“When do you leave back to America?” she asked, stunning me.
“Excuse me?” I asked, confused.
“When do you return? To America? When is your sentence over?”
I was taken off guard. “Um, January thirtieth, a month after Christmas. I leave February first.”
“Another six weeks then,” she said, studying her feet briefly before making eye contact again.
“Yes,” I said, drawing out the word.
Without another word, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“What was that?” I asked no one.
I stood there, waiting, for something but Abri never returned.
I settled into my covers and laid my head down before getting up and locking the door.
I woke to Ian yelling in Afrikaans.
“Fine! Miskien sal ek kom nie terug ooit weer hier!” Fine! Maybe I won’t be coming back here ever again!
“Sê nie dat,” Henrik pleaded. Don’t say that.
“Ek is jammer, pa, maar sy is buite onredelik!” I’m sorry, dad, but she’s beyond unreasonable!
Loud footsteps resounded through the living.
“Simon?” Ian said. There was no response. His cell phone. “Can you come pick up Sophie and I in half an hour? Yes. Thanks, bro.”
The footsteps inched nearer my door. I threw off my covers and ran to open it.
On the other side, Ian was in mid-knock and out of breath from frustration.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?”
“Of course,” I said.
He came into the room and sat at the edge of the bed, in the exact same spot his mother did earlier that morning. I decided that information would only anger him more and I would keep it to myself. I knew Abri had pissed him off, I just didn’t know why.
I opened the wardrobe up and removed my bag, settling it on the bed. I set aside what I wanted to wear on the plane ride that evening and put the rest inside. I was packed in less than five minutes. Ian laid across the bed next to my case not saying a word and buried his head in my pillow.
I brushed my teeth, dressed and put on my makeup before plaiting my hair in a messy fishtail, laying it across my shoulder. I came out, put the traveling stragglers back in the case and zipped it shut.
“This pillow smells like you,” Ian said absentmindedly.
He flipped over, tucking a hand behind his head, straining his shirt against the muscles in his bicep.
“You all right?” I asked him again.
“I will be,” he said when I crawled next to him, my head laying on his shoulder. He brought his arm around and held me close. “I called Charles back this morning,” he continued.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “What did he need?”
“They’ve confirmed the presence of Resistance soldiers at the swimming hole and this time it seems a bit more dangerous.”