Missionary Position (20 page)

“And having an ex-wife and child is a deal breaker?”

“They have been in the past.”

“Selah, honey, do you really want to be with a man with no past? Not sure there are very many virgins in your age group.”

I chortled.

“Right, you’d eat a virgin alive.”

“I can’t imagine starting from scratch.”

“Perhaps a lapsed priest?”

“Probably a virgin.”

“True. You could find a nice missionary, one who could be easily tempted into corruption and lust.”

I giggled at her suggestion. “That’s all kinds of wrong, Ama.”

“I’m highlighting your options for a man without baggage.”

“I get it.”

“Don’t let Kai’s past define him. He works hard, loves his daughter, and is easy on the eyes.” She fanned herself with her hands. “Plus, he’s demonstrated he can commit long term. Sounds like a catch to me.”

“And the lying?”

“Did he lie, or omit?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” I asked, incredulous.

“Not at all. Have you told him about your lovers and fear of commitment? Or those smutty pirate books you write?” She gave me a pointed look.

I rolled my eyes. “No, but—”

“But nothing. Men become stupid when they fall in love. Boys tease; men do stupid things.”

Men weren’t the only ones who did stupid things.

“You’re not defined by the stupid things you’ve done, or not done. Don’t apply rules and expectations to that wonderful man you won’t follow yourself.” With a pat to my leg, she stood up and straightened her skirt.

“Gotcha.” I pouted.

“Don’t stay out here, sulking and getting bit by mosquitoes,” she called out, walking to the house.

A telltale buzz near my ear reminded me I hadn’t put on bug spray. I tracked the flying insect buzzing around me until it landed on my leg, where I promptly killed it. Ama was right about the nasty little buggers. She was probably right about the other things, too.

I sent Kai a quick email asking about his plans for the rest of the week.

My inbox burst with unanswered messages from Maggie and Quinn. I opened the oldest one and found a picture of Maggie, Gil, Quinn, and Ryan with Lizzy, smiles wide, and in Lizzy’s case, drooly. Despite my dislike of babies, I smiled. The joy evident on my friends’ faces superseded my cynicism. Lizzy’s fat cheeks and dimpled arms reminded me of the little faces in the Kente village. Her life was blessed from birth in ways she would not understand for a long time. If ever.

OVER A BOX of dusty sculptures on the following Monday, I shared my thoughts with Emmanuela about the weekend visit to Cape Coast. Surprisingly, she’d never visited either Elmina or the Cape Coast castle.

“Why do I need to visit a place to know its history?” she asked. “History is carried in the minds and souls of people.”

Her words echoed my own thoughts before I stood on old stones in sunless rooms and let my imagination run wild. Not my memories, but the thoughts and ideas my mind conjured up about experiences I never had.

I touched the miniature sculpture in my glove-covered hand, running my finger over her curves and pointed breasts. Picking up my notebook, I wrote down the catalogue number and set aside the sculpture to be photographed.

“Dr. Elmore?”

“Yes?”

“What is it about these sculptures that speaks to you?” She frowned, looking down at an Akuaba fertility figure I’d set aside earlier.

“Humans have the same genitals and secondary sexual characteristics no matter where on the planet we live, yet each culture depicts them differently. Or fetishizes them different, I should say.” I pointed at another fertility doll. “This is for fertility, right?”

She nodded.

“Yet what’s the biggest thing on the figure?”

“Her head.”

“Shouldn’t it be her breasts or hips, the typical symbols for female fertility?”

She shrugged.

“Her head resembles the round moon, another representation of fertility, but I’d prefer to think her big brain is the focus.”

“And this interests you?” Doubt and confusion tinted her question.

“It does, very much.”

“But many of them look silly.” She held up a male figure with a long penis pointing vertically down.

“Exactly the same as real humans,” I said with a straight face. I held up another fertility doll with a large, round bottom and pointed at my own hips. “See? Even in something fairly abstract, we can find ourselves.”

She giggled. “Are your students very interested in your classes?”

“I think most take it to look at naked bodies. A few are serious about studying art, but not many.”

“Most people do not realize the importance of museums.” She gestured around our cramped workspace, lit from older lamps and a single dusty window high in the wall. “The same as the castles, they’re important for our history.”

“Even if no one visits them?”

“Yes. We know they exist and the objects exist. That’s enough to remind us of our history. We don’t need to live in the past to remember.”

EMMANUELA’S WORDS ECHOED through my mind while I walked down the road to Kai’s hotel. He’d returned earlier in the afternoon and invited me for drinks.

I sat in the shade by the pool, sipping an icy cold orange Fanta with real ice cubes. Entitlement had its perks. A warm hand lifted my hair from my neck and lips brushed the exposed skin. I jumped even though I’d know his touch anywhere.

“Did you think your waiter was acting fresh?” His voice sounded light, jovial.

“The waiter smells of musk and peanut butter.” I leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he moved to kiss my lips instead. A week apart had only deepened my hunger for him. Apparently, the same was true for him.

Kai glanced around the patio. “Should I order a drink?”

“Unless you want to skip the drink and go directly upstairs?”

The words had barely left my lips when he tossed too many
cedis
on the table and grabbed my hand, lifting me out of my chair.

Alone in the elevator, he pressed against me, kissing me breathless. His spicy scent invaded my senses. When I reached for him through his pants, he arched his erection into my hand.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I whispered into his neck, nuzzling the curve where it became his shoulder, the place where his pheromones were strongest. “You were wrong, you know.”

He buried his nose in my hair. “About what this time?”

“About absence.”

Leaning away, he stared down into in my eyes. “It took only a week?”

“A week was enough.”

Once in his room, I knelt at his feet, tugging at his belt and unzipping his fly. I hungered for the feel of him, the taste of him on my tongue. He stroked my hair and tucked a strand behind my ear. Lust and passion reflected back at me. I pushed his boxers down over his hips, exposing all of him.

Kneeling allowed my hands to be free to roam and explore his skin. One hand snaked around to squeeze his ass. He moaned and tightened his muscles. My other hand encased his cock at the base, stroking in rhythm with my mouth. I explored him with a single, slick finger, finding the hidden place to drive him wild. Instantly, his fingers tightened in my hair, making me hum at discovering another way I could excite him.

It didn’t take much before he warned me, “I’m close.”

Heady with the power of pleasuring him, I continued, rather than pulling away, until he stilled and exploded down my throat.

His shuddering breath and unsteadiness on his feet made me smile.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.

“I have secrets of my own.” I stood and headed to the bathroom to clean up. I didn’t mention Quinn told me about prostates years ago during one of his “how to please a man” speeches over cocktails—emphasis on cock.

He kicked off his pants and boxers, then trailed behind me wearing only his shirt, which he unbuttoned along the way.

“What kind of secrets?” he asked, starting the shower while I washed my hands.

I smirked. “Girl secrets.”

“I’ve told you mine.” He pretended to pout while his hands reached for the zipper on my dress.

“And I’ve shown you mine. Or one of them.”

After removing my dress, he slapped my ass. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Have sex with me in the shower?”

“I meant in general.”

I laughed and stepped into his oversized shower, away from his swatting palm.

“I have ways of making you share.” He towered over me, trapping me against the cool tiles.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” I kissed him, knowing soon it would be my turn to reveal my skeletons.

KAI MOVED OUT of his hotel into a rented house shortly after our return. Located inside a gated community, the nondescript house could have existed in Florida, or any other suburban sprawl with a warm climate. Houses of variations on a theme lined a newly paved street, alternating between one and two stories, each with a gated, short driveway and yard. By standards at home, some of the homes even qualified as McMansions. TNG owned the house and provided it for employees during their tenure in Ghana. It would be home for Kai for the next two months.

I kept my room at Ama’s in name only, slowly filling a drawer or two in the bedroom at Kai’s and keeping a second set of bathroom supplies under the sink. However, my need for alone time hadn’t disappeared. When Kai traveled to Volta or other areas of Ghana, I slept in my little room and had dinner at Ama’s.

Everything fell into a happy routine.

Until Kai took me to visit the Ga coffin makers in Teshie.

A stranger date never happened.

Unless a dating site for single morticians existed. Even then, would they bring a date to the office, so to speak?

I balked when he told me his plans.

“This is the worst idea for a date. Ever.”

“Is it a date?” He grinned at me from behind the wheel of his Rover.

“You asked me to join you, it’s a date.”

“Excellent point.” After parking on the shoulder, he pointed at a row of carnival animals and decorations lined up along the railing of a second story veranda. Past the cheetah, monkey, elephant, and lion, I spotted a shoe.

Shoe?

Carnival shoe?

“Is that a shoe?”

“Yes, it’s a shoe.”

“Wait! Are those the coffins?”

He grinned. “They are indeed. Come on.”

I scrambled out of the car and followed him up the steep wooden steps to the veranda. At the top, rows of fantastical sculptures, I mean coffins, filled the open space. Airplanes, Star beer bottles, peppers, and even a cell phone—each colorful creation designed to hold a body.

“What the actual hell?”

“Not hell, heaven,
Mah mee
,” a young man said from his chair in the corner. “These are the best coffins for the best kind of people.”

He reminded me of my friend Abraham Lincoln. I blushed, embarrassed he’d heard me.

Kai greeted him with an expert handshake, snap and all. “My friend has never seen these types of coffins,” he explained.

Our young guide, Kojo, described how the Ga tribe used these fantasy coffins to represent an aspect of a person’s life, believing they helped transport the spirit to the afterlife.

“If you had to choose one coffin, which would you pick?” Kai asked.