“What about Amal?” he said. She and Nasha were bent over the phone, for the moment the best of friends. But when Nasha glanced up and saw they were still watching her, she ran off. “They seem to have a good rapport with each other. Maybe she can break through and get a few more details on the girl’s background.”
Remi nodded. “Good idea.”
After picking up her lunch tray, Remi joined Amal at the picnic table. “You seem to be doing better.”
“Much better. Yesterday I thought about going back, but I looked at Nasha and I thought that if such a tiny girl can go through all that, surely I can.”
“Speaking of, where’d she go?”
“Out there.” Amal nodded to where several girls were jumping rope, chanting a poem about a robber coming in through the door. Nasha, her coveted navy pack strapped to her shoulders, stood on the sidelines, watching with a look of longing until she noticed Remi’s and Amal’s attention focused on her. She ran from the courtyard, just out of sight. “She’s a natural with an iPhone. But, then, most kids are.”
“I’m worried about her,” Remi said. “Hank saw her hiding something this morning just before he took off. A stash of missing nails. I’m hoping I didn’t make a mistake bringing her here, but I can’t see turning her over to protective services. I hate to think where she might end up.”
Amal looked over at Remi. “I would have done the same thing. Brought her here, I mean.”
“Do you think you can talk to her?” Remi asked. “We need to find out where she’s from if we hope to get permission to bring her in.”
“Me?” Amal’s glance strayed toward the girl. “I . . . I could try.”
Remi smiled to herself. When she’d last spoken to Renee on the phone, her friend had mentioned that Amal tended toward the shy side, keeping to herself and rarely interacting with strangers. In fact, that was one of the reasons Renee had been insistent about sending Amal on to the school without her. Even after the traumatic events on the road from Jalingo, the young woman certainly seemed to be coming into her own out there. For a few moments, they sat in peaceful silence, watching the younger girls jump rope. Eventually, Nasha peered around the corner at them.
Remi nodded toward her. “What do you suppose we’ll find in that backpack she never takes off? Or up in that tree she hides in?”
“I know exactly what you’d find. Food. And about anything else that isn’t nailed down, including some of those missing nails.” She smiled at the pun. “I’ve talked to her quite a bit. She’s a sweet girl, but that sort of behavior won’t stop until she starts to feel secure.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
Amal watched as the older girls now jumped and she smiled. “Originally, my major was in child psychology. And I might have continued in that direction except I had one of my seizures one afternoon and the person helping me brought me into the wrong lecture hall. It happened to be Dr. LaBelle, talking about the part of Tunisia where I grew up. The more I listened to her, the more I realized I was supposed to be there. It felt right. Like all those stories my grandmother had told me about the people who lived centuries ago were meant to—”
She stopped when one of the girls raced across the courtyard toward them, calling out, “Mrs. Fargo. Miss Amal.” She stopped in front of them, out of breath, pointing toward the mess hall. “Come quick. I think Mr. Hank is dying.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
If you give bad food to your stomach, it drums for you to dance.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam lifted the final roll of tarpaper over his shoulder and was about to climb up the ladder when Remi and Amal ran past him toward the mess hall. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Hank,” Remi called out.
Which didn’t tell him much. He lowered the heavy roll to the ground, then followed them into the cafeteria. Hank was leaning over a garbage can, heaving. A half-dozen girls stood on the other side of the room, their hands over their mouths, looking as though they were seconds from getting sick themselves. The acrid scent hit Sam the moment he walked in.
“Is he dying?” one of the girls asked.
“I doubt it,” Sam said, opening up one of the windows.
Remi scooted the kids out the door, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and returned to his side. “Maybe you should check on him.”
“Me?” Sam said, eyeing the mess on the floor near Hank’s feet. Apparently, he hadn’t quite made it to the trash can when he became ill. “What about that whole he’s the friend of your friend thing?”
“That was when he was in trouble. This is different.”
“How?”
“He’s sick. What if he’s contagious?”
“So it’s okay if I get sick?” he said as Pete walked in, saw what was going on, then did an immediate about-face.
She smiled sweetly. “If that happens, I’ll promise to take good care of you.”
Sam took the towels and walked over to Hank, noticing his pale, clammy skin. “You okay?”
“I feel like—” He pivoted toward the garbage can, racked with the dry heaves. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” Sam tore off several sheets, giving them to the man.
Fingers shaking, Hank wiped his mouth and dropped the spent sheets into the garbage. “Hoping it’s just something I ate from the market this morning and not something contagious. Maybe I caught whatever bug LaBelle had when she got sick at the hotel.”
He handed the entire roll of paper towels to Hank. “Do me a favor and clean that up the best you can. If you are contagious, we wouldn’t want anyone else to get sick.”
Hank tore off several sheets, again wiping his mouth. “Is it my imagination? I get the feeling that you don’t like me.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
Hank glanced past him to where Amal and Remi waited near the doorway, and, just beyond, a group of curious girls peering in to see what was happening. “I don’t think I should be here,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get the kids sick. Maybe I should drive back to Jalingo and get a hotel room. Maybe even a doctor’s appointment. I’ll probably need medical clearance to even get on a plane.”
He was right about that. Ever since the Ebola crisis, the airlines were under orders to disallow passengers with a fever. “If you are sick, you shouldn’t really be driving yourself. Let’s hope it’s food poisoning.”
Sam moved to the doorway, anxious to be in the fresh air.