Chapter 46

I could barely sleep all night, just thinking about seeing the boys and Barbara and Michele again. I kept laying down and getting back up, pacing and thinking and reading Ignazio's letters again and again, laughing quietly and feeling the racing of my heart. I kept relighting the candle, unwilling to let its flickering dance come to an end.

When the stars retreated and the sun returned, bringing back its brilliant orange glow, I finally left the hut and went to find Monica. She was having breakfast alone in her hut, and I went in and sat next to her on the floor and told her everything.

She was very supportive, telling me that it was my decision and I should do what I thought was best for me. She had only needed me for a short time for her project, and it wasn't as if I'd be setting her back with my leaving. She had been concerned about my melancholy mood in the evenings, and she was happy that I knew what I was going to do.

"Last night when you asked me about dreams I figured you might leave. From everything you've told me, it sounds like you've done well with Il Volo… So, Tamzin," she said, smiling, "You're going to be with Il Volo again."

"I want to!" I said pleadingly. "But Monica, I don't even know if I can! I've been gone for a whole month! Maybe they have a new photographer! Maybe they've decided they don't need one after all! Maybe they've gotten used to life without me, and they don't want to return to what it used to be like now that I've left! But Ignazio sent me here so I could know what's right, and now I do!"

"How are you going to reach them?" Monica asked, getting to her feet and reaching down to pull me up. "You don't have your phone anymore, right?"

"Oh, no! That's right! I lost it in Mozambique! It didn't matter so much then because I didn't have service anyway, but all the numbers were in that phone! Oh, no, Monica!"

I clenched my fists at the realization and looked up fearfully at her.

"Calm down. Can you email them when you get back to D.C.?"

"I guess I can, but Michele and Barbara get dozens of emails a day! It takes forever to sift through them all, and it'd be a while before they got back to me! And the boys don't check their emails!"

"Um…okay…how about…"

"The tour schedule!"

"What?"

"I kept the tour schedule in my suitcase!"

I turned and burst out of the hut, sprinting as fast as I could to my own hut. I ran through the village, dodging people going out to work and raced into my own hut, throwing myself to my knees beside the open suitcase. I went frantically through it, throwing things on the bed with reckless abandon.

"Yes!" I cried, snatching it up and leaping to my feet.

"You found it? What does it say?" Monica asked, appearing in the doorway.

"They'll be in Los Angeles when I return to Washington D.C., but they'll be there only for that night and the next, and then they're off to Latin America, and I didn't get all the specifics written down for those concerts before I left!"

"Okay, okay, maybe National Geographic has Ignazio's number filed, since you said he's been calling them. If not, you'll just have to go to Los Angeles and find them. You have the theatre and the concert time written down, don't you?"

"Yes, I do! Oh, but they're not going to the condos and I don't have the hotel anymore because Michele said there was a problem and he was going to get a different one, but then I left before he did! Okay, so…on Friday the return plane is going to come and get me, and I'm going back to D.C., and that's going to be a really long flight. Then I have the meeting with National Geographic the next morning, and they're not going to let me go to Los Angeles first! They're going to expect me to have a decision when I get there, and they're going to be expecting to send me off to the next assignment right away!"

"Right, okay, Tamzin, calm down! If you meet with National Geographic Saturday morning, then you can take the next flight to Los Angeles, and you'll probably be able to make it. What time is the concert?"

"Seven!"

"Okay, and you can get there anytime during the concert and they'll still be there, so you can even be there at eight-thirty or nine and be sure they'll still be there."

"I'm so nervous, Monica! This is cutting it so close! What if I miss them!?"

"You'll just have to do the best you can and hope it works out, Tamzin!"

"Oh, I have to find them!"

She nodded vigorously, but then gazed thoughtfully at me and began cautiously, "What will you do if…"

"I guess I'll have to go back to Florida and keep trying to reach them. And if I can't go back to them…I guess I'll just have to return to Harrison…and wait for my next assignment…"

"Tamzin," Monica said gently, reaching out and turning my face toward her. "It's okay. They'll take you back…it'll be alright. Don't worry."

"I hope you're right!" I said, clasping the schedule to my racing heart, fear of letting them slip away overwhelming me.

I had just a few more days to work with Monica on her project, and the excitement of photography helped to distract me from the anxiety of the race against the clock I'd soon be embarking on. I did my best to enjoy my last days in Botswana with Monica in the village, and I was still able to experience the thrill of my landscape sessions. There was no question of leaving early, because I had to finish this project, and the private N.G plane wouldn't come until Friday. There was no more boredom and melancholy wondering in the evenings, but now there was a strict anxiety of not being able to make it to Los Angeles on time. I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life. I felt like I did when I was in the Nicaraguan jungle, terrified that they would have to leave me behind. But back then they would still have found a way for me to get back to them, and now Ignazio had no idea what was going on with me, and I had no idea what was going on with him! I could only hope and pray with all my heart that in a few days I'd be back with them and not in Florida, devastated and trying to put together a new plan, a new future.

Finally Friday morning arrived, and I had only been able to sleep for a few anxious hours that night, dreaming about Ignazio and fearing the race I was about to begin. In the morning I packed my suitcase, hoping it'd be the last time I had to pack before I saw Il Volo again. I had a light breakfast with Monica, who kept telling me to relax and smile, and then I went on a final walk through the savannah with my camera draped over my shoulder, admiring Africa for the last time and reveling in the triumph of having a job with National Geographic for the last time.

Then the plane arrived and it was finally time to leave. I tightly hugged Monica goodbye, and she gave me her number and told me to call her and tell her the outcome of my race.

"Tamzin, I really hope you get to them, but if not, I'll try to get you involved with my next project. You really are an amazing photographer."

"Thank you so much, Monica!" I said, and then after telling the journalists goodbye, I boarded the plane with my things. I was sad to be leaving Africa, because I had so much fun there and it was the place where I had lived out my dream of being a National Geographic photographer. Right when the plane was about to leave, I was informed that there was a letter for me on board, and one of the few people on the flight who had helped unload supplies handed me an envelope. I looked at the familiar script and was immediately comforted about my leaving as my heart leaped within my chest.

"Just hang on, Ignazio. Wait for me," I whispered, clasping the letter to my chest. Then I tore it open and began to read the continuation of Il Volo's touring as the plane took off.

Ignazio's letter didn't supply me with any information about the hotel in Los Angles, any changes of touring plans, or anything about a new photographer, but reading his writing and imagining his voice helped to calm my anxiety. Holding the letter on my lap with the camera bag at my feet, I was even able to take a nap, dreaming of his laughter, his dimpled smile, the dark silky hair and sweet brown eyes.

When I arrived back in D.C., all the memories of being there with Ignazio flooded back, and I almost started to cry with fear that I wouldn't make it to Los Angeles in time. I wanted to just leave and fly to Los Angeles, but I had to meet with N.G. the next morning, and I wouldn't be able to find Il Volo anyway until they went to the theatre for the concert.

I went to the hotel N.G. had picked for me, and found that it was the same hotel that I had stayed in with Ignazio. Walking through the lobby with my things, I imagined having him with me and felt the deep absence of him all over again, as strong as it was when he had first left.

The woman at the desk gave me my room key, and I realized with a pang when I walked up to the door that it was the same exact room Ignazio had stayed in when he had brought me to D.C. I stared at the numbers on the door as my heart pounded within my aching chest, and then I hurriedly went inside and collapsed to the floor with the familiarity of it.

I imagined his things in this room, the leather jacket over the chair, his tennis shoes beside the door, his headphones on the counter, and I finally started to cry in fear that I wouldn't get to him in time. I was so close to our reunion, but there was still so much chance that I would miss him. Remembering our last night together, I kicked off my red high-tops and ran into the little bedroom, jumping into the bed where only a month earlier I had been lying here with him next to me. It was so real, so familiar, and I moved my hand over the sheets and the pillows, experiencing the feel of them.

Then I hurriedly changed out of my lightweight Africa-clothes and began a search to contact Il Volo with desperate fervency. I went to N.G. headquarters and was told of course they hadn't held onto my boyfriend's number. I called Harrison and remembered that it was the weekend and Mr. Masters wouldn't be there. I called my parents and remembered that they were on vacation and had planned not to take their phones. I kept searching for a way to contact someone in the Il Volo team where they could answer me within the next 24 hours, and came up empty and despairing.

Finally, I had to go to bed, and before I did I stood before the window and looked out at the March night in D.C. It was still cold outside with fresh powder on the ground, but things were beginning to come back to life; green grass poked out from underneath the thinning snow, trees had a handful of new leaves on them, and there were even a few people walking here and there out on the sidewalks. The air held the subtle promise of spring, and I hoped that it also carried a promise of reunion for me as I left the window and got into the familiar hotel bed.