Six

There are no happy endings in Africa. There are no happy endings in Africa? Archer was a cynic the day he met her and a cynic the day he walked out on her, yet Maddy feels surprisingly hollow without him chain smoking and cursing around her. She doesn't know why she feels this way, but the fact that she'll never see Archer again makes her more sad than she can accept.

She keeps telling herself that he's just gone out for a cigarette or for a walk and that he'll walk in flaunting his big pink diamond like the smug pusher he is. Every nurse or doctor that walks in is Archer until she sees otherwise. Archer never walks back in, he has left for good.

A part of Maddy nags in her mind telling her that she let Archer down by letting him slip away so easily. She wasn't aggressive enough in persuading him to stick around, or maybe she was too aggressive and that pushed him away. She wracks her brain trying to figure out what she did to send him away and it exhausts her into a sleep that lasts almost 24 full hours.

The days pass by in a fog that clears only when she has to eat and drink at the aid of a nurse. She sits quietly in her bed listening to her doctors and caretakers and offers little in terms of conversation. She feels as though she is mourning, but for what, she doesn't know.

Archer never thought of Maddy as anything more than a means to an end. Maybe he had already washed his hands of her when he told her to get on the plane and Maddy chasing after him was her grabbing at straws. Perhaps Maddy should have gotten on that plane, perhaps Archer should have joined her.

"I have some excellent news, Miss Bowen," her doctor enters the tent cheerfully. Maddy looks up at him. "How are you feeling today?"

"All right," she answers. "Three days of rest and constant care have done well for me, thank you."

"I am pleased to hear," he nods to her. "You are well enough to leave, Miss Bowen. Your vitals are back to where they should be, all your levels are looking great and your stitches are healing wonderfully. When I changed your wound's dressing, there was hardly any infection or bleeding."

"That is good news." She smiles, but only for a moment. She hasn't smiled in days and the sentiment seems forced and insincere.

"I have the forms ready for your discharge," he starts as he hands a few sheets of paper to Maddy. "You just have to sign and then you are a free woman."

"Do you have a telephone I could use?" She asks. She picks her pen off the table near her cot and signs the papers as her eyes flick over them.

"Oh yes, of course," he answers. "We have a communication tent on the other side of the camp, you are free to use the resources there to contact whomever you may need to contact."

"Perfect, thank you," she smiles.

"A nurse will be here to bring you new clothes and a new bag for your belongings so you can get on your way."

Maddy turns her head to look at her shoulder bag. The thick canvas is stained with dirt and blood and, though that bag as served her well, she feels that a new one would be in her best interest. She looks back at the doctor and expresses her sincerest gratitude for their care. The doctor is more than modest — he tells her how eager he is for her to spread awareness about the happenings in Sierra Leone so that the war may finally end.

As he leaves, a nurse enters with a UNICEF shoulder bag and a t-shirt and jeans with her forms, which she signs right away. She sets the clothes down on a chair at the foot of her cot and apologizes if they fit too loosely.

"They are for men," she says. "There were no more clothes for adult women. Maybe they are too big, I tried to get the smallest male size for you."

"Oh, they're fine," Maddy replies. "They're just clothes, they'll do, thank you."

The nurse bows her head and leaves Maddy alone in the tent. She gets out of bed slowly, wary of her injury, and walks around a bit to stretch her limbs out. Being up and about on her own two feet feels good again. She grabs the clean clothes she was brought and changes into them immediately. They smell starchy and fresh and they feel like relief on her skin. The pants are indeed too lose for Maddy and they don't stay up on her hips, but after emptying the contents of her old bag to put into her new bag, she tears the strap off it and fashions herself a belt. She's pleased with her craftiness as she tosses the old bag aside.

Maddy begins putting her things into her new bag. Her moleskine notebooks, her pens and pencils, her passports and media credentials, her dozen rolls of film, and her camera gear. Everything fits just right. She draws in a deep breath as she stands up straight with her bag hanging off her shoulder. She feels as though she has shed her old skin, the skin Archer has touched.

The spot on her forehead he brushed with his fingers after the car accident. Her cheek where she guided his hand. Her wrist where he held when he told her to get on the plane. Her hands where he helped her drink water. She can still feel him and she doesn't want to. She shakes his face from her thoughts and leaves the tent.

She holds her hands over to eyes to let herself adjust to being in the bright sunlight again. It feels hot and dry out here and Maddy almost wants to retreat back into the shade of her tent until sundown when the air because cooler and more comfortable. But she wills herself onward — she has people to call and things to arrange.

Maddy turns the corner around the tent and starts when her face is met with someone's chest. She gasps in surprise and steps back, her eyes darting downward in a mixture of embarrassment and apology. By the boots she sees inches away from her own feet, the person she just bumped into is a man, and one that is no stranger to the area.

"I am so, so sorry," she says apologetically.

The man kisses his teeth with a wry scoff.

Maddy recognizes the sound and she looks up.

"You're clumsy for a photographer, Miss Bowen."

"I'm a journalist."

"Ja, ja, journalist."

Maddy doesn't waste another moment. She lifts herself on her toes and throws her arms around Archer's neck and presses her forehead into his shoulder. He smells like cigarettes and sweat and the smell sets her senses on fire. She's never hugged anyone this urgently before and her stomach feels knotted in her throat. It only takes a few seconds for Maddy to register the obscenity of the hug, but when she goes to break it, she feels the resistance from Archer's arms fully around her torso. He has encircled her completely. Maddy looks at the side of his neck and she can see that his heart is racing through the pulse just under his jawline.

Archer closes his eyes and allows himself the luxury of vulnerability as he draws in a deep inhale of Maddy. She smells like soap. She smells clean. Archer opens his eyes again and lets go of her. He puts his hands on her shoulders and holds her at arm's length.

"I thought you left."

"Ja, ja, I did leave," he answers. He drops his arms by his sides as he chews on the corner of his lip. He flicks his hand near his head. "I went around."

"I thought you left for good."

"Do you take me for a monster, Miss Bowen?"

Maddy blinks at him.

He cracks a small, knowing smile. "Don't answer that."

"Why'd you come back?"

"I gave America a bit more thought, you know, some careful consideration," he says sarcastically.

The two begin walking side by side.

"And?"

"I think I'll go."

"With me, to New York?"

"What do you mean, 'with me'?" He asks. He smiles again, he almost laughs. "Are you going to shove me into a crate and ship me over like stolen cargo, Miss Bowen?"

"No, I just," Maddy shakes her head with a soft chuckle. "You're willing to come to New York with me?"

"That is America, isn't it?" He asks.

Maddy laughs again and nods. "That's America, yes."

"Good."

"Do you know where Solomon is?"

"He's waiting on the other side of the camp."

"You went with him?"

"Ja, he helped me tie up some loose ends," Archer answers vaguely.

"Does he want to come too?"

"Solomon is the one that convinced me to listen to you and go," he looks down at her for a moment, but her eyes are straight forward, "He told me that you were a good person, that I should accept the goodness you have to offer."

"Solomon is a smart man," Maddy says.

"For a fisherman."

"He's a smart man."

Archer nods.

"Is he waiting at the communication center?"

"Ja, ja," Archer answers.

"Do you still have your stone?"

"What do you think, Miss Bowen?"

She nods.

"I've got that big pink and plenty more, now."

"Is that what you left for, to get more diamonds?"

"I told you, I went to tie up loose ends," he taps the palm of his hand mockingly. "Where's your little journalist book, huh, you should be writing things down if you can't remember them!"

"I remember things fine, Archer."

"I collected what was mine," his tone changes and he speaks from a much more aggressive cadence. "I wasn't about to leave with unfinished business."

Maddy nods understandingly. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it with a match and Maddy takes that as a cue that their conversation is over. They continue walking in silence, side by side, until they arrive at the next camp. Archer walks ahead and leads Maddy to Solomon, who is pleased to see her again. Maddy is equally content. They exchange niceties briefly and then Maddy goes to call to arrange for a chopper and three seats on a flight to New York from Freetown. She is informed that there are no commercial flights leaving Freetown because of the rebel threats, but after making a few more calls to her publisher in New York, a private flight is set up and everything is in line for them to leave.