Page 76 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
“What I was going to say was that the article is nonsense.”
“Wait. What?”
“And while I won’t pretend to understand this thing between you and my son, it’s none of the damn press’s business.”
Instant relief floods through me. “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that, but we’re no longer seeing each other anymore, so I’m not sure this matters much.”
“It’s not because of this ridiculous article, is it?”
“No. It’s not. At least not mostly.” It might have fueled my anxiety, but the conversation at the restaurant that night in Aspen had sent it over the edge.
“Did he do something to upset you?” Concern laces his words. An unexpected tenderness.
“No. Nothing like that. We’re just too different. I decided it was time to move on.” Even though my tone is practiced, calculated, the words feel like razor blades inside my throat. “But thank you for calling and lending your support. I do appreciate it. I would hate to think I did something to undermine your trust in me with this investment.”
“Nonsense. Ignore, ignore, ignore where the media’s concerned. They’ll have a new enemy to pick on by sundown tomorrow.”
His words should make me feel better, but I still feel completely hollow.
Later that day I receive a text message from Vaughn inviting me to come skiing with them again. They’re heading to Vail next week. I let her know that I am back in Nairobi and resist the urge to ask about Hart. For all I know he’s already moved on with someone new, a prospect that’s too painful to even think about. I can’t look at the pictures of him on my phone because even the sight of him makes me physically ache to hold him and touch him again.
Taking Richard’s advice, I ignore the things being said about me online and I spend my days in the village talking to anyone who will listen. The appetite is still there; the locals are just as hungry for this school as I am.
A local woman stops me to pray with me over the school, but her words of advice are what stick with me long after she leaves.
When a snake bites you, don’t waste time looking for a spear. You use whatever stick you have.
My plans are temporarily thwarted, but rather than waste time figuring out logistics, I realize I can still start the school. We may not have classrooms or uniforms, but I decide to fight with everything I’vegot, to use the resources I do have. This is how, just six days later, we hold our first day of classes—outside under the shade of an acacia tree.
I briefly consider teaching myself, but my goal has always been to give the students a role model they could see themselves in. Miraculously I find a teacher who is willing to work in this informal setting. This is how we launch the school.
Joslyn takes photos on her phone to commemorate the occasion, and even if it’s not the grand opening I envisioned, I’m so happy. There are a dozen students present, happily chattering away, not seeming to care that we’re not inside a classroom.
I stand in front and welcome everyone to our first day of school. The children clap and smile. I’ve hired two local women to prepare lunch for the students, which they are busy working on at nearby charcoal grills.
Emotion bubbles inside me as I watch the girls dutifully take a seat on the dusty ground, quieting down, eager to learn. “You did it,” Joslyn says, smiling broadly at me as we watch the teacher, Miss Nelly, begin to settle the students for a lesson.
“Wedid it,” I correct her.
The first person I want to call is Hart. Instead, with happy tears in my eyes, I settle for scrolling through the photos Joslyn took, letting the enormity of this moment sink in.
Chapter Twenty
Just Keep Swimming
New York, New York
In late March, I fly back to New York for the gala. I’m energized to share the progress we have made on the school. It’s been meeting regularly, weather dependent, and attendance is up to twenty students. Word has spread quickly about the school, and more students have trickled in. We provide them with lunch and learning materials. They are so bright; they continue to amaze me.
And the civil unrest in Kibera has quieted down as well, which means we will soon be breaking ground on the school building—finally.
I’ve prepared an entire presentation, with photos and a video of the girls that I think will really show donors what we can achieve if we work together. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, even if it’s been hard. The hollow feeling inside my chest has quieted to a dull ache as the weeks passed. But now that I’m back in New York, the achy feeling is even more pronounced. The idea that I could run into Hart on the street or at a restaurant unravels me. Though I have no way of knowing if he’s even in town.
I caved and checked his social media accounts. The selfie he took of us smiling on the chairlift seems like a million years ago. A pictureof Vaughn and Whit posing in front of the White House Tavern with their arms slung around one another. He hasn’t posted any pictures since December. Since that weekend. I’m not sure what to make of that, but I try to push it from my mind as I get myself ready for the gala.
I shower and blow-dry my hair, dressed in a robe. My silver beaded gown hangs in the closet. The knock at my hotel room door is the stylist Joslyn hired to arrange my long, unruly hair into an updo. When Joslyn asked if I was bringing a date tonight, I gave her a look that was the equivalent of hurtling knives in her direction. A firm no was my answer. She smiled nervously.
We have an emcee to kick off the evening, and then he’ll introduce me. I’ll say a few remarks that will hopefully get the big spenders in the room ready to open their wallets, and then the auctioneer will take the stage. The live auction is stacked nicely with famed baseball memorabilia, a big game–hunting trip to Montana, a suite at the upcoming Taylor Swift concert, and bespoke diamond jewelry. We’re expecting tonight’s event to raise more than $100,000.
