Excerpt from Then I Found You
Kenya and Damon are in Trinidad, at The Queen's Park Savannah on the night before the start of Carnival.
Kenya let herself be led, holding on to his hand, afraid that if she lost him in a crowd of this magnitude, she would never be able to find him again. He snaked in and out of rows of vendor’s booths from which emanated delightful smells; corn, boiled with pickled pig’s tails or roasted on open coals, corn soup overflowing with hand-rolled cornmeal dumplings, fried blood pudding, hot balls of split peas deep-fried and served with mango chutney, smoked herring on coconut bread, as well as more common fare such as popcorn, hamburgers and fried chicken.
Her eyes misted over. Here she was at last, living what her father had lived. Seeing—no, not just seeing, experiencing with every one of her senses—all that her father had described to her in such detail, so many times. She wished she could have experienced this with him.
Damon felt the tug of her hand and, aware that she had stopped following him, halted. “What? What is it?”
She couldn’t speak, so she shook her head.
“You winded? Want to sit for a while?”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. How could she explain this? “It’s just. . . my father used to. . . talk about this. I always wanted to see it with him. And now. . . .”
“If this is too much for you. . . .” He made a gesture in the vague direction of the lot where they’d left their car.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m good.”
“Okay,” he said doubtfully. He thought for a second, and then, as though inspiration had struck, suddenly craned his neck once again, looking for something. “Come.” He clutched her hand even tighter, leading her on with what purpose, she did not know.
A large, patient-looking gray donkey stood in a clearing, harnessed to a decrepit wooden cart that was loaded with bunches of coconuts. As Kenya scratched the weary animal between the ears, Damon paid for two, retrieved them easily in his big hand and led her away. “One more thing.” She watched, mystified, as he waylaid another vendor who was working the crowd with a huge wooden frame on his back. He bought a purple sequined domino mask and a neon pink glowstick hanging from a cord.
He hung the stick around her neck with a smile, and attempted to slip the domino mask over her face.
He’s lost his mind, she decided.
He retrieved one of the coconuts, and, putting the opening to his lips and tilting his head back, took a deep draught of it before saying, “Have a drink. I could have gotten you a straw, but it’s much nicer if you drink it from the shell.”
He really was maddening. “Damon,” she said warningly.
“Okay! Okay!” He lifted his hand and patted the mask lightly, and then let his fingers slip to her temple. She could feel the drumming of her pulse under his touch. “I remember, that night we arrived, when you were telling me about your father. About the stories he used to tell you. Remember what you said?”
She shook her head.
He answered for her. “You told me you’ve always wanted to come to Trinidad with him, at Carnival time. To buy a costume and join the parade. You wanted him to buy you a coconut, and drink water straight from the shell.” He paused. “Well, I know I’m a sorry replacement, and I know it’s not much, but,” he touched her mask again, “this is the best I could do at short notice, as far as a costume is concerned.”
Kenya felt her throat tighten.
“And I thought you’d like the coconuts. We could drink to your Dad.” He held his out, inviting her to toast with him, but to her shock, she couldn’t move her hand to meet his. He remembered. She’d said something in the midst of her anguish, a passing comment, shared a private pain, and yet he’d remembered. He’d filed it away somewhere in his mind, and at the appropriate time, he’d sought to do something about it. There was such tenderness in the gesture, so much kindness. How could he be so thoughtful?
There was so much more to this man than she had thought when she’d met him. A brute and a vagabond, she’d labelled him. A big, dull-witted gun for hire, despatched to watch-dog over her by a jittery manager. But with every encounter, he’d shown her more and more of him. As over-protective as he was, as overbearing as he could be, he was sharp-witted and compassionate. This afternoon she’d discovered that he was as generous a lover as he was demanding, and as strong as he was gentle, and as capable of dominance as he was of submission.
And now she was seeing something more. Something that went beyond compassion, to a point where he was feeling her hurt as though it were his own, and sought to do something about it. He’d known, thought some sixth sense, that although she was enjoying the festivities as any tourist would, she was also experiencing it through the eyes of someone whose roots were buried here, whose blood was answering the whispered call of the hills and the trees and the grass. Damon understood what she was feeling even before she could label it for herself, and he’d tried to put a bandage on her hurt. It was just a simple coconut, a silly, cheap plastic mask, and a glowstick that would peter into dullness in a matter of hours, but the hugeness of the heart behind it overwhelmed her. In that small, simple gesture, she lost the fight.
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