“As well as can be expected,” she said, more happily. “He talks somewhat now. For years, he could not.”

“That must have been a joyful achievement for him,” Gordon said, pausing from eating.

Josephine looked at him with appreciation. “You’re the first person who has ever said that—as if you know him. Because it was joyful. He had a big, big smile. Most people just say, ‘oh, great,’ or something inane like that.”

Gordon nodded. “That’s people for you.” He was feeling drawn to her like a powerful magnetic force. “I would love to meet Kwame.”

“Really?” Josephine said. “You would like each other. James doesn’t ever talk about him.”

“Oh,” Gordon said.

She nodded. “Yes. Once Kwame was out of his sight in England, he never wanted to see him again.”

“I’m sorry,” Gordon said. “That must be hard on you.”

“James is a good man,” Josephine said, “but I find his feelings about Kwame hurtful.”

“Yes,” Gordon said.

“It may be why I’m dedicated to supporting institutions in Ghana that cater to the mentally and physically disabled,” she said. “I’m a patron of a center for autistic children in Accra. I helped the owner set it up about four years ago. One of the reasons I’ve been here in DC is to lobby for funding.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “Can I help out?”

“I would love that,” she said with fervor. “Whatever is in your heart, Gordon. Any donation is welcome. I’ll text you the information on the center.”

“Please do. I’d love to participate.”

“Thank you.”

They both wanted to move on to more lighthearted conversation, and they did. Gordon regaled her with tales of his exploits and adventures with Regina when he was a young, carefree fool in Ghana. Josephine laughed long and hard all the way through the lemon chiffon dessert, which Gordon had not made. He offered Josephine more wine, but she had had enough.

Against his repeated objections, she insisted on clearing the table, loading the dishwasher, and generally cleaning up while he made coffee. “It’s the least I could do,” she said. By now she had kicked off her heels and was padding around in her stockinged feet.

He put a record—soft jazz—on a very expensive turntable.

“My goodness,” Josephine said, staring at it. “A long time since I’ve seen one of those.”

“I’m a die-hard vinyl lover,” Gordon told her. “Old-fashioned and proud of it.”

They sat together on the sofa, talking and sipping coffee.

“Thank you for coming,” he said to her, taking her hand. “You’ve made me very happy.”

“It’s been wonderful,” she said.

They kissed for a while. When he stood up with his hand outstretched, she took it and followed him to the bedroom. The jazz played as they undressed.

“Condom?” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good boy,” she said, and they both giggled.

They caressed each other, and she was impressed by his size.

“Not bad for a white boy?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

He used his lips and tongue to pleasure her and she gasped and said she had never had that done before. He was happy to believe it, even if it wasn’t true.