Lizzie

The rain fell gently on the pavement of one of Kileleshwa’s finest houses. The pavement was impeccably done in a dark grey marble that shone with each raindrop falling on it. It led to the entrance of a three-bedroomed house that was the envy of many in the neighborhood. Lizzie had poured every ounce of her money into it, and it showed. 

She had wasted no time and decorated the house with local antiques she outsourced from Mombasa and Nairobi. A few fury carpets here, beautifully done furniture there, and a couple of paintings for the walls that were done in soft pastel colors. 

Anyone who knew her said she was minimalistic but paid attention to detail. That's what made her a force in her business. She knew exactly what her clients wanted even before they did.

Her room was done in a soft beige with a remarkable view of the street. Some nights, she would stare out the window for hours, dreaming of what was and what could have been.

Wangeci, her daughter had chosen a soft pink color for her room, it was perfect for a teenage girl. The guest room remained locked, but it too was done in a pastel yellow. It had just been the two of them for ages but neither minded, they were each other’s haven.

Wangeci was coming home in two weeks for the Christmas holidays and Lizzie was glad she wouldn’t have to turn the TV on all day to fill the eerie silence. She would keep it on even when she worked from her room. The electricity bill had gone up but it was a small price to pay for her sanity. 

It hadn’t always been like that, Lizzie had numerous friends and loved going out with them. It was John’s passing that had made her retreat like a wounded lioness. 

How long had it been? Ten years? No. Ten years and 8 months to be exact. 

Wangeci had only been five years old and couldn’t understand why her daddy wouldn’t come home. Lizzie remembered how distressed she had been and together they had clung to each other for comfort like two drowning souls.

 All John had left them was a shabby apartment in Embakasi and fifty thousand shillings in his bank account. 

Lizzie didn’t allow herself the luxury of mourning, she had to find a means for her and Wangeci to survive. She had gone straight to the bank after the funeral, withdrew all the money, and took it home with her. For a solid two weeks, she laid prone on her bed, trying to figure out the next step. 

With no prior job experience, her options were limited. She decided to try her hand in selling mitumba and bought a bale of socks. After three months, business boomed, and soon enough, she expanded it to children’s clothing.

Lizzie was no simpleton, she invested the money back into the business, opened up an online store, and now, here she was, gazing outside the window of the house she built from the ground up.

From her bedroom window, she fixed her gaze on the street. There wasn’t a single dog in sight, let alone a person. Every living thing was probably seeking shelter by a fire. No wonder the price of charcoal had shot up. 

She had lit the chimney and the house was warm but her arms were filled with goosebumps. Dr. Waweru’s words had left a chill in her that no fire could thaw.

She hadn’t even noticed the falling tears until her white blouse began soaking and clinging to her chest. When she looked down, the dam burst open and she could all but control the tears that came out like acid raid, begging for release. The force of it was too much and her body resigned itself to the floor.

Lizzie tried to rewind her life like a tape. Where had she gone wrong? What had she done to deserve this cruelty? The only rebel thing she had done in her 38 years was eloping for a week with her high school boyfriend.  

That’s when it hit her.

 ‘1309.‘ She mouthed to herself as her eyes grew wide in disbelief.

The one thing that she had kept from Wangechi and John and had sworn to take to her grave. No one had known so far, no one would ever know, right? right? She repeated to herself. But deep down she knew that her misdeed had finally caught up with her. 

It was the only sin that she would have repeated over and over. And even if the heaven gates never opened for her, she didn't regret it. Not for a second. But she still repented.

Had she not repented enough? Had she not devoted herself to service? Was the charity work she did not enough to wash off her stained cloth? Was God still holding it to her? 

He was. She was sure of it.

Her breathing grew heavy with every sob and her hand tightened on her chest. She had to resist the urge to crawl under her bed. It was the kind of darkness that would have swallowed her whole if she caved in.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. She had been lying limp on the floor for three hours and could no longer feel her legs.

Lizzie slowly got up with the support of her table, fidgeted for the lights, and went to stand by the spherical mirror, a gift from her mother.

Standing before the mirror Lizzie stared at the once dancing eyes that had been replaced with two pools of pain. She winced at the sight of them and looked away.

She had to do it. She reminded herself and riveted her eyes back to her reflection.

Practice makes perfect, right? She thought as a hysterical laugh escaped her lips. 

“Wangechi,” she began.

“Wangechi, I…”

“Wangechi mommy has…”

“Baby I have cancer.” She finally said as her voice broke into another sob.