Page 8 of Afraid to Hope

She glanced at her watch again; fifteen more minutes had passed. Despite her nap and the early hour, Natasha longed to surrender to sleep, but she had one more thing she wanted to do before going to bed. She left the rooftop terrace and entered theriad,then exited the french doors of the kitchen and crossed the expansive garden to the smaller house on the home’s property.

“Natasha! Come in! Come in!” Clara bear-hugged Natasha after opening the door.

Natasha folded over the petite woman and returned her hug enthusiastically. Past Clara, she noted the center of the kitchen table was full of serving dishes and plates containing couscous, olives, a stew, and bread. Her stomach rumbled audibly.

“Is that who I think it is?” Oliver asked, raw-boned and towering over his wife. He gently pushed her aside to hug Natasha ardently, then pulled her deeper into their cozy home. “How we’ve missed you, young lady. We’re having a late dinner. Have you eaten?”

Natasha hugged Oliver just as tightly. Her words rushed out. “I’ve missed you so much too. No, I haven’t, but I don’t want to intrude. I wanted to pop in and let you know I’d arrived and then head to bed. I’m sorry it’s so late. I had a meeting and then I was going to come over, but I heard theadhan,and, well, I fell asleep on the terrace. I can come back tomorrow.”

“Nonsense. You will sleep better with a full belly.” Clara chuckled, guiding Natasha to the table and sitting after Natasha got situated on her pillow. “Sit. Oliver, get our girl a plate.”

Oliver sat and served Natasha a heaping plate of vegetable fish stew from the center of the table, then served Clara and himself. Each helped themselves to the bread and other food in the communal dishes.

“Oh my god! The stew smells heavenly.” Natasha scooped some of her stew onto her bread and took a large bite, holding it in her mouth and savoring the fish, chickpeas, and tomatoes cooked in warm spices. She talked with her mouth full, then swallowed, adding, “Delicious! It’s been ages since I had this.”

Natasha drank hot tea and continued to eat with gusto, answering questions between bites, observing how the couple looked—rested, healthy, and happy. Both of them retained their full heads of hair, now more salt than pepper. Their blue eyes twinkled with vitality and warmth.

“She looks wonderful,” Clara said to Oliver.

“She does, but tired,” Oliver observed, answering his wife.

Natasha found their habit of talking about her in the third person comforting. “It’s a long flight from Cape Town.”

Clara turned to Natasha. “Yes, but there’s something else.”

Natasha smiled at each of them. These two people she had known all her life, roughly the same age her parents would be if they were still living, were aging well. Clara was still beautiful and Oliver handsome. Hired by her grandparents when the property became too much for them to take care of, the couple oversaw the maintenance. Natasha loved them and considered Clara and Oliver her aunt and uncle. She spoke with both Clara and Oliver when her schedule permitted it, and on many occasions had joined them for a few days when they were on holiday, but not over the past year.

“I’m good,” she responded, fudging the truth. “My last job took a lot out of me, more than I expected. I was still adjusting to being back in Cape Town when I received this job, a hurry-up-and-get-here directive, which is why I gave you such short notice. Thank you again, by the way. I love the linens and pillows. And I love you.”

“We love you too, child. I told Oliver they looked like something you would enjoy.”

“I never thought a career in archaeology would keep a person so busy,” Oliver said.

“Neither did I, but I certainly love it.” Natasha put her fork down and grasped Clara’s hand, then reached for Oliver’s. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” Her eyes became watery. “Sorry for the emotion. I am tired,” she said wistfully.

“You’ve no need to apologize to us.” Oliver smiled at her, his eyes twinkling.

In a stronger voice, Natasha said, “After this job is over, I’m going to explore relocating to Casablanca. Most of my history is here. I have a home, friends, and”—she looked from Clara to Oliver, smiling—“family. I still have networks I can plug into.”

“That’s the best news!” Clara’s entire face lit up. “Our girl is coming home.”

Oliver covered Natasha’s hand with his and squeezed gently, swallowing convulsively and blinking furiously.

“Let’s finish up here and get you to bed,” Clara said.

Natasha started clearing the dishes. “Let me help.”

Clara held up her hand. “I’ll not hear of it. Oliver will help me clean up.”

They stood, and Oliver pulled Natasha into his arms for another heartfelt hug before planting himself at the sink. Clara led Natasha to the door and embraced her, and again Natasha was reminded of how much she had missed her home.

One hand does not clap.

Having finished their tea and small talk, Natasha and Director Cantrell sat in silence, waiting on Bane.

“Right. Well, let’s get started,” the director said, somewhat irritated at Bane’s tardiness. “Do you understand the scope of the assignment?”

“I do, sir, but I have—”

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