Chai Tea Sunday (26 page)

The sun shines on my back and I hunch over sprouted vegetables in the garden I planted months earlier. The tomatoes are glowing red, perfect for picking. Although they still cling to the vine, warm with sunshine, I can already taste their sweetness in my mouth. My thoughts turn to what I will serve alongside them at that night's dinner.

Corn on the cob. Barbecued hamburgers and veggie burgers with toasted buns. Potato salad. Coleslaw. Milk.

The cross necklace I replaced around my neck hangs forward, dancing in the sunlight as I weed the rich earth that surrounds the vegetables of my labour. It tickles my neck, and I feel the weight of its presence.

My legs go numb with lack of blood flow from a position held for too long. I shift. Stretch. Try to lose the feeling of sharp prickles tickling my nerve endings. I stand, stretching further, enjoying the warmth of summer.

I glance at the worn watch on my left wrist; it is shortly after five o'clock. I walk over the freshly cut lawn to the front of the house where I notice new neighbours moving into the house across the street. The woman is directing dressers, chairs and toy boxes, carried by the movers, into the house. Her blonde hair is held back in a ponytail and her brow is creased in stress.

I smile. Wave. Make a mental note to bring them lasagna in the coming days.

She sees my gesture and makes her way towards me. She introduces herself as Beth, telling me they have four kids, all under the age of twelve. Her husband is Bernie.

“Do you have any children?” Beth asks. I pause before answering, wondering what her response might be. It's always different.

“We do. Just one though. He's over there,” I point to the giggling group of kids coming from our next door neighbour's lawn, and watch as Bu runs in circles around two of his friends. His dark skin is contrasted against the pale blue sky and, as it so often does, reminds me of days from long ago.

“Which one is yours?”

“Bu, come over here and meet someone!” I call out to him. I raise my gaze and shield my eyes from the sun. Bu runs over and graciously shakes Beth's hand. He is a sweet boy for a seven-year-old. So wise and mature beyond his few short years.

“Boo? That's an interesting name. Is his real name Arthur?”

“Sorry?”

“Boo Radley. His real name was Arthur Radley. In
To Kill a Mockingbird
?”

“Oh, right. Well, no, it's just Bu. Spelled
B-U
.” I grab hold of his shoulders with my right arm, rubbing his head before he runs back to play with his friends. I smile again at Beth and continue, “I'm not sure if you've heard or not, but there's a street party this Saturday. It's our fourth year in a row and they're always a ton of fun. I hope you can make it — it would be a great way for you to meet all of the neighbours. It starts at four o'clock. Hamburgers, hot dogs and veggie burgers are provided. You just need to bring a salad or dessert to share. And there are fireworks when it gets dark.”

Beth assures me they will be there and turns to retake her post as official furniture navigator. Within moments, her four children arrive with Bernie, who drives a red minivan into their new driveway and parks alongside Beth's black Suburban. I am happy to see that one of the children getting out of the sliding door is a boy about Bu's age.

I make my way to our front door, realizing Eric will be home in an hour. Before I reach the porch, I hear his Land Rover pull into the driveway. He waves from the driver seat, smiling. I take in the sight of him, his tie pulled loose and the jacket of his suit tossed casually over the back seat of the passenger chair.

“Why are you home so early?” I call out, walking towards him. I let him whisk me into an oversized bear hug. He brushes dirt from my cheek and, for a moment, I am embarrassed that Beth saw me dirt-covered.

“I want to spend some quality time with my family, so I thought I'd leave the foundation early and come home. After all, you took the day off . . . so I figured I'd follow suit.” Eric smiles and pulls me in for a long kiss. Thoughts of Beth leave my mind.

“Well, I'm glad you did. Leave early, that is. It's so nice to have you home.”

Eric responds, whispering into my hair. “It's nice to
be
home.”

First and foremost, my infinite gratitude goes to my beautiful cousin, Rachel Clark. It was through her eyes that I was able to see Kenya; through her touch that I was able to feel its surroundings; and, mostly, through her arms that I was able to hug the delightful children at the Kenyan orphanage where she has repeatedly volunteered. Rachel, it is because of you that I was able to find the words to describe Kenya, both in its hardship and all of its beauty. You continually encouraged me to write this story — from our walk at the cottage when I first told you about the idea for the book (and you immediately pulled out your pictures, journals and videos of Kenya!) to all of the one-line emails you would shoot me back from the small Internet café in Ngong when I had some silly question about what Kenyan dirt felt like. Through this entire process, you remained absolutely committed to sharing every piece of information about Kenya that I needed to bring this book to life, and I will never forget that. I love you, cuz.

Thank you to all of my friends and family who believed in this book and read the manuscript long before there was even a slim possibility of it being published, particularly Wendy Gardham, who was the very first person to raise her hand and ask to read the words that weren't yet a real book. And to the others who shortly followed — Brooke Allen, Ines Colucci and my brother, Ian Clark, who frequently has his nose in some finance or other non-fiction book but would
never
typically pick up women's fiction, let alone remain committed to reading the whole thing in a few days.

My thanks to both Lori Mastronardi and Chantel Simmons, who both read this story not once, but (at least!) twice in order to help turn an unpublished manuscript into a novel. You have both guided me immensely during this process.

To Anthony Iantorno, who immediately forwarded the manuscript on and fought for its chance to be published — and to Erin Creasey who, on the other end of Anthony's pass, immediately embraced it with eyes wide open. I will forever be grateful to both of you for immediately and continually believing in this book.

Thank you to my editor, Jen Hale, who saw something in the story of Nicky's journey from the very first time she read it. She wholeheartedly took on the project with enthusiasm, and it was through her patience, talent and keen instinct that this book became what it is today. And, lucky for me, through our process of many conversations, numerous edits and lots of hard work, I also gained a friend.

To Dr. Kimberly Elford for taking the time to read the manuscript and for sharing her knowledge and expertise within the complex technical world of fertility treatments. And for her encouragement and feedback on the more intimate and emotional side of a couple trying to become pregnant. Her instant and committed willingness to help means more than she probably knows.

And thank you, also, to the others who so graciously gave up their time to make sure the details in this book are accurate: The Honourable Justice Harvey Brownstone, who guided me on separation and divorce law in Ontario; Kulsum Merchant and Franklin Mwango for helping to ensure the Swahili throughout this book is accurate; and Dr. Jane Aldridge for providing glimpses into the medical world that I wouldn't have otherwise known.

To Negin Sairafi, who generously offered her time to take my photo, and who showcased her talent by ensuring I didn't look eight months pregnant in the picture (I hope!). And to Laura DiPede, who has continually offered design suggestions and provided her skilled expertise on so many of the creative materials for this book.

I would also like to thank everyone else at ECW Press who helped turn my original manuscript into what it has become — Crissy Boylan, David Caron, Troy Cunningham, Jack David, Rachel Ironstone, Dave Gee, Jenna Illies, Emily Schultz and Steph VanderMeulen. It has been a true team effort.

As with everything in my life, the most essential influence on this project has been the love and support of my wonderful family, both extended and immediate, and, in particular:

My always kind and loyal mother, who, since I was a small child, told me I would be a writer of some sort — even through my years in business school and a long career in the corporate world. She absorbed every word of my elementary and high school essays with enthusiasm and commitment — and never, ever, stopped telling me that I needed to write.

My exceptionally intelligent and wonderful father, who took every opportunity to teach his children by asking us to count the number of cars on highway transport trucks or insisting on answering the “How
long
until we get there?!” road trip questions with a lesson in fractions. And, most of all, for instilling in me, through both his actions and continual encouragement, that genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration — and that the greatest success happens when opportunity meets preparation.

My brothers, Ian and Steven, who played such a huge role in creating a childhood filled with adventure, constant support and, above all else, laughter. I'm so grateful that our solid ‘Clark Kid' foundation has helped to ensure we have become even closer with every day that passes. You are not only brothers to me, but wonderful friends.

My amazing children, Avary, Jacob and Emerson, who, every single day, fill my life with unconditional love, absolute joy and complete perspective. And last, but certainly not least, my eternally supportive husband, Brian, who has taught me so much — and believes in me more than I could ever possibly believe in myself. He never doubted that I would finish this book, even when I did, and inspired me to keep going through his coach-like pep talks that I love so much and, moreover, a constant willingness to ensure I had all of the time I needed to write. Brian, you are my rock.

A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to Artbound, a nonprofit volunteer initiative that harnesses the power of the arts in support of Free The Children.

Partnering with artists and those passionate about the arts, Artbound raises funds to build schools in developing nations to enrich children with a full education, including art schools and programming. Their programs are designed to empower children through leadership training and the development of skills that will improve their living conditions and generate sustainable income to help break the cycle of poverty.

The Artbound team is comprised of young Canadian leaders from various industries who are dedicated to engaging a global community in volunteer, school building and mentorship. In addition to building schools, Artbound also supports Free The Children's Adopt a Village model that provides clean water, medical care facilities and alternative income programs — all working in unison to allow children to learn and develop in a healthy and safe environment.

In 2011, Artbound travelled to Kenya to assist in the building of the first arts school in the country. As part of the Kisaruni School for Girls, the arts program is a hub for singing, painting, dance, theatre and indigenous art forms.

Still, many more children are left behind, struggling with debilitating poverty and lack of education. Artbound will continue to raise funds to support Free The Children to build new and fully sustainable infrastructures in communities most in need across the globe.

Please visit
artbound.ca
to learn more.

NEGIN SAIRAFI PHOTOGRAPHY

HEATHER A. CLARK
holds a Bachelor of Commerce degree from the University of Guelph and works in the marketing department at one of Canada's largest media outlets. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three children. This is her first novel.

Copyright © Heather A. Clark, 2012

Published by ECW Press

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

Clark, Heather A., 1977-

Chai tea Sunday / Heather A. Clark.

ISBN
978-1-77041-082-4

ALSO ISSUED AS
: 978-1-77090-185-8 (
PDF
); 978-1-77090-186-5 (
EPUB
)

I
. Title.

PS
8605.
L
36225
C
53 2012
C
813'.6
C
2011-906951-2

Editor for the press: Jennifer Hale

Cover and text design: David Gee

Cover photo: © David De Lossy / Getty Images

Typesetting & Production: Troy Cunningham

The publication of
Chai Tea Sunday
has been generously supported by the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada, and by the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities, and the contribution of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit. The marketing of this book was made possible with the support of the Ontario Media Development Corporation.