Pope called me and Nene to the living room for a talk two weeks later. Nene was still talking.

Nyewayo and Grandma Laurie, Asi’s mother, called and spoke to him every single day. No one had made the connection that it was because of me that he was talking. Pope had spent the weekend with Naadu. He was sadder than I had seen him in a long time and I felt a small twinge of guilt. But what I’d done had been for his own good. He’d thank me one day.

“Naadu’s not coming back.”

“Are you getting a divorce?” I asked trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

He shook his head. I could see the pain reflected in his eyes. “We’re separating for now. We’ll see what happens after the baby comes.”

“So the baby won’t stay with us?” Nene asked. Pope shook his head. “No.”

I gave a silent whoop.

***

The next morning, I heard Nene come running into the house.

“The flowers have come. The flowers have come.”

He dragged Pope out of his room. I listened and watched from behind my window.

Sure enough as if in some secret agreement the flowers had all bloomed orange, red, pink and white. I couldn’t believe they’d last for just a day. They looked very beautiful.

“Let’s call her. Let’s call her. She said they’ll last for only a day.”

“She might be busy.”

“But I have to tell her. I have to call her.”

“Nene we can’t call her. She’s no longer part of our lives.”

“When she was leaving she came to tell me I could text her any time.”

Pope sighed. “She only said that to be nice.”

Nene’s face fell. He knelt down and began pulling out weeds from the flower bed. He spent the whole day by those flowers and sure enough the next day the flowers were all gone. All the petals hang wilted on the stalks. I hated seeing Nene so sad, but I believed that Naadu’s going away had been for our collective good and for that I wasn’t sorry.

***

I was in my room that night when I heard raised voices. Nyewayo had returned to Ada. I was in no mood to see her. She was speaking to Pope in the hall. I could hear her voice even from my room. I thought she had said she was spending a month. Why had she cut short her visit? She’d spoken to Nene on the phone every day since he started speaking so it couldn’t have been to hear him talk.

“You must be crazy to let your own child grow up without a father while you raise someone else’s bastard.”

What did Mantse have to do with anything?

I couldn’t hear what Pope said next but Grandma’s voice rang out loud and clear.

“Adopted my foot! Send her to where she came from! How can a slave dictate what an heir should do?”

Pope said something else.

Grandma’s voice was rising even higher. She was getting angrier by the minute.

“My grandchildren will stay with both their parents. That girl can go! You spoil her too much as it is.”

She couldn’t mean me, could she? What was all that talk about adoption? Mama was my mother.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. Nene was spying from his partly opened door. Neither Nyewayo nor Pope noticed me even when I got to the banister. “What’s going on? Who’s adopted?”

They both looked up at me. “Buerki, go to your room. Now!” Pope shouted.

“Tell her,” Grandma said, her eyes shooting darts at me.

“Tell me what?” I said, climbing down the stairs.

“No one’s talking to you. Go to your room.”

“Tell her. Why are you still protecting her at the expense of your own flesh and blood?”

“Pope?”

“I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

I stood my ground. “Tell me what?” I felt like I had that day when school vacated and Pope hadn’t shown up. I’d been the only person outside the house with my trunk and chopbox. It was past noon and Pope still hadn’t shown up. Mrs

Nunoo had invited me to her house and given me a plate of boiled rice and kontomire stew. She’d called Pope’s number but my uncle had picked it up. It had been that same uncle who had shown up two hours later to pick me up. It was he who had told me Mama had died.

At the door to Mrs Nunoo’s house he had turned to me and said, “I’m sure you heard about the plane crash in Nigeria yesterday.”

I had nodded. We’d heard about it. Some of the Nigerian girls had been worried that their relatives might have been on board. We had all stayed glued to the TV set until they got word that no one they knew had been on that flight.

My uncle had looked grim. I had had a premonition then that whatever he said next would change my life forever. I had been right.

“Your mom was on that flight. I’m sorry.”