“What about your job? And the house?”
“Spent the last two days squaring things away. The minute you walked out the door, I knew what I had to do. The network let me out of my contract, and they’re looking for possible jobs for me in Africa. If nothing pans out, I’ll write freelance. And between Jack’s contacts and Miranda’s, the house will get finished as planned.” He stroked her cheek. “You were right. I have lived my dreams. It’s your turn. And since I don’t want to spend another minute away from you, that means right here, right now, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”
She kissed his cheek and snuggled close. “We’re both right where we’re supposed to be.”
He hugged her tight and murmured, “Damn right.”
Epilogue
One year later
The Ethiopian taxi bumped along the rutted packed-dirt road in Gondar’s city center.
Little more than a tin can, the vehicle was as small as an American Smart car, but not made nearly as well. With no doors—and no seat belts, for that matter—the air whipped through the taxi, blowing Emma’s hair into her face. She took a deep breath of the fresh fall air. The weather here could not be beat—usually in the seventies, with a crystal blue sky.
Over the last year, Emma had become comfortable with things she’d never expected she would, like the freedom of owning nothing but what she carried in her suitcase, working in non-sterile conditions, trusting her well-being to a twenty-something kamikaze taxi driver, or falling in love with a culture and a people so opposite her own.
The team had only been in Somalia two weeks before unrest broke out. They’d pulled up stakes and moved on to Ethiopia, which had become a country and a
people she loved.
As they approached a busy intersection, Emma leaned into Dylan, gripped the edge of her seat with one hand and Dylan’s thigh with the other. Dylan tightened his arm around her shoulders, bracing her with his body.
The driver hammered his fist against the horn while swinging around a small herd of cows and swerving to avoid a larger herd of goats, all while a dozen other vehicles were doing the same. Emma thought of the streets as an obstacle course, where all the obstacles were alive. At least, until they weren’t. The injury and death rate due to vehicle accidents here was only slightly lower than Somalia, which wasn’t saying much when the majority of Africa populated the top forty-three spots on that mortality list.
She was surprised to discover that this type of driving didn’t bother Dylan in the least. She wouldn’t have expected that from a man whose life was forever altered because of one accident. But she’d learned a lot about Dylan over the last year. She’d discovered he could get by in a dozen languages and he picked up new dialects within a day of moving locations. He carried himself with quiet confidence that put people at ease, and he could get anyone—absolutely anyone—to tell him their life story. His writing was focused and deep, drawing emotion from the reader. And he handled emergency situations with as much ease and calm as Emma.
But the most exciting thing in their near future was returning home to partner with other nonprofit humanitarian organizations to form more civilian rescue forces like the White Helmets in Syria.
Out of all the moving things she’d witnessed over the last year, and there had been more than she could count, the one that left the biggest impact had been the transformation of the human spirit and the cohesiveness of a people when someone rendered aid or rescued one of their own.
She and Dylan had embraced the idea of the British author who’d coined the phrase “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” They wanted to teach people how to take care of each other when emergency aid was out of reach.
When the taxi left the city center and started down a straight road, she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Survived another day.”
He chuckled. “Don’t count your chickens. We still have to get back to the hotel.”
“True.”
Their taxi driver and guide for this last excursion, Abebe, slowed and veered off the road, parking near a small village. On the right side of the road, three rectangular adobe buildings made a U around a central courtyard. On the left side of the road, a more traditional village dotted the land.
“This is Wolleka,” Abebe said, standing from the taxi. He gestured toward the compound. “This is a crafts school where widows learn skills they can use to support their families, like pottery, woven cloth and baskets, and blacksmithing.”
“That’s amazing.” Dylan grinned at Emma, and she knew he was thinking of how they would do something similar with their planned project.
He and Emma climbed from the vehicle and looked around. They were the only visitors to this village at the moment, listed as one of the top ten things to see in Gondar, and the last stop for Emma and Dylan before they headed back to the United States tomorrow.
By the time they’d all met at the front of the taxi, children from the village on the other side of the road had gathered and now called to them. The road was lined with huts displaying handmade goods—cloth, baskets, trinkets. Emma smiled at their enthusiasm.
“That,” Abebe gestured toward the children, “is the Falasha village.”
One little girl drew her attention, the most petite child of the group, where the children appeared to range in age from about six to fourteen. While she was the smallest, she wasn’t the youngest. She was the quiet, stoic one in a group hocking their art.
Emma had met and treated hundreds of children over the last year. Children living in horrible conditions, fighting fear every day. The majority of Ethiopia’s people lived in handmade huts of mud and sticks in the countryside with dirt floors. But whether their homes were in the country or the city, few had electricity. Even fewer had running water, often trekking miles every day to collect water for drinking, cleaning and bathing. But no matter how harsh their circumstances, the Ethiopian people were warm and welcoming, and the children adapted, finding joy in their lives despite the challenges.
“Looks like you want to start on that side of the road.” Dylan’s comment drew her attention, and she found him watching the children with a soft smile.
She took his hand. “I do.”