The door to the room cracked open and Gena expected the worse. Instead, she was greeted by a plump and friendly housekeeper.

“Oh, my God! Señorita, you’re awake!” the housekeeper said. “Oh, they will be so pleased! Mr. Smith is about to have breakfast on the lanai. I can bring your breakfast out there so that you can eat with him. He will be so pleased, señorita! It is so good to see that you are awake now!”

“Who are you? And who is Mr. Smith?” Gena asked.

“My name is Consuela, and Mr. Smith is Señorita Hopkins’s boyfriend,” the housekeeper explained. “Señor Smith is the one who rescued you and brought you here.”

“Rescued me?” Gena was confused. She shook her head to rid herself of the cobwebs inside. Who is Mr. Smith? Gena needed to see this Mr. Smith. She needed to talk to him and she needed him to fill in all the blanks from that night. What had happened? Where was Jerrell? Why did Mr. Smith bring her here? She had a million and one questions that needed answering.

Gena began to rise. Consuela rushed to her and helped her stand.

“No, wait here,” Consuela told her. “Señorita Hopkins brought something for you, just for when this day would come.”

Consuela rushed out of the room and returned seconds later with a metal walker. She placed the walker in front of Gena and then clasped her arm.

“I’ll help you to the elevator and then to the porch. I’ll bring your breakfast out to the garden.”

“Thank you so much. But I can walk,” Gena told her.

“Are you sure?” said Consuela as if it were a miracle.

“Yes, yes, of course. You are very kind, though. Thank you, but I’m fine, I can walk.”

“Ven, I will help you.”

Consuela helped Gena to the elevator, and they rode it to the first floor. The doors to the elevator opened, revealing a massive two-story family room. The dimensions made Gena gasp.

The room was forty by sixty, with a ten-foot-diameter wrought-iron chandelier. Antique furnishings and expensive décor filled the room. The art and tapestries that hung on the wall were all original, while the tables all looked to be hand carved with great care and detail.

“Who lives here?” Gena asked.

“Señorita Hopkins,” Consuela told her. “She is at work right now. Señor Smith is out on the lanai.”

Gena followed as Consuela led her across the living room, out of the large double patio doors, and onto the lanai. A gentleman was seated across the lanai, facing away from them, looking over the swimming pool. She could see that he was dressed all in white and reading a newspaper. A table with a pitcher of orange juice was next to him, and she could see that he had already poured a glass.

“Señor Smith,” Consuela called out to him. “Look who has awakened.”

Gena watched as the stranger rose from the chair and turned to her. Consuela had to catch her.

“Señorita, are you all right?” Consuela asked.

It can’t be. It can’t be. Gena shook her head.

“I’ll take it from here,” he told Consuela.

“No. No. It’s not possible. I don’t understand. You’re dead!” Gena said, staring at a ghost.

He guided her to a nearby table and poured her a glass of water.

“You’re alive,” Gena said softly. She gently caressed his face, reassuring herself that she was not dreaming. “You’re alive!” Tears streamed from her eyes as she covered her face. Quadir sat next to her and gently placed his arm around her.

“Gena, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

He kissed her face and took her hand in his, and rubbed it gently against his face. He was alive. Her Qua was here with her, and he was alive! But how? was the only thing she could think. She looked over at him; sure as day he was there. How could this miracle be possible? I saw him dead at the hospital. I was at his funeral. Gena sat still in silence. Neither of the two said a word. Quadir didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, and he knew his presence was just as heavy as his death. He had done what he had to do and what was best for him at that time, but he had never meant to hurt her. Confused, Gena didn’t know what to say next.

“I don’t understand.”

She looked him in the eyes for a split second and wondered if he had any idea what he had put her through. Out of nowhere, she slapped his face once and watched his blank expression. She started to slap him again, but he caught her hand and held it in his.

“Why you beatin’ on me?” he asked with a smile.

“Why are you alive? You’re supposed to be dead.”

She shoved him away, and a frown shot across her face. “Where have you been? How could you do that to me? How could you be alive? I don’t understand. I saw you; you were dead.”

Quadir nodded. “I know, Gena, I know. I have a lot of explaining to do.”

“You’re goddamned right you do! How could you let me think that you were dead? How could you just up and leave me like that, without telling me anything? Do you know the hell that I’ve been through since you died? Do you?”

Gena tried to slap him again, and again he caught her wrist and prevented her from hitting him.

“You bastard! You’re an asshole! You sorry, inconsiderate son of a bitch!”

“Gena, wait!” Quadir held her down. “Calm down! You’re going to bust your stitches. You have to take it easy until you have fully recovered. I’ll explain everything. I promise. Just give me a chance.”

“What possible explanation could you have for what you have done to me? To us? Why would you put me through all of that?”

“I had to. I had no choice. I had people trying to kill me and the police about to indict me. I just needed to start over. And I needed for it to look real.”

“So you had someone kill you? I was there that night. I saw you die.”

“No, that part was real,” Quadir explained. “I had nothing to do with them sorry-ass Junior Mafia motherfuckers shooting at us. Are you crazy? They really tried to kill me. In fact, they did. All of that was real, baby. But, once I got to the hospital, I was resuscitated. I can’t explain it; I just wouldn’t let go. There was something inside of me like a light that refused to go out. That light was my love for you, Gena. My love for you wouldn’t let me die,” he said, hoping kind and submissive words would appeal to her ego.

“Nigga, is you crazy? You was dead. I seen you; you was dead.” Gena recrossed her arms and lifted a questioning eyebrow. “If you weren’t dead, why didn’t you call me, Quadir? Why didn’t anyone call me and let me know that you were alive? Do you know how crazy you sound right now?”

“Because, baby, everyone thought that I was dead. That was the only way my plan would work. It was my only chance to get away from the police and from the Junior Mafia. I was going to go down South, Gena. I was going to get everything set up, and then I was going to come for you.”

“And why couldn’t I be a part of the plan? Why couldn’t you have let me know what was going on?”

“Because I needed my death to be real and I knew you were the biggest key to everyone believing I was gone. I needed to let everything die down first, and I needed you to convince everyone that I was dead and buried.”

“Who did I bury?”

Quadir exhaled. He released Gena, took a seat on the wicker sofa across from hers, and settled in for the long story that he was about to tell her. “You may want to eat a little something before I get started.”

“Quadir, I will die of starvation before I let either of us leave this lanai and I still be in the dark,” Gena told him. “I hope that this little explanation of yours is a good one. If it’s not, I’m going to kill you myself. And this time, there won’t be no coming back.”

Quadir smiled and leaned back on the sofa. “It’s like this…”