by Ann Walker
Believe me. I had no intention of ever mentioning the name Felipe again, let alone considering a vacation in the Togolese jungle.
The town we stopped just shy of looked about a step above our volunteer village. Sure, there were more cars and signs and people, but all in all, it looked quite similar to the place I'd called my home for almost four beautiful months. I tried not to turn my gaze toward Felipe; he'd ruined it all for me, and if I looked at him, there was no doubt in my mind that he'd see just how much I wanted to throttle him.
Instead, when he told us to get out, I practically scrambled over Grant's lap to get to the door. I didn't, of course. I waited until he was out, and then almost fell into his arms as he helped me to the ground.
"Have a nice life, lovers," Felipe purred, leaning over to our side of the truck to wink at us. And with that, Grant slammed the door in his face, then pulled me off the semi-paved road and into the dry long grass. I inched toward the town, but he held me there firmly, shaking his head.
"Don't move yet," he muttered. "Not until they leave."
If anyone else had said that to me, I would have laughed in their face and made a run for it. But I trusted him. I loved the smelly, dirty, ridiculously handsome and strong man beside me, and I respected his wishes. My entire body tensed, adrenaline flooding my system, and we waited, just as he said, until the caravan turned and headed back in the direction that we came from.
Once they were almost out of our sight, Grant wove his fingers around mine, clasped my hand so tightly that I gasped, and took off running, dragging me toward the little town. My legs pumped painfully as I did my best to keep up, tears stinging my eyes yet again.
When we breeched the town limit, with people and cars and bikes around us, I wrenched my hand away, doubled over, and balled. Grant stroked my back, his touch both affectionate and reassuring, and then pulled me up into his arms.
And there we stood for a long time, both of us shaking, me sobbing like an infant, until we finally had the strength to find anyone who resembled a police officer.
Chapter Eight
"I don't know how many times I can say it," Henri babbled, running his hand through his hair as Grant unloaded our bags from the back of the man's truck. Behind us, the hubbub of the small airport was like music to my ears. I opened and closed my mouth a few times; knowing exactly what our French volunteer coordinator was going to say, but found I didn't have it in me to cut him off. "I'm so sorry."
He'd said it over and over again, ever since we were back in the safe hands of the volunteer organization a few days earlier. We'd been held up in that little town's police station for hours as officers tried to confirm our stories, then had to stay the night in one of the holding cells—they didn't exactly have a lot of other spare beds around—waiting for Henri and a few other members of the volunteer organization to drive down and pick us up.
At the moment, I was just glad to be in clean clothes, have my hair washed, and be in possession of my passport again. Not surprising to anyone, Grant and I opted to forgo the remaining month of my six month stay to head for home. No one fought us, and I definitely didn't care that I'd paid for food and housing for another month—I just wanted out. I wanted my own bed, familiar food, and familiar people. I wanted the nightmares to stop too, but that would probably take a little longer than two days of travel back to the States.
"It's not your fault," I assured him, repeating the words I'd been saying since he first started apologizing. It really wasn't. A lot of people in our situations might have started blaming themselves, but Grant and I talked it through, and we made a pact not to blame anyone—no one but Felipe and his band of marauders. They'd acted opportunistically, taking us while we were separated from the rest of the village on our trip to the waterfall. If it hadn't been then, Grant had mused, it would have been some other time. Maybe while we were walking out to the building site. We—or any of the foreign volunteers—were their intended targets, and they would have gotten us one way or another.
Our pact would be difficult to see through, that much was clear. Anytime I was alone, I wondered if I could have done something differently to prevent us from being kidnapped. Of course, all of my theories were farfetched and unhelpful, and I felt quite fortunate to have Grant by my side through the whole thing. At least there was someone else on this planet who understood exactly how I was feeling.
It was just a happy coincidence that we were in love. We each needed time to heal on our own. However, we decided being in the same physical location was important while we built ourselves back up. Once I was home and my family knew I was safe, I planned to pack up my small apartment and move in with Grant. At least I'd be able to wake up in the middle of the night next to him, even if I was coated in sweat and sobbing.
I shifted as Grant set my bag down by my feet, and then flinched and swallowed thickly when he slammed the trunk closed. Even after being safe for days, I still didn't feel safe. Loud noises made me twitch. The feeling of someone watching my every move was constant. Hopefully these after-effects wouldn't last long.
"Nobody blames anybody," Grant insisted, cutting Henri off when he drew another breath, perhaps to reason with me as to why I ought to take some blame out on him. Would that help his conscience if I did? "No one could have known this would happen. We're just happy to be getting on a plane…" He reached for my hand, enclosing it in his large warm one. I offered him a small smile. "Together."
We bid our volunteer coordinator one last goodbye. The airport brought back memories of meeting the man for the first time, of the anxious excitement I had about starting this new adventure. Even though it was only five months ago, I felt as though I'd aged a decade since I was last in this very spot. Physically, I'd lost a lot of weight, as had Grant. Our cheekbones protruded, and the skin around our eyes appeared sunken and dark. Even with all the good food we'd been gobbling down recently, it would take some time to get back to normal.
But he was still so sinfully handsome. Tall, yet not quite as broad, he was still every inch the underwear model I initially considered him to be when we met at that airport café. His luscious dark hair had a bit of life back to it again, though I suspected that had to do with the shower and cut he'd asked for almost immediately upon our return. I loved running my hands through the thick, clean locks—it soothed me at night when my mind was a little too active, and Grant always held me tighter when he no doubt sensed my panic.
We waited until Henri had driven off, waving when he issued one final farewell honk from his seventies era transport van. My cheeks hurt from smiling that fake, happy smile I'd been using, and once we were alone, I let it drop. My eyes drifted closed when Grant kissed the side of my head, his lips pressed to my hair. Unlike his, my dirty blonde locks had yet to regain any of their vigor, though they'd always been pretty straight. At least when he kissed me now, he wasn't getting a mouthful of grease too.
"How are you doing?" he asked gently, and I glanced up at him, a real smile—though small—working its way across my lips. I nodded.
"Good." While it was a bit of a stretch to say I was good, I was starting to think I might not be too far off. "Glad we're here… I'll feel better when we're on the first flight out. You?"
"Exactly the same," he told me, dipping down to grab both of our bags and straightening up with a sigh. "Let's get out of this heat."
I nodded again, following him through the automatic doors and into the small airport. It was quiet inside—quiet and cool—and I almost just wanted to sit on a nearby bench and enjoy it. Grant seemed to be hit with the same wave of whatever was affecting me, and we both stood next to one another, watching the few travelers there move to and fro, suitcases and trollies in hand.
A few minutes later, I drew in a deep breath, then I exhaled. "I guess we ought to maybe…"
I trailed off, however, when I realized I was standing alone. He'd been there… Right beside me… and now he wasn't. A sickening panic crawled up from the very depths of my being, thra
shing its way through my stomach and blazing a path up my throat. My body felt both tight and weightless, present and not, as I whirled in a circle, scanning the area for Grant. Tears threatened to trickle down my cheeks—the sting in my eyes was so painfully familiar by now that I was almost able to ignore it entirely.
He reappeared almost as fast as he disappeared, stepping out from behind a column nearby. A reckless sigh bled out of me, and I felt my knees go weak when our eyes met. His brow furrowed, and he rushed forward, grabbing my hands once more and pulling me close.
"You just disappeared," I whispered, burrowing my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. "I… Where…"
"Sorry," he murmured back, stroking my hand with one hand as his other arm held me tightly. "I'm sorry… I was just throwing my gum out. I should have said something."
I nodded, embarrassed to have descended into such an awful level of panic after being alone for what could have been twenty seconds tops. When I pulled away, I ran my fingers under my eyes, collecting the tears before they fell with a sniffle.
"This is ridiculous."
"It's not," he assured me, shaking his head and taking my hand again. "It's normal. We'll stick together, I promise. You'll be sick of me by the time we finally get home."
Shaking my head, I tried a smile again. It probably wasn't as convincing as I would have liked it to be, but I also knew I didn't need to pretend for Grant. He'd take me, love me, smiling or not.
"Not possible," I told him. I then stilled as he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, and there we stayed for a very long moment. Beneath the cool air vent, surrounded by people not wanting to kill us or quiet us or apologize to us, we kissed lazily, sweetly, and maybe, eventually, a little desperately. We only broke apart at my doing, worried we might offend someone with the very public display of obvious affection.
"Let's get checked in," he suggested, taking both of our bags again in one arm, his laptop bag strap stretched across his body, and then grabbed my hand with his free one. Cheeks flushed, I fell in beside him, eager to get our ticket, check our bags, and maybe hit up an airport bar before hopping on our first flight back home.
Home. It seemed so far, but, finally, so very close.
Chapter Nine
I awoke with a sharp inhale, startled by the hand on my arm. Heart racing and chest heaving, I sat up in my First Class airplane seat, shying away from the contact, only to let out a long, steady breath when I realized it was only Grant touching me. Of course it was only him. We were safe now, surrounded by ordinary strangers, on our way back home. In fact, from the way flight attendants swept through the cabin, insisting my fellow passengers tightened their seatbelts; we must have been getting close to landing.
"Sorry," he said as I calmed myself. His hand found a spot on my thigh instead, the warmth soothing, and I shook my head. He didn't have anything to be sorry for. How could he know that I was having nightmares of Felipe and guns and jungle darkness? "I should have woken you better—"
"I was having a nightmare," I told him flatly, running a hand over my hair, which was currently swept back in a little bun. "I'm okay… I'll be fine."
And I would be. Just sitting on the airplane, in the lap of luxury after Grant upgraded my tickets—a surprise I welcomed, though protested appropriately about before giving in—I was already starting to feel more like myself. Time would still heal all wounds, and it wasn't like our nearly two day trek to get back home was the proper place to do it. We didn't have a full night between our connecting flights this time, which meant we moseyed around the airport in Ghana for the five hours, exhausted in every sense of the word, until we could board our flight.
Which was delayed. And then late taking off.
I couldn't complain much, however. First Class was everything I could have hoped for and more. The meals came whenever I wanted them. There was no extra charge for headphones. I could have a glass of wine and not feel judged by anyone sitting around me. Oh, and the seats! Large, roomy, with a private TV screen big enough to rival some of the ones in people's apartments… Grant definitely downplayed how much of an improvement it was from economy when we'd first reconnected after our initial flights.
Even though we'd been on the go for well over twenty-four hours, Grant looked effortlessly handsome, and I briefly wondered if he'd spent some time freshening up in the First Class bathroom before waking me. Fresh-faced, clean shaven, perfect hair—he was a dream that I never wanted to wake up from. I let my eyes drift closed as he swept the loose stray hairs from my face, smoothing them back across my head.
****
“Land ho!" I heard a voice say.
Raising my eyebrows, I leaned over and couldn't stop my smile from growing when I spotted the ground below. Sure enough, we were descending, making our final landing of this whole trip. Lush greenery awaited me, different from that of the Togolese jungle. It seemed familiar—welcoming, almost.
"Land ho indeed," I chuckled, leaning back in my seat to readjust my belt. A flight attendant swept by, her eyes darting down to our waists, but kept going when she undoubtedly saw we were both tucked in. A sigh slipped from me again, and I wrapped my hand around Grant's. "We made it."
Smiling, he leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. "That we did. I always knew we would."
I wish I could have shared his optimism at the time, but I guess it was good that at least one of us thought there'd be a positive outcome of our whole ordeal. Now, however, I was finally starting to see the real light at the end of the awful tunnel. We were nearly home. We were back to our lives, our families, and our friends. Also a luxury I took for granted, constant hot water and a good mattress.
Back to getting our lives started—together. A giddy feeling rushed over me at the thought, painting my features a dull pink. In a few weeks, I'd be leaving my actual home behind to make a new one with Grant. We'd decided on the first flight, yesterday, that we'd find a new house to call our own—together. Instead of me moving my things in with his, we'd find a new place and begin an adventure together. No one would have the upper ground; no one would feel more or less ownership over the space. I was really looking forward to it, actually, and couldn't stop the rush of excited babble from streaming out of my mouth whenever we discussed it.
All in all, it was a nice change from the way life had been for the past few weeks, and I appreciated the trajectory we were on.
Our descent into the international airport was smooth—something I'd yet to experience—and I barely felt it when we touched down on the ground. Grant and I held hands the whole time, me watching our landing through the window, him with his eyes shut and head tilted back. We waited as the plane was towed into place, then we waited some more as the travelers around us scrambled for their things. I never understood why people rushed to get off planes—everyone would have to get off eventually, so why stress?
But then again, First Class wasn't as claustrophobic as economy was. Here there was space to move around comfortably. back there, you were stacked in and squished together from the moment you stepped onto the plane until the moment you stepped off. No thanks! Now that I'd experienced a bit of the luxurious life, I fully intended to hint that Grant ought to "treat" us both should we ever fly anywhere again.
And I guess that was still a big If. For now, I was in no mood to even leave out of the state, let alone the country. I needed to get my roots back, to dip my toes in the familiar pools again. I'd missed home, even though I'd been desperate to leave it initially. But then again, I was returning with a completely different life to look forward to, so it made sense that home didn't seem as bad as it did when I left.
It seemed to finally hit me that we were home and safe once we were off the plane and moving with the herd of travelers through the arrivals terminal. All of us were headed for customs, some racing there, others taking their sweet time. Grant and I moved at a steady pace, our hands clasped, and bypassed any of the slow walkers along the way.
It struck me as stran
ge to be there, however. Everyone was just so… ordinary. There were dozens of people on phones just in my immediate vicinity alone. Many had headphones on. Some were playing with tablets. Children screamed as parents tried to get them to sit in a single place. Groups of teens wandered around with no regard for anyone else. Businessmen in suits. Socialites with make-up compacts. People from various flights all converged in the arrivals terminal, and for a moment, I felt very small. Despite what I'd gone through, I was just one small part of the much bigger picture. I was a nothing.
Grant's hand tightened around mine, drawing me out of my musings, and I did my best to lift my spirits again. These people had no idea what it was like to feel true terror. Very few around me could grasp what I'd been through, though I'm sure they'd all read about an ordeal two Americans went through in an African nation should our story ever reach the news. I hoped it wouldn't. I didn't want a recorded memory of anything we'd been through. The only good thing I could take from my experience as a prisoner was Grant—and I didn't want anything else.
The customs line was absolutely outrageous. All those people I'd been scrutinizing on our walk met in a single area, fighting over lines and grumbling about the wait. Grant and I stood side-by-side, quiet and contemplative, and my stomach did an excited little flutter—the butterflies were finally back, I guess—when I thought about my parents waiting for me on the other side.
I'd only spoken to them once since we were rescued from our trip to hell and back. As expected, they'd been concerned about the whole ordeal—both my mom and dad cried, so I guess concern would be putting it lightly—but were excited I'd decided to end my volunteer stint early. I'd been told, repeatedly, that they'd be waiting for me at the airport, and I could already imagine them there, hours early, watching for my plane to come in.
Even as thirty loomed in my very near future, I don't think I'd ever been more excited to see my parents.
