He ran his hands through his hair. “Please hear me, Zoe. I never intended to put politics before you. But when you told me what happened with Clay, I was blindsided. So much was at stake. I didn’t think. I reacted. I knew you had a crush on him. Sylvia told me how affectionate you’d been. I figured there must have been a misunderstanding. I thought you’d get over it.”
He shook his head wearily. “I don’t know if it means anything now, but I’m so sorry. I should have believed you. I should have defended you. I was wrong.”
Tears spilled down Zoe’s cheeks and collected on her chin. She saw a shaft of sunlight on the ground and walked toward it, allowing the light to warm her skin.
“I don’t understand,” she said, turning back to him. “The other night …”
He hung his head. “When you walked out the door, I finally realized what I’d done. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you forever. Not you and your mother both.”
She felt an ache deep inside, a mixture of empathy and sorrow. She went to him and touched his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “For coming here and telling me this. It means a lot.”
He met her eyes and nodded. “I’m glad.”
Suddenly, her iPhone beeped. Joseph had texted her. Kuyeya was ready to take visitors. “I need to go,” she told him.
“Wait,” he said quickly. “You asked for—”
“It’s done. The bill is covered.”
He gave her an inquiring look. “Then you’ll have to find something to do with the money. I got the wire confirmation when I landed.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” she said again.
“The little girl,” he ventured. “Can I … meet her?”
She examined his face and saw his sincerity. “Of course,” she said.
She led him down the hallway, past the theater where Kuyeya’s vertebrae had been fused, to the now empty waiting room. His bodyguards trailed twenty feet behind. She saw Joseph walking toward her. He slowed in astonishment, staring at her father.
“Joseph,” she said, “meet my dad. Dad, this is Joseph Kabuta.”
“Jack Fleming,” the Senator said, taking Joseph’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise, Senator,” said Joseph, glancing at Zoe. “Right this way.”
They found Kuyeya in a private room with a sitting area and a television. Her bed was on the left, configured like a recliner. She was resting quietly, her neck in a stiff brace. Sister Irina was at her side and Jan was lounging in a chair. He stood up quickly when he saw the Senator. Sister Irina looked confused until Zoe made the introductions. Then her eyes went wide.
Zoe approached the bed and touched Kuyeya’s hand. “Hi there. I missed you.”
At the sound of her voice, Kuyeya blinked and focused on her. She tried to speak, but the words came out in a barely discernible whisper. “Hi, Zoe,” she said.
“Dad,” Zoe said, “meet Kuyeya.”
She stepped back and watched as her father squeezed Kuyeya’s hand—the hand that held Charity’s ring. It was a scene she could never have predicted in a hundred lifetimes, a vision of the world that could be, the world of the possible.
Suddenly, she noticed something in the girl’s arms. “Where did that come from?” she asked, pointing at a brand-new doll.
“I brought it,” Jan replied. “From what I understand, her old one wasn’t too friendly.”
Her smile broadened. “You didn’t need my advice after all.”
“It is good to see her at peace,” Sister Irina said quietly. “If only an operation could make the rest of her whole.”
“‘The chains of the body are often wings to the spirit,’” Zoe replied. “Mandela wrote that on Robben Island, but it’s true for her, too.”
Sister Irina nodded. “You’re right. She’s perfect in her own way.”
chapter 34
Lusaka, Zambia
June, 2012
At the end of May, Flexon Mubita received an official appointment to serve on the High Court of Zambia. Two days later, he announced he’d reached a decision in Kuyeya’s case. On a bright morning in early June, the legal team drove to the Subordinate Court to receive his judgment. Sarge and Niza rode with Maurice, and Zoe and Joseph followed in her Land Rover. The mood among the lawyers was gloomy; the timing of the hearing suggested a quid pro quo with the Nyambos. Their only recourse was to ensure the press would be on hand to document the miscarriage of justice.