The Widow's Helper

17

As I talked to Liyema, the end of exams approached, and he mentioned spending the holidays in Johannesburg. The thought of being there again stirred up memories, making me reflect on Anele and what he might be going through. I couldn't help but read his emails, each one a confession of his feelings for me, disclosing when he started falling in love.

The guy left nothing to the imagination in his emails. I was taken aback by his detailed descriptions, recalling how I dressed the first time he saw me on Liyema's phone during a call a few weeks after I began looking after them. Despite my initial hesitation, working for a well-known business mogul and lawyer, I didn't want to overstep boundaries. However, it seemed he took pleasure in watching me squirm.

Lying in bed, unable to sleep after the day's cashup, I found myself in tears. The difficulty in falling asleep had resurfaced, a struggle I had experienced when I first came to live in Port Alfred. The emotional weight of past connections and confessions weighed heavily on my mind.

In the second week of June, during one of my sleepless nights as thoughts of Anele filled my mind, I found myself dialing his number past midnight. The call rang for what seemed like an eternity, and I knew it was the wrong time to call. Just as I was about to end it, he answered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

I stayed silent, my heart racing, feeling butterflies below my belly. I imagined how he must have felt, my breath audible on the phone as I didn't utter a word. "Hello," he said again. "Hi," I replied, my voice barely audible. I heard shuffling and heavy breathing, realizing I had caught him off guard. Curses were uttered, as if he couldn't believe it was me. Then he said, "Unako," in a way that made it sound like my name belonged to him, spoken with a depth of meaning. A tear dropped as he continued, "Please talk to me, baby." I couldn't speak; I was a crying mess, especially after hearing him call me "baby" and realizing how much it hurt.

I found myself questioning why I cried upon hearing him call me "baby." Was it the emotional weight of realizing how deeply entangled I was, or was it a sign that I had crossed a point of no return? I understood that allowing those feelings in meant facing potential destruction.

As I listened, I heard him sniffing, realizing that he, too, was crying. It was a moment I had never imagined or dreamt of - a man allowing himself to be vulnerable, laying his emotions bare in front of the woman he loved.

"Good night," I managed to say, my voice betraying me. Although it was already morning, I didn't want to acknowledge that fact. "No, please, baby, don't go away again," he pleaded, not just afraid of the call ending but of the possibility that I might not call again. "Please," he reiterated, and I placed the phone against my ear, turning so I could lie on my side, listening to his breathing. It was a quiet night, with two hearts yearning for each other.

I woke up the next morning with pain in my ear, and I discovered the phone beneath me was wet with sweat. Opening it, I realized the call was cut, likely because I had run out of minutes. I hadn't bought much airtime, fearing it would expire, as I hadn't made calls for a long time.

After freshening up and putting on my Sunday attire for church, I placed my phone on the charger. I never paid much attention to it during church; I disliked the idea of receiving bad news right after experiencing a spiritual high.

Walking to the kitchen, I found Aunt Aubrey drinking coffee. The shop was closed on Sundays, and on Saturdays, we closed two hours earlier. Others would leave while we cleaned up and checked the shelves. "Morning, Aunt Aubrey," I greeted, sipping some water. "You don't look like you had enough sleep," she observed, and I smiled. "Had some work to finish," I explained, and she nodded.

"Let's go," she said, and we headed downstairs, taking a box of treats for the home as we planned to pass by there on our way to church. The church service was uplifting, and I felt revived as the pastor spoke about peace from the books of Galatians 5:22-23.

After church, we went around greeting and having small chats. "I haven't seen you in a while," I said to Chantelle. "We've been so busy with exams, and I can tell you this - we'll probably be hiring a teacher soon. I've been helping the English teacher since she has so many students in her class," she shared.

"What about your own class?" I asked, not giving much thought to what she had said. "You see, you do that all the time," she said, giving me a straight face. "What?" I feigned innocence, and she continued, "Pretend like you don't hear me every time I talk about you applying for a job." She pretended to be annoyed, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"So, I hear you want us over for dinner," I said, changing the subject. "Whatever," she replied, walking away. I knew she had been trying, even suggesting once that I was afraid of commitment, assuming that was the reason I didn't want the teaching position. However, it wasn't about fear; I craved the freedom to pursue what I loved without feeling constrained or ending up resenting my job. I cherished the autonomy of doing what I loved without constant supervision.

After dinner at Chantelle's, where news of her pregnancy served as a reminder that I was still behind my peers - no marriage, no children, and no established career - I hesitated to share my situation. I knew many close to me would have opinions, and even my faith would offer guidance. I recalled a time back home, before working for Anele, when I cried and sought guidance from God. The relief I felt after praying and the subsequent changes that unfolded were etched in my memory.

Aunt Aubrey was downstairs, always occupied with something. As I sat at my small desk checking emails, I received a call from Liyema. We spoke for a while before I found myself lying in bed, realizing it was past six in the evening during the winter months. "Hello," I started, not realizing when I began calling him, likely loading airtime at some point. "Hi," I greeted, as if questioning myself. He chuckled and asked how I was.

"I'm good," I replied, pausing before asking, "And you?" He took his time responding, "I'm good, especially after hearing you." A strange, weakening feeling tugged at my chest. "If I had your number, I would have called you again this morning," he continued, likely referring to the time I ran out of airtime. I smiled, even though he couldn't see me. "When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of you," he said quietly. It struck me as odd that he was willing to share from that night, as we resumed texting without initiating video calls. Talking to him became a source of enjoyment, and it seemed reciprocated, even during working hours.

Weeks flew by, and our constant communication became a lifeline. Every time he called, my heart raced, not out of fear but because of the unspoken love that resonated through the connection. He didn't need to utter the words; I could feel it, a silent affirmation I longed to hear aloud.

The joy in his voice was palpable when he shared that the kids would spend the holidays with him. Anele, in a surprising move, sought my assistance in crafting an itinerary for the festivities. Liyema, however, seemed to already have a plan in mind. Northgate for ice skating was his delight, and Anele, it appeared, merely needed to entertain the other two who sought his attention.

Curiously, Anele never probed about my whereabouts, as if intuitively aware that I wasn't ready to share that information. The only confidant in my secret was Liyema, and I trusted that he wouldn't betray me.

Anele remained oblivious to the fact that his father and I were back on speaking terms. I wondered how he would navigate explaining his changed demeanor, not to Akhanani or Nelisa, but to Liyema. That observant young boy missed nothing; his awareness seemed finely tuned to every nuance unfolding in his world.