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.”
“We?” said Jack, after she was gone. “I like how you dragged me into that. I’m not sure my penmanship is up to filling out any forms.” He flexed his raw, bloody knuckles.
“Well, I’m not letting you out of my sight. But first, I want to see Bahati. And I want to know exactly what happened.”
“What happened was that K.K. and his goon beat me up pretty bad.” He reached for my hand as the guards swung the gate open for us.
“Yeah. I was there for that part,” I replied, thinking how ridiculously happy my hand was, holding his. And my heart. “Get to the good stuff. You know, when you whooped their sorry arses.”
“That’s not exactly how it played out.” He chuckled. “So, there I am, flat on my back, pretty sure I’m done for when they start arguing. K.K. is mad because he told the other guy to stop the driver, but now the train is leaving and the kids are still on it. The other guy’s yelling that he turned around to save K.K.’s ass when he saw that I was getting the upper hand. So K.K. shoots back that he’s doesn’t need anyone’s help, and that’s just disrespecting him.
“Meanwhile, I’m on the ground by Bahati’s car. The door is open from when they dragged him out, and what do I see? Bahati’s bag—the one he uses when he puts on his full Maasai garb at the Grand Tulip. It’s toppled to the floor, and sticking out of it is his spear. So while K.K. and his friend are bickering, I’m inching my way toward it.
“The rest happened so fast, it’s all a blur. I got his friend first, swung the spear around and slashed him in the leg. Then I went for K.K., but he’s small and quick and vicious. He kept dodging my jabs, waiting for me to tire out. He knew I wouldn’t last. Not with an injured arm. The more time I wasted, the farther away you got. So I cornered K.K. into the back of his van. Tied him and his buddy up, back to back. I locked them in there, where they’d kept the kids. No air, no windows, no light. He laughed as I was leaving. Creepy little fucker. He said he liked the irony of it.”