They turned the corner to reveal Rossio Square with its waving white and black stonework and towering statue, where café patrons pressed beyond the awnings into the luxurious spring sunshine. Empty cups sat before them, cigarettes were pinched between fingers, and meals lay on plates in various states of consumption.
“There is fish, meat, something called alheira, which is pork-free sausage stuffed with poultry and potatoes and breadcrumbs.” Ava looked to Sarah, who watched the world around her as if she were fearful it would disappear the moment she allowed herself to believe it was real.
“Do you have a preference?” Ava asked.
Noah looked about with bright, eager eyes. “Frites,” he piped up.
Sarah gave a distracted nod as she anxiously scanned her surroundings. “I… I would like a cup of coffee. Real coffee.” Her worried gaze found Ava’s. “If it is truly safe.”
Doubtless this was the first time she had been out of hiding in years. Ava tried to put herself in the other woman’s position, to imagine the vulnerability of being in the open after having spent so long remaining sequestered, away from prying eyes and well-trained ears.
“It is,” Ava answered earnestly.
Sarah’s shoulders only slightly relaxed.
“Nicolas has an excellent array of anything you could ever want,” James offered and led the way to the popular café with his gallant limp.
He and Alfie secured a square table for the five of them. It was crowded, but no one complained. A waiter came out for their orders. When it was Sarah’s turn, she simply stared at the list of food.
“If you like fish, it is very good here,” Ava suggested.
Sarah lifted her stunned gaze and nodded.
Noah didn’t have any hesitation with what he wanted, he kicked his legs against the chair, his pants slightly too short. “Frites, s’il vous pla?t.”
Ava made a note to find some well-fitting clothes for him.
His eyes, hazel and long lashed like his mother’s, lit with delight.
Ava glanced at James discreetly, studying him in the sunlight for any bruises or cuts. There were none. Only several days’ growth of a dark beard and that limp whose origin story she had yet to hear. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what had happened, what had held them up for over a month. But the tight, weary expression on James’s and Sarah’s faces had Ava holding back.
Whatever it was could be discussed later when she and James had a chance to speak privately.
The waiter came out with cups of bica and a bowl of sugar. Sarah stared at the glistening white grains as if they were made of gold. James spilled sugar into his coffee, and she followed his lead, adding only a fraction of his heaping spoonful. After a slow, careful stir, she brought the cup to her lips, breathed in the strong coffee in a long, slow inhale, then took a sip.
Her eyes closed in pleasure, and she held the coffee in her mouth for a second before finally swallowing. When she opened her eyes once more, they were clouded with tears.
Never in all of Ava’s life had she enjoyed anything as much as Sarah had in savoring that cup of coffee.
Sarah caught Ava watching and color flushed in her cheeks. “Forgive me,” Sarah said. “It has been years since I have had real coffee.”
Ava shook her head, embarrassed to have interrupted the other woman’s simple pleasure. “Please don’t apologize. I want you to enjoy everything.”
The waiter came then, the length of his arms stacked with plates full of food. Within the span of a minute, the bounty covered the small square table and filled the air with the scents of roasted meat, yeasty, fresh baked bread, salty fries and the rich, briny smokiness of grilled sardines.
Sarah gazed over it all, then lowered her head, covered her eyes with her hands and silently wept.