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Zara loved Tilly’s garden. Her favorite thing about it was how the plant life obscured the standard, Nairobi home security measures. Here, you could forget about “Nai-robbery” and the need for barricades. From the outside, Tilly’s home appeared to be no different from every other gated house in Gigiri. From the inside, it was a different story. Flowering vines covered every inch of the concrete compound wall. The electric fence ran along the top of the wall, but you had to search to see it. Its green coloring blended in with the vines. As a result, the garden had a serene atmosphere. This time it was less serene given all the people at the barbecue, but it was still a gorgeous setting.
“Tilly!” Zara called out as she crossed the lawn to the patio.
“Zara! Hi!”
“This is for you.” She handed Tilly a bottle of Moët.
One of Tilly’s dogs ran to Zara and nuzzled up against her leg. The tan and white Kenyan Shepard, a mixed-breed street dog rescue, was fond of her and the feeling was mutual. Zara crouched down and cuddled her. The dog immediately rolled over for an obligatory belly rub, which Zara was happy to provide.
“She is too cute!” Zara said more to the dog than to Tilly. “Yes, you are!”
“Simba adores you.”
“I can’t believe you gave her a name from The Lion King. I say this with love, but you are aware that it’s a cliché, right?”
“The kids named him.” Tilly shrugged. “And, I’ll have you know that Simba is the Swahili word for lion. Disney got all the animal names right, like Pumba—that means warthog. So, while it might be cliché, it fits.”
“I did not know that. It does fit.” Zara nodded and then pet the dog once more before standing up. “Simba, it fits you perfectly. You are the cutest dog-slash-lion ever!”
“Oh, how was the interview? Does this champagne mean we have something to celebrate?”
“Could be. I’m waiting to hear back, and I don’t want to jinx it. But I have a good feeling about it.”
“A good feeling about what?” Dave, clad entirely in green, asked as he joined them.
“My interview in Kampala for a managing director position here in Nairobi,” Zara explained. “It went well, and I think it’s moving forward. Two of my former supervisors reached out to let me know they were called. If Child Welfare East Africa is checking my references, then things are looking good. Keep your fingers crossed!”
“That’s great!”
“By the way, Dave, that’s a lot of green you’ve got on.”
“I’m on brand!” Dave said beaming. He turned around to give Zara the full effect. He was dressed head to toe in shades of green, from his light green polo shirt, to his army green pants, down to a pair of forest green running shoes. While the onslaught of green was severe, he somehow managed to pull it off as a goofy dad look. “It’s a St. Patrick’s Day party and I’m keeping with the theme. You know, the Irish Ball is tonight. Our party is in direct competition with that, but we still have a big turnout!”
He then turned to Tilly. “But, Tilly, I came over with a purpose. John and Kate are here, and John wants to go over some papers.”
“Yay!” Tilly hopped up and down and clapped her hands in excitement. “I bet it’s stuff for a work permit!”
Tilly ran off in search of John. Dave turned to face Zara. He pulled her closer to him and grew very serious.
“Listen, I need to tell you something.”
“What? Tell me.” Zara was intrigued. Could this be related to Dave’s strange behavior earlier at Wilson Airport?
“Curt is married.”
“Who’s Curt?”
“The guy you were with at Wilson Airport. That is Curt.”
“No, that’s Des...” The wheels began to turn in Zara’s head. The two men at the beach in Diani had called him Curtis. “Curt, Curtis Desmond. Not Desmond Curtis. How could I not know this? God damn it!”
“Shhh!” Dave said, glancing at the crowd of people present. “He’s here and so is his wife.”
A familiar figure across the lawn at the drinks table caught Zara’s eye. A tall, athletic-looking, tanned woman with wavy, honey brown hair waved at her. Zara waved back. The penny dropped.
“You mean Pauline?” Zara asked although she knew the answer. What had Pauline said? Her husband’s name was Curt.
Dave nodded.
“That fucking asshole! Ugh! How could I be so stupid? He always seemed so...so off. I didn’t care because it was fun on the side and nothing serious...I like Pauline...I like her a lot. We had lunch the other day! I was hoping we would hang out more. And now I’ve ruined everything.”
She clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down. “I better go. If I see him, I’ll very likely beat the shit out of him.”
“I figured you didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t feel bad for me. I’m in the wrong here. Obviously, I’m ending it. I was already planning to end it soon. It’s over...Fuck...I need to go. Please tell Tilly I needed to leave. Tell her I’m sorry to run off like this.”
“I will,” Dave said, giving her a hug. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You didn’t know. Go home. Get blind drunk. You can figure out how to deal with this tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Dave.”
She slinked out of the garden, avoiding Pauline’s gaze from across the lawn. She felt like a coward, but she couldn’t face Pauline, not yet. They had started to become friends, and Zara could tell they were forming a strong bond. That was all broken now. She had no idea how she was going to tell her.
If she could have, Zara would have loved to stay and smack down Des—or Curt, or whoever he was—and publicly eviscerate him. But she couldn’t do that. Pauline deserved better than that.
She deserved better than all of this. She deserved better than a shitty husband. She deserved better than to learn that her new friend was also shitty and was fucking that shitty husband. Zara felt like the worst person in the entire world.