Why would the baby be any different? Did he deserve to be abandoned twice so early in his short life? I thought the best strategy was pretending the baby hadn’t existed so everything could go back to normal, or at least as much semblance of normal as Ruth and I could manage, but in those past instances, the difference was that Ruth had gotten what she wanted, possessed it, before losing interest. The baby remained out of her grasp and she seethed with resentment because of it.

It was awkward living that way but it couldn’t possibly last for much longer. Now that I’d made it clear I wasn’t going to approve the sale of the property, Ruth would have to return to Cape Town empty handed.

To stop myself from obsessing over Father Thomas’s parting words, and to prevent myself from driving to the hospital to keep vigil in the parking lot, I’d taken to hiking the foothills around the farm with the dog as my companion. She needed more exercise than she was getting following Ruth from the liquor cabinet and back to her room a dozen times a day, and it was nice to have company. Plus, since she’d been branded a Jezebel just as I once had, I felt a kinship with her.

Jez and I would leave midmorning before Ruth woke up and walk for miles, cutting across cattle paths, mapped-out trails, private properties, and sand roads; climbing over stiles or ducking under fences when they stood in our way. We occasionally encountered baboons and rhebok, scrub hares and dassies.

Jezebel quivered at the sight of them all, but she was an obedient dog who always stayed at my side. Whoever had trained her had done a good job. She hadn’t given chase when we’d spotted a brown hyena the day before, allowing it to disappear with a casual grace, blending so perfectly into the landscape that I wondered if I’d imagined it.

That day, I planned to set out toward the valley with its quartzite boulders that gleamed pink in the sun and follow the river to the side of the gorge. I remembered magnificent views of cascading natural swimming pools from my childhood and was curious to see if the area had remained so unspoiled. I’d just let Jezebel out of Ruth’s room and was lacing up my boots when there was a knock at the door.

Jezebel barked in response.

“Shh. Quiet, girl,” I said as I reached for the handle.

The man on the doorstep stood in profile gazing off toward the road as he smoothed his hair back and straightened his shirt. When he turned and faced me, my heart galloped in recognition. Standing on my doorstep was Riaan van Tonder, my childhood sweetheart and the best friend I’d ever had.