I hung up and walked out of the office. Outside, kids were still playing in the courtyard. The ones that had accompanied me were out of the dining room and waiting to be fitted for their new uniforms. A few of them dragged me to a cardboard box that had been set up as a table, with square bits of newspaper for place mats. I sat on a stool as they pretend-poured tea for me in a chipped miniature cup.
“Asante.” I took a sip and feigned burning my tongue, fanning my mouth.
“Moto sana! Too hot!” They laughed, plying me with invisible food.
A shadow fell over us as I offered a cup to the straw doll sitting across from me.
“I turn around for two seconds and you’re in the middle of a tea party.”
My breath caught mid-fake-pour. His voice was like balm over my aching heart.
“Jack! Jack!” The kids flocked around him.
“You’re late,” I said, trying to stem the swell of tears in my eyes. His arm was bandaged in a dirty fabric, beard thick with congealed blood, lips cracked and swollen. He stood stiff as a board, covered in dust and tatters, looking as if all his muscles had seized up.
I’d never seen a man more beautiful than him.
I would have run to him, wrapped my arms around him, but my circuits were so overloaded with relief, that I just sat there, holding a miniature teapot.
“My date ditched me,” he replied, taking the kiddie stool across from me, and sitting the doll on his lap. He was saying one thing, but his eyes were saying another.
You’re okay.
You made it.
God, let me just look at you.
And so we sat there, staring at each other across an upside-down cardboard box, as the kids milled about around us. He unclasped my fingers from the little teapot I was holding and pretended to fill two miniature cups with it. I picked up mine, he picked up his, and we clinked them in a silent toast.
We pretend-ate and pretend-drank. The air thrummed between us, heavy with words we couldn’t wrap our tongues around.
“I thought . . . I thought you . . .” A tear spilled like a raindrop on the cardboard box.
“Shh. You’re here. I’m here. Everything is exactly as it should be.”
“Jack, Bahat—”
“He’s fine. He’s in the car, outside. We’re all right.” He stood, unfurling his long legs and held out his arms. “Come here, sweetness.” His voice was hollow with longing.
Jack Friggin’ Warden. He’d survived. And Bahati had made it too.
I crushed my face into his chest, maybe a little too enthusiastically, because he winced under his breath.
“Sorry. Am I hurti—”
“Shut up, Rodel.” He claimed my lips, his kiss singing through my veins.
My arms looped around his neck as I melted against him. I wanted to heal the cracked lines of his lips with the softest of kisses, lick all the sore, tender parts of him. I wanted to love him like he was mine.
“Miss Emerson?” I tore my mouth away and found Josephine Montati watching us with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly at her. The kids were watching us with amused fascination. “My friends made it. Both of them. I’m so happy!”
“I can see that. I’m glad you’re all right,” she said to Jack.
“We’ll be right in to fill out the paperwork.” I nodded at the stack of forms she was holding. “Could you give us a few minutes?”
“Of course. I’ll be in my office.”
