Page 167 of Rather: The Therapist

My head slammed against the headrest as his foot smashed the gas. The slightly cracked windows allowed the fresh, crisp night air in the car. It swept across my face, freeing me of my inhibitions. My heart galloped, pounding against my chest and letting me know I was alive.

“Whew,” I whispered, releasing my hold on the side of the seat and relaxing.

Kofi’s hand migrated to my side of the car. He intertwined our fingers and brought my left hand to his mouth as we got higher and higher in the hills of Mount Clarke. Nine minutes after we exited my driveway, we pulled into another.

After the car came to a complete stop, Kofi peered over in my direction. His baritone deepened and his vulnerability peaked. The man staring back at me felt unfamiliar. The life of the party had quickly become someone else. Something else.

“Welcome home, Rather.”

“Home?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he opened his door and exited the car. Within a few seconds, he was helping me out of the passenger seat. I took a step toward the front door and was immediately chastised.

“Nah. That’s not how they do in them chick flicks y’all be watching.”

He leaned down and scooped me right into his arms.

“Oh my God!” I blurted, finding comfort in his ability to make me laugh so easily. His charm was endearing.

Bridal-style, he carried me toward the door.

“I’m a mess right now, Rather, but I promised to clean up my act by the time we walked down that aisle. That’s what I’ve been doing. This home is just the beginning. I have so much in store for us. Like you said back at that coffee shop, this doesn’t have to be awful. It can be as beautiful as we make it.”

“And, I want it to be grand. I know where you come from. I know what you’re accustomed to. I know you’re not a stranger to love. Though that’s not where we are right now, someday we will have one of those stories we’re happy to tell the youngins who ask what’s the secret to a successful marriage and how we lasted so long. I’m with all of that. I want all of that.”

I was at a loss for words. What I was hearing from Kofi eighty-eight days later was what I’d wanted to hear from him on day two when he stumbled into Genre late with a hangover.

He pushed the door open and entered our new home. It wasn’t until we were over the threshold that he lowered me onto my feet. Nervously, he shoved his hands in both pockets.

“Can you see your future between these walls?”

Admittedly, I could. The warmth of the home won me over the second we stepped through the door.

“Yes.”

Visibly relieved, Kofi surrounded me, wrapping his arms around my body and spinning me around. When the room stopped and my feet hit the floor, again, his body was still pressed against me. His hands pinned my face between them. His breath tickled my skin.

“Me too.”

Kofi’s lips crashed into mine at once, rendering me breathless.

SIXTEEN

“Priest!” The concern etched in my mother’s voice was valid. “Where are you? Everyone is waiting.”

The wheels of my Rolls came to a complete stop. Absentmindedly, I’d traveled thirty-five minutes. I didn’t recall a single stop light, stop sign, pedestrian, crosswalk, or yield sign. Yet, I’d made it to my destination. Two hours late and without the same joy the people who’d arrived at the venue before me experienced.

Turmoil.

Darkness.

Dissatisfaction.

Hunger.

Desolation.

Fear.

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