Before the Final Trip to Kenya-Val's Story, Chap 13, part 1

In early 2020, the COVID pandemic hit us all like a ton of bricks. At the time, Val was employed in the accounting department of a local business, so working on her laptop from home was doable. Her husband’s job as a chef in a local restaurant, however, didn’t allow for such a smooth transition. His employer offered customers meals to-go, but the pandemic still tore into business, as it did for many places.

          He worked when he could, but with Val working from home, the stress piled up. And their answer for coping was to drink more. She found she could now drink all day, plugging away on the computer, assuming no one would know. Somehow, she managed, and her mistakes were either overlooked or swept under the rug.

          In January 2021, she and her husband filed for divorce, and it was finalized July 15.           

          A year later, she started to get the itch to return to Kenya. My friend Denise, who had gone on several trips with us, and I were also ready to return. Of all the trips we had taken to Africa, this one would always stand out.

At least we had a good time during our long layover in Istanbul.

~~~

When I picked up Val for the drive to Denise’s house, clothes were strewn across her living room sofa, loveseat, and floor. An empty suitcase and backpack sat off to the side, and she was asleep in the middle of the mess. I roused her and asked if she was ready to go, already knowing the answer.

          “No,” she answered groggily. “I’m not even packed. Can you pack for me? All my stuff is laid out.” She gestured around the room.

          “You gotta get up. I can help, but I’m not packing for you.” I had arrived an hour earlier than needed, aware that anything was possible from my daughter. 

          She rose from the couch and pointed to her cheek. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary – just a face that was red and puffy from sleep and hangover.

          I stuffed her clothes and other necessities into her bags while she showered and poured herself into comfortable travel attire. I made her give me her passport so I knew we had it, then tossed everything else in the trunk of my car. She gave her two dogs tearful kisses goodbye, and we were on our way.

          She had been living with a guy at the time. Of all her boyfriends over the years, he was the biggest loser in my eyes, but I won’t get into that. I think she told me he was asleep in the spare bedroom when we left, but she never went in to say good-bye.

          She slept for the first hour of our drive, but when I stopped to grab us something to eat, she finally rallied and was ready to talk.

          She and the useless boyfriend had been at the bar the night before. They were both drunk and had a disagreement when it came time to leave. He pushed her into the car, smacking her cheek into the door frame. For our entire time in Africa, her face was painful and swollen, turning shades of pink, blue, green, and yellow as the days passed.

No pictures of her bruised cheek, not that I would post them anyway.