Missionary Position(36)

“I love you,” I mumbled against his lips

“I love you,” he repeated, wiping my tears. “Don’t ever doubt it. Don’t ever regret loving me.”

I gulped a breath and shook my head. “Never.”





TRUE TO HIS promise, Kai slipped out of bed and into the dark morning. I woke at the sound of the front door clicking closed. My heart screamed at me to run out and say good-bye, and kiss him one last time. My mind kept me in bed, snuggled into the warmth, surrounded by his scent, eyes closed for as long as possible.

Finally, my bladder revolted and pushed me into the bathroom.

I love you. Always.

Written on the mirror with soap, his final words made me smile.

I ran to my bag in the living room to find my phone to take a picture.

A miniature wooden elephant sat atop my purse with a note:

Never forget.





KAI TEXTED ME when he arrived in Nairobi.

I replied with a picture of his message on the mirror.

That was almost a week ago.

He warned me his communication would be infrequent during this part of his trip. There was something else about Jeeps, the UN, and radio silence.

I didn’t worry.

At first.

To distract me, Ursula invited me to the women’s cooperative every afternoon. My beading still sucked, but I enjoyed their company and stories. It was easier to listen and not have to talk. The silence allowed me to wallow.

“You’re worse than a lovesick teenager,” Ama chastised me over dinner one night.

“I feel like a teenager,” I said, pushing my jollof around my plate, but not eating. The spicy aroma I’d come to love repelled my appetite.

“You need to eat.”

“I’m hoping one of the side effects of lovesickness is weight loss.”

“You’ll see him again. Kai always returns.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a week.”

“He’ll come back. Trust me.”

Unable to stand my own company, I invited Emmanuela to join me on a short trip to Aburi to visit the woodcarvers.

While Kofi’s car climbed the steep hill up to the little village, I stared out the window at the hazy gray sky and thought of Kai. Emmanuela offered me a Kingsbite chocolate bar; my sadness apparent even to her. Chocolate was the emo girl’s friend no matter the country or location.

The chocolate helped and I smiled my thanks for her kind gesture.

When we arrived at the woodcarvers, sawdust and wood shavings lined both sides of the narrow road. Each carver had a compact booth with workspace in the rear and their wares out front. We walked amongst the booths, chatting with men and women, taking pictures and making notes on the contemporary versions of the sculptures at the museum.

Emmanuela held up a fertility figure with large breasts, wide hips, and a very round bottom. “Look, Dr. Elmore.”

I chuckled. It was a mini-me. I immediately wanted to buy it for Kai. I held it up and negotiated with the carver. Although I could easily afford his initial offer of the equivalent of ten dollars, negotiating was most of the fun of buying in Ghana. We settled on eight dollars, and I tucked the doll inside my bag next to my elephant.

I showed it to Ama at dinner.

“It’s the spitting image of you,” she exclaimed.

“My head isn’t that big, but isn’t it odd?” I laughed. “I’ll give it to Kai for Christmas.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you joining him in Amsterdam?”

“No, he’s spending it with Cibele.”

“And?”

“And I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Intrude? The man loves you. He’s invited you into his life.”

“It’s too soon.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

I furrowed my brow. “It isn’t?”

“She’s his daughter, if he’s ready, then you should be ready.”

“But what if she hates me?”

“She might. She’s a teenager. They dislike everyone.”

“Ugh. Sounds delightful.”

“Don’t give up until you meet her. She might surprise you. Hell, you might surprise yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time this year I’ve surprised myself.”

Her smile was warm and motherly. “Bless you.”

“For what?”

“Look at you. You glow with love.”

I blushed.

“When you arrived, you were shut off, compartmentalized, like your objects. Now, you’re open and full of love.”

I smiled at her.

“Many people come to Ghana, to Africa, to change things, to right perceived injustices, but Africa is ancient, mother earth, and she will change you even more.”

“I didn’t come here to volunteer or fix things.”

“Probably the reason you’ve been affected so strongly. No one is the same after they visit Africa.”

Her words were truth.

I would never be the same.

Nor did I want to be.





ON DAY SEVEN, I received a garbled voicemail from Kai.

There were issues with the project. He’d borrowed a satellite phone from a UN worker passing through the same village.

In hindsight, I wished I knew the details of his work and where exactly he was. Other than flying into Nairobi, I didn’t know many details.

I asked Ama. She was unclear as well, again reassuring me he would be fine.

I forced myself to focus on wrapping up my project at the museum. Each day I encouraged Emmanuela’s chatter to keep my mind occupied. Every evening I watched CNN for news of Kenya and random missing Dutch men. There was never any mention of violence or kidnappings, but would there be? People were kidnapped every day and it never made the local news, let alone international.

With no word the weekend prior to Thanksgiving, I broke down and dug through my bag to find Anita’s business card. Twelve days was a long time, and apparently, my breaking point. I emailed her for news of Kai. Whatever pride and misconceptions of strength I had left disappeared when I hit send. Yes, I was that woman—desperate, frantic, and needy enough to reach out to my lover’s former wife—I had sunk lower than I ever imagined. Yet, it didn’t matter, because I needed information to stop myself from tipping over the edge and falling into crazy.

At dinner, I told my kidnapping theory to Ama who frowned and rolled her eyes at me.

“He’s fine.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

“This is what he does. He goes to places where he’s out of touch. And then he returns.”

“You keep saying that. What if this time is different?”

“If it’s different, then when we know, we’ll deal with it.”

Kai’s word about forever good-byes haunted me.

In my room, I propped myself up on my bed with pillows and checked my mail for a response from Anita. Nothing.

Unopened messages from friends filled my inbox. I randomly clicked through them and caught up on the gossip at home. My sister-in-laws pestered me to confirm Christmas. Maggie invited me to her and Gil’s holiday party. Quinn sent pictures of Lizzy dressed up as Tinker Bell from Halloween. Jo had tagged me in an old college picture on Facebook.

An hour later, I’d caught up on everything. I responded to Maggie, spilling my heart out all over the text box. Unloading felt amazing. I missed her.

I refreshed my inbox.

Anita had responded to my email.

I scanned the page for the words “dead”, “killed”, or “loss”.



Hi Selah!

I’m happy to hear from you. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that my little introduction turned out so well.

Sorry about the whole Gerhard/Kai thing. It’s too much fun teasing him. You should have known him before he had the stick removed from his ass.

You sound worried. One thing you should understand about Kai is he does this. He disappears into work sometimes and forgets people worry about him. Hell, he forgets everything.

That said, he’s okay. He texted us when they returned to Nairobi last night.

He’ll probably contact you soon. Feel free to yell at him about worrying you, but don’t expect it to change.

Hope our paths cross again.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Anita



Last night? After almost two weeks without a word other than a garbled voicemail, he’d returned to the capital where cell service, and most definitely cell telephones, existed. Yet I hadn’t received so much as a text in the last twenty-four hours. I had to find out from his ex-wife what he was really like.

Anger replaced the fear that had taken up residence inside my chest.

What the hell?

Tiny bubbles of rage percolated, blocking out any feelings of relief.

He might be alive, but I wanted to kill him for making me worry and behave like a ridiculous, pining girl.

I wasn’t a moony teenager.

I didn’t pine.

I didn’t sit around waiting for the phone to ring.

Closing my laptop, I resolved to stop being whoever this woman was and return to being myself.

Strong.

Independent.

In charge.

I turned off my light. In the darkness, I gave thanks for Kai being alive, letting the knowledge comfort me. Traitor tears escaped. Maybe he hadn’t called because it was over.

Ugh.

I was a mess. A hot mess as Quinn would say.

Stupid men.

Stupid feelings.

Stupid love.

Stupid elephant taunting me from atop my dresser.

I fell asleep chanting the lyrics of I Am Woman. My mother played that song non-stop during my childhood, and along with Our Bodies, Ourselves, it was the feminist foundation of how to be a strong woman—the kind who didn’t cry over boys.