I kissed him, long and hard, because I knew I’d never get a chance to do it again. Akin was a wonderful man, but I’m not looking for wonder. I’m looking for strength. There was no way I could show him what was in the envelope, because to raise a child in America is to be in battle every day. Akin wasn’t built for war; fortunately, I am . . .

I put down the letter; stunned. I guess Mom was finally ready to tell me . . .

“Young lady, did you find what you needed? We need to close up now,” the store owner says.

His voice pulls me out of my daze. “Huh? Oh yeah. I did. Thank you.”

Randa chimes in, “That’s the girl the sweatshirt was being held for. Her name is Ayomide.”

“I love that name. It is actually my great-aunt’s name. She was a very special soul,” the owner says.

“Thank you.”

“That’s such a lovely illustration,” he says, looking at my sweatshirt. “I recently worked on a carving of the very same image, using a wooden box.”

I take the box out of my backpack and show it to him. “Is this it?”

“Yes!” the owner says. “It was an online order. You must be involved in the organization that commissioned it. Are you happy with the results?”

I nod slowly as I study his face more closely.

“This is your first year in the market. Where was your shop before this?” I ask.

“All of my shops are in Africa. This is my first one in America. And to be honest, I’m not sure I will stay here. This country hasn’t changed,” the owner says sadly, then bids me good night. I put the box in my backpack, ready to head out and shake off what amounts to nothing more than a crazy vibe I feel.

The owner grabs the clipboard from the side of the cash register and makes his way to the back room, where he begins to hum a soulful tune. I smile to myself and head out the door. Randa comes to lock up behind me.

I hear her shout out to the owner, “That’s a nice song, boss. What’s it called?”

“ ‘A Song for You.’ ”

By Donny Hathaway . . .

Chapter Twenty

I Remember Now