Zodwa nods. “But then what? We move into our shack at the squatter camp and then? Mandla needs specialized care, which I can’t afford. And I’m dying, Delilah. It’s just a matter of time. I know it’s selfish but I want to spend what’s left of my life being a part of his life. After that, I want what’s best for him.”

“It’s not selfish at all and if anyone will understand that, it’s Ruth. Please don’t cancel your trip. Go and bury your brother. Put him to rest and then come back. It will all work itself out. You’ll see.”

Zodwa wants so much to believe her. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll go.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

Ruth

3 August 1996

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Dee knocks and when I answer, she comes into my room carrying a glass of water and the antibiotics that the local geriatric doctor prescribed me after doing a house call. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. This pneumonia is a bitch, that’s all I can say. No wonder Mandla was so sick when he had it.”

She passes across the pills that are the size of bombs. “Here, swallow these.”

“I’m more of a spitter than a swallower, to be honest,” I retort, forcing a wink, before taking them from her. I manage to get them down but then my chest hurts again, my hand instinctively rising up to massage it.

“Still sore?”

I nod and lie back down. Jez jumps onto the bed, curling up next to me as I nestle my fingers in her fur. “How’s Mandla?”

I haven’t held him in two days, not since I started feeling so terrible. As much as I miss him, I don’t want him near me if it means he might get sick. Dee held him up at the door earlier this morning so he could blow kisses to me.

“He’s fine. He’s having a nap but he should be up soon,” Dee answers before changing the subject. “Vince called again to check on you.”

“He’s a sweet man.” He’s been calling a lot lately. It feels like the old days when I was being wooed.

“How did you two meet?” Dee surprises me by asking. “You never told me.”

“In rehab,” I say, expecting to see Dee’s eyebrows go up but they don’t. “I was addicted to drugs and booze. He was addicted to prescription painkillers from a car accident he’d had. They say you should never start relationships in recovery and that suited me just fine. I was done with men by then. Done, I tell you!”

Dee smiles. “Of course you were.”