“Of course I remember it. It felt like the story of my life, the story of us. That I never quite measured up.”

And suddenly I’m not laughing anymore. “But you were Ma’s favorite. She adored you.”

“And you were Da’s. And everyone else’s.”

“I didn’t really care about everyone else. I cared about Ma. And I had to work for it, you know,” I say, “Da’s love. It didn’t just come naturally. I worked my ass off for it.”

“And it protected you from him. He never lifted a hand to you.”

I don’t need to ask her what she means. I saw him hit her more than once. I could have protected her if she’d just let me, but no. Like Ma, she always had to run her mouth off at him, provoking him.

Dee shakes her head. “You didn’t know him like you thought you did. He wasn’t a good man.”

“He wasn’t that bad.”

She holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“If you have so many bad memories here, then why stay? Why not just pack up and leave and start over?”

“I’m sick of leaving,” Dee says. “Can’t you understand that? This is my home and I’m staying, but you might want to rethink bringing the baby here.”

“No. You already got your way with the farm, I’m not—”

“Ruth, just listen to me for a minute,” she says, and then tells me about Riaan’s warning and what the Coetzees are up to.

So that’s why they’re willing to pay so much for an unproductive avocado farm. “You realize that we could use this as leverage, don’t you?” I say. “Make them up their offer even more?” She glares at me and I shrug. “What? It was worth a try.” I stand to go. “Now, please excuse me. I have an appointment at an orphanage that I need to keep.”

“You’re going to go ahead with it? Trying to bring a black baby to a place that’s being targeted by white supremacists?”

“Listen, I hate being bullied as much as you do, and I’m just as sick of running away from things as you are. Apparently, we’re both taking a stand.”

“But why this baby? Why now? If you wanted children so badly, why didn’t you just have your own?”

“Some of us weren’t given a choice in the matter despite how easy you think we’ve always had it.” With that, I pick up my handbag and walk out the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Zodwa

27 May 1994

Krugersdorp Mortuary, South Africa