in the middle of nowhere and off in the distance, the driver saw some people and so we went to them, to see if they needed help. They were a young couple with a newborn. They'd been walking for days, and were quite lost, going in the wrong direction. If we hadn't found them…" Nigel turned to me.
I picked up the story, emotions already building. "Chinua, the husband, had given his wife all his food and was..." I stopped and covered my mouth with a hand, shaking my head. Even two years later, the emotions were so close to the surface.
Nigel touched my shoulder then turned to the others, taking over.
"They'd been walking for several days and had run out of food and water. He was so weak, he had to crawl."
