THIRTEEN

January 20

In the evening, Gordon stopped by for a drink with Casper “Cas” Guttenberg, his oldest and best friend from college. They sat and drank wine in Cas’s luxurious apartment at The Wharf with his old dog dozing at his feet. Cas, who had been a chain-smoker as long as Gordon could remember, was small, frail, and brittle, like a parched twig. His name befitted his completely white hair and ghostly pale skin. He and Gordon were close in age, but Cas was the older—and in Gordon’s respectful opinion, the wiser—of the two. For decades up until retirement, he had been an investigative reporter of note for the Washington Observer. Now he did episodic freelance work for them at his leisure. Crippling arthritis of the hands made typing near impossible, so Cas used a voice recognition system to write his articles. Gordon would never forget that he owed a great deal of his success in DC to Cas’s support and guidance.

The two men talked politics—both having the inside track of the Washington game—and then family. Gordon admired his friend for his breadth of knowledge, but the awkward truth that no one said out loud was that Casper hadn’t produced a captivating newspaper piece—paper or online—in more than a year. Gordon, wanting to help his friend in some way without appearing patronizing, was always on the lookout for some unique story that could potentially rocket Cas to prominence again, but beyond the usual insanity of politics inside the Beltway, there seemed to be nothing extraordinary. Gordon had the feeling that Casper, too, was waiting for something special to come along—but what, though?

“How are those fingers holding up these days?” Gordon asked.

Casper shrugged. “Winter nights are the worst. I hate going anywhere in the evenings.”

Gordon nodded in sympathy. “I hear ya.”

“And you?” Cas asked. “Hey, how was the event at the Ghana Embassy yesterday?”

“Very nice,” Gordon said. “Met a wonderful Ghanaian lady there.”

“Is that right,” Cas said, eyes dancing a bit. “Name?”

“Josephine. She’s in DC for a few more days. Married to the inspector general of police in Ghana.”

“So,” Cas said, “romance in the air?”

“Did I mention she was married?” Gordon said dryly.

“What’s your point?”

Gordon laughed.

“You going to see her before she leaves?” Cas asked.

“Thinking ‘bout it. I guess I’d like to. Maybe take her to dinner or something. No sex or anything like that.”

Cas seemed amused. “Hey, I’m not the damn Pope. No moral judgments here.”

Gordon chuckled and took a healthy sip of wine. “But speaking of marriage,” he went on, “I wanted to share something with you—see what you think. I’ve been chatting online with a woman who really intrigues me.”

“Do tell.”

“She’s Ghanaian, actually.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “Two Ghanaian women in a row. You’re on a roll, pal.”

“Yeah, whatever. Her name is Helena—she lives in Ghana, not in the States. Back in November, just before Thanksgiving, she came to the Widows & Widowers Facebook page and requested to friend me, as they say. She lost her husband four years ago.”

“Oh. What’s she like?”

“Well, gorgeous, to start. She’s forty-nine, although her voice sounds younger on the phone. She manages a restaurant in Accra.”

Cas nodded. “You must enjoy talking to her. Your face lit up just now.”

Gordon smiled. “I do, I really do. But she’s been struck by misfortune. About three weeks ago, her sister Stella was in a car crash with one fatality. Stella was in the ICU for ten days and then went to a step-down unit.”

“So, she survived,” Casper said. “Thank God for that. More wine?”

“Just a little.”

Cas poured him some. “What’s the health care like over there?”

“It’s good if you can afford a private hospital.”

“Helena have money?”

“Not that kind. I’ve had to help her out.”

“Well, that’s good of you. What has it run you so far?”

“Going on three thousand dollars, but I’ll need to send some more. It’s not just the ICU costs, Helena has to buy a lot of the medicines in town and take them to the hospital herself. That includes IV meds.”

“Really?” Casper said, rubbing his chin. “Imagine our having to do that in the States. Literally go shopping on behalf of the hospital and your loved one.”

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence between them. “What’s bugging you about the whole thing?” Cas asked. “I’m reading something in your demeanor.”

“I don’t know,” Gordon said, blowing air through his cheeks. “I’ve been feeling like I should go to Ghana. To support Helena, and also because it will make things financially much easier if I take some dollars and open a bank account there that we can draw from as needed.”

“Well, why not?” Cas said with enthusiasm. “I think that would be admirable of you—to render that kind of support to someone in need.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely! Why do you seem so surprised?”

“Not surprised as such. More like happy you feel that way.”

“Look, you’ve been to Ghana before. You’re no stranger, and who knows?” Cas grinned. “You might get lucky again and marry another Ghanaian woman.”

Gordon laughed, but the idea stirred him. Cas’s support felt good, and Gordon was closer to making up his mind to make the trip to Ghana. The prospect of meeting Helena in person was heady.

Cas got up and put his winter coat on. “Where you going?” Gordon asked.

“Balcony,” Cas said. “Gotta have a smoke.”