Separated
"We should adopt the child now."
"We can't do that, Nike."
"But you promised... you accepted this baby."
"No, I never did. You thought l did. I didn't."
"Charles! Why are doing this to me...to us? Why are you lying," screamed Nike.
Her husband walks toward the table, snatches the key of the car. Then his phone rings. He ignores it. It rings and stops. He stares at her.
"l don't want another argument with you. Two are enough for the day."
Charles, you are not going anywhere. We should see to this matter. We should resolve it."
"Nothing to see, Nike! Nothing to resolve. Please don't bring in anybody's child here. I don't have plans yet for any."
Nike is distraught, prancing about like lioness that lost its cub, sobbing.
"But the Children Home has finished the papers and secured the child for us. They just need our confirmation."
"Please, don't involve me. I'm not going for it."
"What should I tell Cutie?"
"Nike, please leave me out of this. Whatever you discussed with her is your business. Leave me out of it."
His phone rings again. He brings it out of his pocket, looks at the screen and switches it off. In anger, he stamps out of the room. Within seconds, Nike hears his car moving out of their residence. She sits on a low chair, wipes her tears. And makes a phone call.
Charles was by the A-Z Shopping Mall when the phone rings the third time. He picks it up.
"Hello"
"Where are you?"
"On the way. Almost there."
"Okay," said the feminine voice.
The restaurant is floating like a ship on a stormy sea. Splatters of white and dark colours gives an impression of large shark hiding behind the towering whistling pine trees. Birds are busy twitting and building nests.
It is a beautiful strange scenery. Why did she invite me here? Why did she insist to hold our conversation in this place, he ponders.
He takes some flight stairs, passes the revolving doors. Then went down a long corridor. Pots of flowers stand on every door. The walls are sea green. And the ceiling, white. The last door has a sign 'restaurant' on it. He walks in. And stands, looking around.
It is a busy place, he thinks.
Covers are set in twos, threes and fours. Each with back leather chairs and glass tables. The windows are wide open, their peach drapes are drawn. Fresh air is surging in. Sunlight strikes on chrome things. With the chandeliers hanging on white ceilings, it spews lime and peach hues. Then he sees a hand waving at him from Cover Ten close to the east window.
Oh! There she is," he says, delightfully. Then doubles his steps to meet Winney.
Nike stops the taxi few blocks from Children Home. And walks the rest of the distance. Then she goes into a tall building with residential flats. An elevator takes her to the eight floor. She knocks at a door. It opens at once.
"I am sorry to be late."
"It is okay. Maureen is here," says Curie, pointing at a teenager on a couch, feeding a baby on her laps. She looks too young to be the mother of the baby, Nike thinks.
She walks to meet her.
"Maureen dear, how are you?"
I am fine, Ma."
" hope you slept well?"
"I did, Ma?"
Nike taps the little baby's cheeks. Then goes back to the dining table.
"She is doing well," she says to Curie.
"Yes she is. When are you picking him up?"
She looks around as if she is thinking of a date.
The clock on the wall strikes 2:30p.m. The baby is sleeping on his mother's arms. His mother's head bobbing seems to be sleeping too.
"I want her to wean him. Then I'll collect him."
"That may be difficult. If she bonds with him, we may be not retrieve him from her. You better collect him now. And avoid confrontations."
"But I paid a huge sum of money."
"That is for the baby, Madam. Not for the mother too. Do you want to buy the mother too?"
Nike looks at clock again. Phoney smile lightens her face.
"Curie, we shouldn't be arguing over this thing. I need more time."
"I can't buy anymore time for you, Madam. I don't want to run into trouble with the agency on child trafficking."
Nike bows her head. There is tense silence.
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