The Cross Society

Chapter 2

She didn't sleep.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the phone still in her hand. The screen was dark. She couldn't remember hanging up. She couldn't remember anything after the words. She didn't make it.

Jake stirred beside her. She felt the mattress shift. His hand found her arm.

"Ife?" His voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

He sat up. He turned on the lamp. The light was too bright. She blinked.

"Ife. What happened?"

She looked at him. His face was tired, worried. She tried to speak. The words came out flat. Empty.

"Amara is dead."

She expected to cry. She wanted to cry. Nothing came.

"What? How?"

"A fire. At her apartment. She didn't make it."

He was quiet for a long time. Then he reached for her. He pulled her into his arms. She felt the warmth of his body. She felt his arms around her. She didn't feel anything else.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

She leaned into him. She didn't cry.

---

Morning came too fast.

She'd been staring at the wall all night. She didn't remember closing her eyes. She didn't remember opening them. She just remembered the grey light coming through the window and the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Jake was already awake. He was standing by the window. He was dressed.

"I called my boss," he said. "I told him I need time off. I'm coming with you."

She opened her mouth to argue. She closed it. She didn't have the energy.

She stood up. She walked to the shelf. She picked up the photograph of Amara. It was old. The edges were worn. Amara was smiling. She'd been wearing a yellow dress. They'd been at a restaurant. She'd been laughing.

Ife put the photograph in her bag. She didn't know why. She just knew she couldn't leave it behind.

---

The flight was fourteen hours.

She sat by the window, staring at the clouds. She hadn't slept. She couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Amara's face. Smiling. Laughing. Saying, "I'll see you next month."

She remembered the last time she'd seen her.

It was a restaurant in Brooklyn. Amara had come to visit. She was wearing a yellow dress. She was laughing at something. Ife couldn't remember what. She'd leaned across the table and said, "I'll see you next month."

Ife had said, "I'll try."

"Don't try," Amara had said. "Just come."

She didn't come. She'd been putting it off. She didn't know why. It wasn't fear. It was just... time. Time slipping away.

She pressed her forehead against the window. The glass was cold. She closed her eyes.

---

The plane landed.

She stepped out of the terminal and Lagos hit her like a wall. The heat. The noise. The smell of exhaust and dust and something sweet she couldn't name. A woman was shouting something in Yoruba. A man was arguing with a taxi driver. Someone was selling bottles of water from a tray.

She stood there for a moment. She hadn't been home in years. She'd forgotten how overwhelming it was. She'd forgotten the way it made her feel — like she was both home and a stranger at the same time.

Jake was beside her. He was quiet. She could feel him taking it all in.

"It's loud," he said.

"You have no idea."

"I'm starting to get an idea."

She almost laughed. Almost.

---

The taxi ride took two hours.

The roads were chaos. A truck had broken down in the middle of the highway. A woman was selling roasted corn by the side of the road. A group of men were arguing about something. A goat was standing in the middle of the road like it owned it.

Ife stared out the window. She didn't see any of it. She was still hearing Amara's voice. Just come.

Jake reached for her hand. She let him hold it.

---

Her mother was standing at the gate.

She was wearing a wrapper and a blouse. Her face was lined. Her eyes were wet. She looked smaller than Ife remembered. Older. Tired.

She didn't say anything. She just opened her arms.

Ife walked into them. She let her mother hold her. She could feel her mother's hands on her back. She could feel her mother's tears on her cheek.

"You're home," her mother said.

Her voice was quiet. It was the same voice Ife remembered from when she was a child. The voice that had tucked her in at night. The voice that had said, "You're growing too fast. Slow down."

Ife didn't answer. She just stood there.

Her mother pulled back. She looked at Ife. Then she looked at Jake. Her face changed.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"This is Jake. He's my—"

Her mother didn't wait for the answer. She turned and walked inside.

Ife stood there. The dust was thick beneath her feet. The heat pressed down. She could taste it at the back of her throat.

Jake was beside her. He was quiet.

"Okay," he said.

She didn't answer.

---

The house was the same. The furniture was the same. The smell of the kitchen was the same. But everything felt different now. Empty.

Ife stood in the living room. She looked at the walls. The photographs. The faces she hadn't seen in years. Her grandfather. Her grandmother. Amara, when she was a child.

She looked at a photograph of herself. She was young. Twelve, maybe thirteen. She was standing in the yard. She was smiling. She didn't remember that day. She didn't remember being that happy.

She looked away. She couldn't look at it.

Jake was behind her. looking at everything around.

"Jake," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Just... give me a minute."

He nodded. He stepped back. He gave her space.

---

Her mother was in the kitchen. Ife could hear the sound of pots clanging. She walked to the doorway. She stood there, watching.

"Eat," her mother said. She didn't turn around.

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway."

Ife sat at the table. She picked up a spoon. She pushed the rice around the plate. She didn't eat.

"Where is Papa?" she asked.

"He's in the yard. He's been there all morning."

Ife stood up. She walked to the yard.

Her father was standing by the fence. talking to him self. He was looking at the empty street. She could see his shoulders, hunched. He looked like he was trying to make himself small.

"Papa," she said.

He didn't turn.

"Papa, I'm here."

He turned. He looked at her. His eyes were wet.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she said. "I came as soon as I could."

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her. She saw his hands. They were shaking. He pressed them against his sides, trying to stop them.

"Ife," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "You were supposed to stay away."

She felt the words hit her chest.

"Papa—"

"You should have stayed away."

He turned. He walked away. He didn't look back.