CHAPTER 29

For the past fifteen years, Christine Moran had tended to the dire medical needs of the poorest people on the planet. She was from the lovely town of Besanç on in eastern France, near the Swiss border, but had not been back there in a decade. She had studied nursing in Paris and wanted to see the world. Mé decins Sans Frontiè res, Doctors Without Borders, signed her up and sent her to Bangladesh for two years. From there she went to Tanzania and spent three years caring for people from Burundi who were fleeing genocide. After five years with refugees, she returned to France and worked in a hospital in Lille, but quit after four months when she realized her patients were hardly ill compared to those in the developing world. She returned to Africa and was assigned to the Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, home to 200, 000 displaced souls, most from Sudan and Somalia, though they came from twenty other countries as well. Many of them were children with no parents, and it was those faces that haunted her when she tried to live in France. The sad hopeless faces of malnourished children, some dying, others hanging on and slowly improving. She had held hundreds of them as they drifted away forever.

Three years ago, she had been assigned to Rhino Camp South and found it to be a better settlement than most. They were all overcrowded and depressing, all packed with displaced people who had lost everything, but the Rhino camps were somewhat organized and the food and water usually arrived on time. DWB ran two large tent hospitals, and the staff, a mix of European, American, and African doctors and nurses, worked nonstop for at least twelve hours a day. It was an arduous schedule, a challenging way of life, but they were driven by a deep humanitarian desire to make a difference, one patient at a time. Most burned out after a few years and retreated to the safety of the civilized world, but even then they never forgot their work in the camps and took quiet pride in the lives they saved.

Christine kept her cell phone close but not on display. Their coverage was limited and air time was cherished. She enjoyed sharing it with a few of her patients, those with relatives in the U. S. or Europe. She had spoken to Samuel on two occasions and asked him to call relatives of other people in the camp, and he happily agreed to do so.

Each Wednesday at precisely 2 p. m., she walked to a certain corner of the hospital tent, made eye contact with Beatrice, and led her to a small room where supplies were stored. They waited until 2: 05. The phone rang. Christine said, “Bonjour, Samuel. ” She handed the phone to his mother for a brief chat and went outside.

· · ·

Lonnie’s wife kicked him out of bed at six because he was fidgety and kept waking her up. It was obvious, at least to her, that he couldn’t sleep. But she could if he would just leave.

At his favorite diner he flipped through the newspaper, but only to have something to do as he ate. The only news he cared about was basketball and he monitored the sport ten hours a day online. Duke was 6–0 and its closest game had been an impressive 18-point win on the road over Villanova. Kentucky and Kansas were numbers two and three, both undefeated.

Lonnie put the paper down, worked on his breakfast, and began fuming again about the previous night’s loss to Campbell. As always, he expected to split the pre-conference games and he was realistic about the early losses. But he and his staff had pegged Campbell as a win.

He drove through the empty campus and parked by the gym. He walked through the locker room, approached his office door, and stopped when he heard a bouncing ball. It was 7: 20, the day before Thanksgiving, and the only students on campus were foreign and all were still sound asleep. Except Sooley. Lonnie peeked around the bleachers and watched the kid dribble and shoot. He shook his head, went to his office, and watched the edited version of last night’s fiasco. He called Jason Grinnell, his associate head coach and closest friend, and replayed the game again. He called two recruits to wish them Happy Thanksgiving.

At 10: 30 his wife called with a short grocery list. He asked if it was okay for him to return home. She said yes, but only if he could forget basketball for the next forty-eight hours. He said he could but both knew it was a lie. He locked his office door and had taken a few steps toward the locker room when he realized the basketball was still bouncing.

Sooley was soaked and broke into his customary grin when he saw his coach walking toward him. “How long you been shooting, Sooley? ”

“I don’t know, Coach. Two or three hours. ”

“How many shots? ”

“Six ninety. ”

“And how many have gone in? ”

“Three forty-three. ”

“That’s almost fifty percent. ”

“Yes, but, as you say, there’s no one guarding me. ”

“And all from the arc? ”

“Ninety percent. ”

“Do you know what our team is shooting from the arc? ”

“Twenty-eight percent. ”

“Twenty-eight percent. That’s pretty lousy. What do you think of our team, Sooley, after five games? You have a different perspective from your end of the bench. I’d like to know what you think. ”

Sooley smiled, dribbled a couple of times, said, “We’re good, Coach. It’s early. We have a lot of experience. Once we get into conference we’ll be okay. ”

Lonnie smiled and asked, “Where’s Murray? ”

“Sleeping when I left the room. ”

“He needs to spend more time in the gym, don’t you think? ”

Sooley wasn’t about to pass judgment on his roommate or any other member of the team. Murray’s problem was that he’d rather spend time with Robin, his latest girlfriend. Evidently, they couldn’t get enough of each other and the dorm room was their favorite love nest. Sooley was spending at least an hour in either the library or the commons each night, waiting for the text that all was clear.

“He’s good, ” Sooley said. “Just needs some more playing time. ”

“Gee. I’ve never heard that before. If you were me, would you give him more playing time? ”

“Sure, Coach, I’d give everybody more playing time. ”

Lonnie laughed and glanced at the backboard. “So how many shots today? ”

“A thousand. ”

“Atta boy. I’m picking you up at six for dinner at our place, right? ”

“Yes sir. And thanks, Coach. ”

“And Murray is joining us? ”

“Yes, he said so. ”

“Have you ever eaten turkey? ”

“No sir, don’t think so. ”

“It’s overrated. Agnes is roasting a duck instead. ”

“Never had that either. ”

“And you’re staying with the Walkers? ”

“Yes sir. They’ve invited me for the break. ”

“Good. I imagine the dorm can be a lonely place. ”

Not for Murray. “Yes sir, but I’m fine. ”

“Did you talk to your mother this morning? ”

“Yes sir. They’re doing okay, I guess. Life in the camps is not easy but at least they’re safe. ”

“And no word on your sister? ”

“No sir. Really, Coach, we’re not expecting to hear anything. She’s gone and we know it. We still say our prayers but it would take a miracle. ”

“We’re saying our prayers too, Sooley, all of your coaches. ”

“Thanks. ”

“I’ll see you at six. ”

· · ·

Samuel had spent many nights at the Walkers’. His spot was on a long sofa in the basement, between a ping-pong table and a sixty-four-inch flat screen where he and Murray watched ESPN on Friday and Saturday nights. Robin was usually there, though Miss Ida would not allow her to sleep over. In Samuel’s quiet and humble opinion, Miss Ida wasn’t too keen on her youngest child getting so serious with a girl at the age of twenty. But it was also evident that Murray was somewhat spoiled and usually did what he wanted.

This visit was different, though, because Jordan was home from law school. Samuel had followed her on social media, and was thoroughly smitten long before she walked through the door and hugged everyone. She was twenty-four, gorgeous, sexy, smart, and unattached. Samuel was scheming of ways to propose marriage, something he would have done without hesitation back home. There, though, the rules were different. Marriage proposals were often made to fathers of young teenage girls. A man could have more than one wife. A father could give his daughter as a gift. And so on. A rather different world.

Late Wednesday night, the family watched a movie in the den, a tradition, and Samuel couldn’t keep his eyes off Jordan. Miss Ida caught him a couple of times but he couldn’t help himself. She missed nothing.

He slept late on Thanksgiving Day, and, following the aromas, went upstairs to the kitchen where the entire family was buzzing around, all talking and laughing. Brady, the wayward son, had arrived after midnight, and was eager to meet Sooley. He’d heard so much about him. Each Walker seemed to be preparing a dish of some sort and everyone had opinions about the others’ technique, knowledge, and ingredients. Samuel found a seat at the table and stayed out of the way. Pecan waffles, another tradition, were served and everyone sat down for a long breakfast. A massive turkey stood ready in a pan on the stove, waiting to be roasted for at least six hours. Five, in Ernie’s opinion. At least seven, in Murray’s.

As they ate, the family went through the menu for the afternoon’s feast. In addition to the turkey, there would be oyster dressing with cranberry sauce. Candied yams. Collard greens in ham hocks. Corn fritters. Giblet gravy. Jalapeñ o cornbread. Pumpkin and pecan pies. At first, as he stuffed another pecan waffle in his mouth, he thought they were joking about so much food for one meal. Then he realized they were quite serious.

He enjoyed the rowdy bantering and warmhearted fun, but there were flashes when he couldn’t help but think of his mother and brothers, and his neighbors and friends from Lotta. Some dead. Some missing. The lucky ones barely surviving in makeshift huts, shanties, and tents, patiently waiting in line for hours for another bowl of rice.

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