bent to kiss her on the cheek. “Did your nurse get here okay?”
Mama Joe peered around Ben to Leslie, who cautiously walked toward them. “Didn’t you meet her? It looked like...um...”
Ben rolled his eyes and sighed audibly. Mama Joe recognized the awkwardness of the moment between the two of them. “Ben, Leslie, uh...well...perhaps we should be going. Marcus is waiting at the van.”
Leslie forced herself to hold out her hand in an attempt at dignity. “I’m Leslie Carpenter. Mama Joe sent me to find you. I guess I didn’t recognize you.” She managed a slight upward movement of her lips, which she hoped resembled a smile.
Ben paused a second before he shook her hand. With a tone that reeked of insincerity, he replied, “Charmed.” He quickly turned back to Mama Joe. “I’ll find Marcus and get the bags. Meet me by the general aviation gate in a couple of minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed toward the terminal entrance.
Leslie felt a need to explain as she walked with Mama Joe toward the portion of the airport that managed noncommercial aircraft. “I didn’t realize who Ben was because he was with two women. And they were speaking French.” She shrugged. “I assumed they were tourists.”
Mama Joe nodded and patted her on the arm. “Oh, I see. That makes sense because Ben was born and raised here. In Kenya—like Europe—most everyone knows more than one language. In the city, people typically speak Swahili, English and their own native dialect. Many people also speak French, because most of central Africa was colonized by France and Belgium.” She paused for a moment before adding, “On the coast, around Mombasa, many people are of Indian or Pakistani heritage, so they also speak Hindi, Urdu or Arabic.”
As they reached the general aviation gate, Mama Joe continued, “Ben learned French at the boarding school he attended with my youngest son, Nathan. But Ben is something of a linguist. In addition to French and Swahili, he speaks at least three tribal dialects. That can be very helpful living here. I’m afraid I’m not much for languages—I’ve had to get by with just Swahili.”
Leslie listened absently as Mama Joe’s conversation shifted to her children. “Joe also went to the boarding school. He’s a pastor now, and he and his wife, Sandra, have three children. They live in Mobile, and I can’t wait to see them.”
The far end of the terminal was much less crowded, and the women sat together facing the entrance to wait for Ben. Leslie’s weariness had returned, and she merely nodded at appropriate times as Mama Joe continued the one-sided conversation.
“Nathan and Ben were good friends. They finished high school here and went to the States for college, like most MKs—that’s what we call missionary kids. Ben was a little different, though, because he went to live with his grandparents in Kansas when he was about fifteen. He always had this hankering to fly airplanes and play football. He eventually got an appointment to the Air Force Academy and became a quarterback. All-Conference or something like that.”
Leslie had to blink quickly and bite her cheek as she grew drowsier. Mama Joe seemed oblivious to her predicament and continued to recall Ben’s athletic exploits.
After a few minutes, Leslie glimpsed Ben through droopy eyelids. Seeing him helped restore some measure of alertness, and she focused on the tall man walking toward them, carrying her two large suitcases. Ordinarily, she would have felt guilty, knowing how heavy her bags were—although he seemed to be managing easily. She’d had enough of Ben Murphy. So what if he could speak six languages and throw a football? She knew what he was—a player.
Her thoughts suddenly took a different turn. What had he been drinking at the bar? Could he be drunk? A twinge of alarm compounded her annoyance, and she debated whether to say something to Mama Joe.
Ben barely glanced at Leslie as he led the way toward the section of the airport where privately owned aircrafts were secured. He paused by the door and handed a uniformed official a form. A conversation in Swahili followed before the clerk stamped their paperwork and gestured for them to proceed.
They followed Ben into the bright sunlight, passing a number of planes of varying models, sizes and vintages before Ben stopped near a single-engine, high-winged Cessna. The plane was pale beige with a dark green stripe, and it appeared to be well-maintained. He unlocked the plane and heaved Leslie’s bags into the cargo hold. She was thankful she hadn’t packed anything breakable, and as she witnessed his disregard of her belongings, her irritation reached a new high.
In silence, Ben opened the passenger door and adjusted the seat forward. He stepped back and motioned for Leslie to climb into the rear seat. “Be sure to watch your step.” His tone was short, and his gesture hinted at annoyance.
Leslie moved forward to comply, but Mama Joe took her arm. “No. No. Here, let me ride in the back. The view is much better from the front!”
Leslie looked at the narrow opening leading to the rear seat and recognized that it would be difficult to maneuver into. She started to protest, but Mama Joe waved her away. “I may be old, but I’m agile!” Ben assisted the elderly nurse as she stepped up and crawled deftly into the rear of the plane. He readjusted the front passenger seat and then stood back to allow Leslie room to board.
She shifted her large canvas bag to her left shoulder and placed her right foot on the small metal step welded to the landing-gear strut as Mama Joe had done. She was determined to appear as coordinated and capable as the woman who was almost forty years her senior, and she grasped the door to pull herself up into the plane. But her bag slipped off her shoulder and the strap snagged on a small hook that held the seat belt. She let go of the door’s frame to free the strap, but became unbalanced. Groping frantically for something to hold on to, she found nothing but air.
A well-placed hand to her bottom caught Leslie. Ben held her weight easily with one hand as he loosened the strap of her bag with the other. Then he pushed her into the seat. He watched as she cleared the door before closing it firmly. Without comment, he turned and walked toward the back of the plane.
Leslie felt her face turn scarlet. She couldn’t believe that for the second time in less than an hour, Ben’s quick response had kept her from falling flat on her rear. She clenched her teeth as she settled into her seat. In humiliation she realized that she could still feel the pressure of his hand.
She took deep, calming breaths and studied her surroundings. The plane was compact. The front bucket seats were separated by only a few inches, and a dizzying array of dials, gauges, knobs, indicators, switches and buttons comprised the instrument panel.
“Have you ever flown in a small plane before?” Mama Joe asked, leaning forward.
Leslie turned awkwardly in the confined space to face the older woman and shook her head. “No, this is my first time.” She wondered again if she should mention Ben’s drinking.
Her nervousness must have been evident, because Mama Joe patted her arm. “There’s no need to worry. Ben’s an excellent pilot. He was in the air force, you know. Besides,” she added cheerfully, “it’s much safer than driving.”
Leslie wanted to answer that it wasn’t the flight she feared—it was the pilot’s level of sobriety. She managed to keep her concerns to herself and merely nodded in reply.
Leslie watched Ben walk around the plane, examining the fuselage as he commenced his preflight inspection. At least he didn’t seem drunk. “Do you need to fly often in your practice, Mama Joe?”
“Oh, every now and then. If a call is nearby
