Hidden Memories (4 page)

“Of course not. This isn’t about us. It’s the risk. With Edwin’s backing, my political career was practically guaranteed. Without him, the risk is much greater.”

“Politics is always a gamble, Ramion. It’s unpredictable,” Sage said, the enthusiasm of her tone reflecting her love of politics. “There are never guarantees. Not even Edwin’s backing could do that.”

“I know, Sage. I want to win on my own. But if Edwinna runs…”

“Do you think Edwinna is serious?” Sage asked, incredulity sounding in her voice. She knew that if Edwinna ran against Ramion, the stakes were much higher.

“Of course. She doesn’t care about winning. She just wants me to lose.”

“Is she that vindictive?”

“She’s used to getting what she wants,” Ramion said. “Edwin has always indulged her.”

“And she wants you. She doesn’t hide it.”

“That’s over, Sage. You know that.”

“But if you were with Edwinna, she wouldn’t be running against you.”

“I have no doubts about us. I know I did the right thing.” Ramion planted a soft kiss on Sage’s mouth.

Sage’s ringing cellular phone interrupted their kiss. She retrieved the phone from her purse. “This will be Cam or Marika. I’m going to take it in Tawny’s office.”

Ramion watched Sage walk away. She moved with the grace and elegance of a ballerina. He loved her more than he had ever imagined possible. So intelligent, so loving, so real. Those were the qualities he cherished in her.

Sage answered the phone as she rounded the corner to Tawny’s office, the last picture on the wall catching her eye. As her assistant, Marika, told her about a car dealer reneging on his promise to provide vans for the “Ride to the Polls” program, Sage studied the painting.

Ten minutes later, Sage’s gaze swept the gallery, searching for Ramion. She spotted him talking with mutual acquaintances. Starting in Ramion’s direction, Sage bumped into Tawny.

“Sorry I was lost in thought. I just had a phone call from Marika. One of the car dealers backed out of providing us with vans for tomorrow.”

“I saw that on the news,” Tawny said. “I was impressed that you were able to get car dealers to loan out their vans.”

“Yes, well, that wasn’t supposed to be made public,” Sage said. “I don’t know how the media found out about it. Sometimes I wonder if we don’t have a spy in the office or a bug in our phones. Anyway, that dealer was only supplying five vans. We’ve got at least thirty vans and more drivers than we need.”

“You’re working it, girl. I like the way you stay on top of things.”

“We’ve got to get going. Tomorrow is going to be crazy,” Sage said. “But I meant to tell you, I love your haircut. It’s very flattering.”

“I love to be flattered,” Tawny said in an exaggerated tone, batting her eyes for dramatic effect. She patted her high-fashion skullcap cut. “Very low maintenance. Just brush and go. You’d look good with your hair short.”

“That’s not my style,” Sage said. “By the way, you know that painting by your office?”

“The three women.”

“That’s the one. I like it.” Sage and Tawny walked over to the painting. “It’s a quirky blend of William Tolliver and Romare Bearden, with an impressionist flavor.”

“I knew you’d like that one,” Tawny said. “There were originally two of them. I only got one. When Connie’s gallery went out of business, I bought her inventory.”

“Who’s the artist?”

“I don’t know a lot about him. He’s from California, and he’s…”

“How much is it?”

“You thinking about buying it?”

“I might,” Sage said. “It kind of reminds me of my father’s work.”

“Oh, Sage, I’m sorry, it’s not for sale. Connie asked me to return it. It wasn’t supposed to be included with the inventory.”

“Now I really want it,” Sage teased.

“Want what?” Ramion asked when he joined them.

“That painting,” Sage said nodding her head at the painting.

“Very nice,” he said.

“I hope you don’t see anything radical or political going on,” Tawny laughed.

“Very funny,” Ramion said. He placed his arm around Sage’s waist and said, “Let’s go, baby.”

“Good night, Tawny,” Sage said.

Tawny gave Sage a hug. “I’ll see you at the victory party toasting the first black governor of Georgia.”

* * * * *

Sage and Ramion stepped outside the gallery onto the wraparound Victorian-styled porch. Sage buttoned her leather coat against the cool October air. Silently they stood side by side, neither wanting to leave with misunderstanding between them.

“Baby, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the job offer,” Ramion said.

Sage lifted her eyebrows expectantly, clearly expressing her need to hear more.

“And I should have told you that I resigned. I’m used to dealing with things on my own. I’m not very good at discussing my plans.” He put his arms around Sage’s shoulders and drew her close. “I’m going to have to work on it.”

Sage said softly, “Okay,” and rested her head against Ramion’s chest.

Ramion tilted her head upward and kissed her lips, gently, then harder as lust surged from his lips to his loins. “I’ll follow you home.”

“Are you free on Friday night?”

“I’m always free for you.”

“I’m meeting my mother for dinner. Maybe you can join us.”

Surprised, Ramion said, “Your mother?” Sage rarely talked about her, although she’d often mention her father who died when she was a young girl.

“She called when she heard about the bombing. She was upset and pretty insistent about seeing me. I was reluctant…”

“Why? I don’t understand why you’re so angry with her.”

“We can’t change the past, Ramion. Why talk about it?”

* * * * *

Sage spotted her mother in the crowded hotel lobby. Audra Hicks looked as if she were posed for a still photo—her hands folded neatly on her lap, her legs demurely crossed at the ankles and her face void of expression and unassuming. Only her eyes revealed her nervousness.

Sage stared at her for several minutes before approaching. A kaleidoscope of memories spun in her mind. Audra walking her to kindergarten and greeting her with a warm smile when she returned. Audra bent over the sewing machine, making her clothes. Audra sprinkling cinnamon on the rolls before putting them in the oven.

Sage walked slowly, repressing the thought that each step closer to her mother was a step into the past. Sage swallowed the urge to cry, unsure whether the tears that threatened were tears of sorrow or joy. Her mother looked so very different, so much older than she remembered. She was a deeper shade of brown, still thin, and her wavy black hair was peppered with grey. Her features were the same, but there was a withered edge to them. She had a firmly planted picture of her mother in her mind. But, suddenly, it was as if an artist had touched up the picture of her creation, adding strokes of living and pain.

“Hello, Mama,” Sage said with a bittersweet smile.

Audra sprang up from her chair, coming to life like a resuscitated patient. “Sage, my daughter, you look so good, so beautiful,” Audra said, and wrapped her arms around her daughter, hugging her tightly. She saw her deceased husband’s amber skin, green eyes and soft smile in Sage’s face.

Sage stiffened in her mother’s embrace. It took several moments for Audra to realize that Sage was as cold and unyielding as a statue. Self-consciously, Audra drew back and stared into eyes she hadn’t seen in ten years, eyes that she had hoped would offer forgiveness.

“I hope you didn’t have a hard time finding the hotel,” Sage said.

“I came over in a cab,” Audra said, encouraged by the polite conversation. “You look so good, baby. Prettier than your pictures. Your father would have been so proud. You’re successful. You’re intelligent,” she said, reaching up to stroke Sage’s cheek. “You certainly have your father’s spirit and determination.”

“Thank you,” Sage said awkwardly. She couldn’t imagine how her father would feel about her. She often wondered how different their lives would have been if Satchel had lived. “I’ve invited Ramion to join us for dinner. We’ve been seeing…”

“I know who he is. Ava told me all about him.”

“Good old Ava,” Sage said, not surprised that her half sister would share that information. “How does Aaron like pilot school?” Sage inquired about her half brother.

“He’s excited, but I worry. Flying is so dangerous. I was scared to death until the plane landed,” Audra said, her face crunched into a worried frown.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ramion suddenly interrupted.

“That’s okay, honey,” Sage said, glad to change the subject and introduce her mother to Ramion.

“Very good to meet you,” Audra said with a generous smile. “I’m just so happy to be in Atlanta.”

“Atlanta’s glad to have you,” Ramion said, turning on the charm. “Have you been anywhere special?”

“Just to the King Center. It was so inspiring.”

“Excuse me,” Aaron Hicks said, easing next to his wife. “Hello, everyone.”

Sage’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, venom in her voice. She stared at her stepfather with hostile eyes, as she had never wanted to see him again.

“I was hoping to have dinner with you and your mother,” Aaron said humbly.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell her yet,” Audra said, tugging on her husband’s arm. “This might not be a good time.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t,” Sage said, her chest heaving with anger and outrage as she plunged on. “I’m not having dinner with him.” She turned to her mother and said, “For that matter, I’m not having dinner with you.”

“I want to talk to you,” Audra said. “We’ve got to try and…”

“Try? You tricked me. You never once mentioned that Aaron was here with you!”

“Sage, please don’t be upset,” Audra said, nervously blinking her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to trick you. When you were hurt in that explosion, I realized how much I miss you, how much…”

“As you can see, Mama, I’m just fine.” Sage held her head erect.

“I just thought this would be a good time to resolve things between us,” Audra said in a pleading tone. “I really…”

“This separation has been hard on your mother,” Aaron said. “She talks about seeing you every day. I don’t…”

“I don’t give a damn what you want, Aaron. You can go to hell,” Sage brutally said, staring menacingly at the man who had changed their lives. She paused and looked at her mother, concluding at once that very little had changed. “Mama, please don’t call me again.”

Sage spun around and marched away.

Ramion hesitated only a second before hurrying after her. Sage had always refused to talk about her mother and stepfather. Now he knew why.

* * * * *

Senator Nolan Baker looked like a man out of a sepia photograph—tall and commanding, with an imperious air that conveyed inherited Southern wealth. His hair was silver, his mustache a mixture of black and grey. He had the hard eyes of a riverboat gambler, and even when he smiled, his gaze remained impersonal and cold. His hands were fine-boned with long, smooth fingers, the nails meticulously manicured and buffed.

Baker stood before a mixed audience—reporters, political analysts and voters—at the Atlanta Press Club for the final election face-off. He listened intently as his opponent, Cameron Hudson, responded to the moderator’s question about state taxes. He reached for the glass of water on the podium, mentally preparing his response.

He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly at the resounding applause that Hudson drew. He smiled for the cameras and the voters, hoping the audience didn’t detect his nervousness. He had never worked so hard to win an election. His family name had always been all that was needed to be elected as US senator three times. He always believed that Southern loyalties would inspire Southern voters to elect the grandson of a previous governor.

Gauging the audience’s response to Cameron Hudson, Baker realized that this time his family name wasn’t going to be enough to win. When his campaign manager had joked that the bombing would keep “new nigger voters” away, Baker had confidently replied that he didn’t need the unwitting help of a white supremacist group to claim his birthright. He never would admit out loud how much he hoped his campaign manager was right.

When the debate was over, both Hudson and Baker claimed victory. Live news reports from both candidates’ campaign headquarters showed a frenzy of excitement and nervous anticipation. Long after the camera crews were gone, the campaign headquarters—just blocks away from each other—still hummed with activity.

Escorted to her car by security guards, Sage left Hudson’s new campaign headquarters at one o’clock in the morning. When she got home, she turned on the television to watch a repeat broadcast of the eleven o’clock news. She listened to the news as she removed her clothes and slipped into a nightgown. She turned up the volume on the television when she went into the bathroom, anxious to hear the final results of the news station’s viewer response to the question, “Are you afraid to vote on Tuesday?”

At last, exhausted from a fifteen-hour day, Sage climbed into bed. She struggled against sleep, while waiting to hear the results of the poll. Only after she heard that the news poll showed that 85 percent of callers planned to vote (a 15 percent increase from the poll taken a week earlier) did Sage give in to sleep’s magnetic pull.