For now, anyway.
I think I will just be. I will exist. And see what happens.
? ? ?
I leave Boyboy squirting himself silly with expensive perfume in the duty-free shop and walk with my sister to her gate. Mr. G was going to come to the airport to see her off too, but I asked if we could just go alone. When she flies into Sangui with Michael and Jenny for break in a couple of months, we’ll both come and meet them. I give the security agent my special “escort” pass issued by the airline. Mr. G pulled some strings to get it. It looks just like Kiki’s ticket, but it will only get me as far as Gate 23.
Michael left yesterday, and Mr. Greyhill came in a wheelchair to say good-bye. I could tell he hated being pushed around in the chair, but I guess he really wanted to be there. Michael’s flight was full, so Kiki has to fly today. Michael assured me, though, that he’ll go with the school van to pick her up from the airport. She’ll be in the grade right below Jenny. They’ll look out for her.
We pass row after row of people waiting for their flights. They’re all colors, all ages. The only thing they have in common is a rich sort of weariness, like they’ve had their fun in Africa but now it’s time to go. Maybe they’re not all wealthy, but there are plenty of gold wristwatches and carelessly scattered designer handbags around. It would be a good place to pickpocket; all these people are leaving. By the time they realized they’d been hit, they’d be thousands of miles away.
The airport terminal is new and very clean. All straight lines and no smell to anything. The planes outside the windows look scrubbed and polished. It seems so far away from the dusty streets of Sangui. I wonder if Kiki’s new school in Lucerne will be more like this.
We stop in front of her gate.
“You have your passport? Your money?”
Kiki rolls her eyes. “I haven’t lost them since you asked me five minutes ago.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. The sun is just rising, and it comes through the window like liquid copper. Around us tourists linger over last-minute souvenirs. Mothers try to corral toddlers, and businesspeople in suits hunch over their laptops and furtively sip coffee.
Kiki watches everything with wide eyes. She’s wearing new clothes that were bought for the trip, everything pink and green. With her hair pulled back in neat braids and her new plastic backpack, she could be any of these travelers’ daughters. It’s been almost a week since her kidnapping, and she’s starting to act like her old self again. She’s had nightmares every night, but the doctor says that’s normal and that they will probably stop after a while.
“Call when you get there with the phone Mr. G gave you, okay? My number is already programmed in.” Her backpack strap has slipped down her shoulder, and I tug it up.
“Yeah.” She can’t stop staring around.
I push my sleeves up. I’m getting hot for some reason, and agitated. I look around. Mr. G said there was supposed to be someone here to meet her—someone from the airline who’ll watch her and make sure she gets where she needs to go. But I don’t see anyone. I put my hands on my hips.
Kiki turns back to me, like she’s finally remembered I’m there. “You got a new tattoo.”
My tension ebbs. I show her my forearm. My first non-Goonda tattoo. The skin is still raw and scabbing, but the new tattoo artist I found did a good job. My long, straight scar is now the central stem of a palm branch. It looks just like the one Saint Catherine holds in Mama’s prayer card.
“It’s a symbol of triumph,” I say.
Just then a woman breezes up to us. She’s wearing a lot of makeup, but her face underneath is pretty and friendly. She gives us a big smile. “Catherine Masika?”
Kiki raises her hand.
The woman smiles even wider at her and then at me. “I work for the airline. The flight will board soon, but you can go on first with me and we’ll get you settled. Does that sound good?”
Kiki gulps. “Yes, madam.”
I back up, already feeling myself melting away into the crowd, into the background. She’ll be fine, I tell myself. This is what Mama would have wanted for her. Michael will be there. He won’t let anything bad happen. Still, some part of me wants to grab Kiki’s hand and make a run for it. My throat burns, but I won’t cry in front of her.
The woman takes Kiki’s passport and ticket and puts her hand on her shoulder to steer her toward the gate. She looks at me. “Do you want to say good-bye?” she asks Kiki.
My sister nods again and then turns to me.
“Bye,” I say.
“Bye.”
Then I open my arms and she hits me so hard that we nearly topple over. I squeeze her and press my face into her hair and take a deep breath. All the expensive perfumes in all the duty-free shops in the world could never smell so sweet.
For a moment the world is still and golden, and then Kiki pulls back from me. She’s crying, but she’s smiling too.