No One But You (13 page)

“So, Jackson, where did you disappear to this afternoon?” His father dived into his food, giving him a thumbs-up as his only act of approval.

“I went to find Sara. I didn’t like the way the day ended for her.”

“Ah, Sara.” His father waved his fork in the air. “Now, I’m confused about her. What exactly is her role?”

To his father’s way of thinking, everyone in someone’s life had a role. The roles were either good or bad, no in between. If they did happen to sit on the fence in the neutral zone, then they had the potential to be flipped onto the bad side, and so should be summarily ditched.

“I want her to be a part of my life.” There, he had said the words.

“You’re too young.”

“I’m not too young for the business.”

“Yes, you are, but you’re focused. A woman will drain your focus.”

“You married mom at an early age.”

“Yes, I did.” His father glared at him in his usual challenging manner.

“And you love her.” Jackson hoped he wasn’t wrong about that. His father’s cold way of looking at things could spill over into his personal life. That coldness had turned off his children on more than one occasion. His mother seemed to have grown used to it. Yet, what had been her expectations at the beginning?

“Of course, I love her. Why wouldn’t I?” His father stabbed at a piece of chicken on his plate. “Oh, I see. It’s all or nothing for you.” He chewed the chicken, his expression thoughtful.

“I’m not you, Dad.” Jackson pushed aside his plate. Like his father said, it was all or nothing. “I appreciate what you’ve taught me. I’ve learned to like the business, but it’s your business. While you may feel that the legacy is an obligation, I look at it as a burden. I walked away from Sara once before because of the business. Second chances are rare. I don’t want to blow it, but I’m afraid that I may be too late.”

His father finished eating, as if he hadn’t spoken. Not until he’d finished the last mouthful did he set down the fork. Then he reached for his drink and drained the whiskey in his glass.

His father pushed away the dishes and leaned back in the chair. His gaze fastened onto an unknown spot on the ceiling. “I’m a simple man. I have no frills. I say what I have to say and move on. More unsettling, I’ve seen you listen to others outside of this family. And I’ve seen the admiration in your eyes. This is
my
business—legitimate and successful. Those same people that you admire so much aren’t necessarily clean. They didn’t start out on the up-and-up. Yet you’re ready to cast judgment on me.” His father didn’t sound sad. He was angry.

“Wanting to be with Sara is not a reflection on my feelings for you, Dad.”

“You’re throwing an ultimatum at me. Does Sara love you?”

Jackson nodded, but deep down he wasn’t sure that the strength and depth of his love matched what she may feel.

“Keep fooling yourself that she cares for you in the same way and you’ll be the one holding the bag. You’re leaving yourself wide open for a lot of pain.” His father drained his glass of whiskey. “You didn’t lose her. She couldn’t understand that you needed to concentrate on the job. She wanted your full and undivided attention, as if your future was of no consequence. Isn’t that a bit selfish?”

“Dad, that’s enough. Sara did nothing to deserve what I’d done. Wanting my attention was a minor reason. You and Mom didn’t think she was good enough for me. And you used a bogus excuse that the business was in crisis to pull me away.”

“You saved the family business. If she was that in love with you, she would’ve waited.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Your mother waited for me lots of times. She’s a good woman because she didn’t push and demand.”

Jackson heard what his father said. Yet, he didn’t look at his parents’ marriage as a model for what he wanted. His father had lived his life feeling that he had the right to be dominant and, at many times, domineering.

“I’ve said all that I have to say on the subject.” His father motioned toward his office. “We have a list of appointments on Monday. I’ll need you to go to a couple of them. Come into my office, so I can give you the rundown.” He walked out of the dining room, dismissing the heated conversation.

Jackson stacked the dishes and took them to the kitchen. He knew what he wanted to do. Though he may not be able to convince his father, at the moment, he wasn’t put off. His father had done a good job teaching him how to be stubborn and not budge from a position.

He rejoined his father in his office. Across from his desk, he sat, waiting for acknowledgement of his presence. He’d displeased his father. Silence would be his punishment.

“The mayor has a meeting at eleven. She’s meeting with various land developers, real estate folks and mortgage brokers about the new communities because of declining residential sales and the high foreclosure rates.”

Jackson scribbled down the notes. He’d go along until Plan B came to mind.

“Then in the afternoon, at two, you will be meeting with the Hendersons.”

“Our competitor?”

“Word is that they aren’t doing well. Maybe there are hidden opportunities. I’ll need you to handle this.”

Jackson sensed the potential gold mine. If Henderson was going under, his father’s business would become one of the biggest mortgage brokers in the state.

His father grinned. He’d been forgiven.

“Doesn’t the smell of success hit you right in the gut? That’s what it’s all about, Jackson.”

M
onday proved to be like any first workday of the week. Sara’s morning started early with a list of items that she’d put off and now loomed with impending deadlines. Setting aside her work wasn’t her style, but a lot of things that she’d done lately weren’t her style.

Ever since Jackson popped up, her world had gone into a spin. She’d run around, moping about him, craving his touch. This past weekend was like a wiper clearing away the muck that covered her eyes and her senses. Jackson’s note helped nudge her to pick which path to head down, instead of staying at the fork and waffling.

After her first class, she went to her cramped office. Piles of paper were on every empty surface, including the floor. She had class papers to edit, her essays from the publisher to edit and her paper on Alethea to be completed. This isolated world of research, theory and philosophy suited her.

Was it fair for her to expect Jackson to step away from his world? They had both followed their calling. This momentary fling did more harm with the doubts it stirred.

A knock on her office door stirred her from her musings.

“Come in,” Sara invited. She looked at her desk calendar to see if a student had an appointment. The time slot was blank.

“Hey, soror.” Denise stepped in with a wide grin. “Figured I’d stop by. Missed you. Tell me all about it.”

“My weekend? Memorable. Not much else to say.”

“That’s a bunch a crap.” Denise set down a pile of books from a chair and plopped herself down into the seat. “You know I’m a hopeless romantic, so I want to hear.”

“I don’t believe that you have a romantic bone in your body. You enjoy the single life too much.”

“And you don’t? You like to play the martyr.”

“Did you come to insult me on my territory?” Sara knew the signs when Denise was distressed. Her tongue turned acidic with barbs being flung at the victim in a steady stream. “And I’m sure that you’ve been this way all weekend with the others, and no one wants to deal with you now.”

“Bingo.” Denise scratched at her midsection as if the clothes were uncomfortably restraining.

Sara frowned. Denise’s close proximity to her drew her attention. She sniffed the air once more to make sure that her presumption was correct. She hadn’t noticed at first, considering her office smelled of old books and the lack of ventilation.

“Have you been drinking?” Sara scooted her chair forward to get a closer look at Denise.

“Bingo.” Denise smiled, her eyes drooping a little as if she’d had a long night. “One more and you win the grand prize.”

Sara had a class in fifteen minutes. If she left, Denise wouldn’t hang around. “Did you pay your gambling debt?” She held her breath for the response that she sensed wouldn’t be a good one.

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Sara resumed opening her mail.

“But it wasn’t good enough.” Denise slouched in the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest. “They said that I have to pay interest. Fifty percent.” Denise groaned. “That wasn’t the deal.”

The letter opener dropped from Sara’s hand. She looked over at Denise, wondering if this was a sick joke. “Where are you going to get another couple thousand?”

“Naomi made it clear that she didn’t have any more to give me.” Denise balled her fist, her face contorted with inner pain.

“Let’s figure out what to do.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought of all the options.” Denise had started to cry. She wiped her face on the back of her sleeves, sniffing loudly.

“All except one. Your parents.” Lately she seemed to be sending everyone back to their parents for answers. Jackson’s parents had certainly made it clear with their solution to the problems in their lives. Sara shook off what could have been, maybe even what should have been.

“If I go to them, they’ll set all kinds of conditions.”

“You can’t have everything you want. And the mess you’ve created is so deep that none of us can get you out. Safely, I might add.”

“Do you really think they will help me?”

“Do you really need me to answer that question?” Sara had met Denise’s parents. They loved their daughter, possibly spoiling her in the process. Financially, they could handle it.

“I’m going to feel like a kid.”

“As long as you get the help you need, you can handle some structure in your life. Having rules isn’t such a bad thing.” Sara grabbed her teaching materials for the next class. “I have to go to work. Don’t sit here a moment longer. You need to call your parents.”

Denise dragged herself out of the chair. She hugged Sara, her body hanging heavily against her friend. “I’ll call. Can I do it from here?”

“Sure. I’ll let the department assistant know that you’re in here.”

“Thanks.” Denise wrung her hands. She took deep breaths, shook her hands and then picked up the phone.

Sara looked at her watch. She was already five minutes late. “Gotta run. Let me know how it goes.” She hurried to class before her students used her tardiness as an excuse to exit the class early.

After class, Sara checked her office to see if Denise was still there. But her friend had left with only a scribbled note that she was gone to see her parents. Sara’s heart felt a little lighter, knowing that Denise would be taken care of. She’d be sure to tell the other line sisters about Denise’s status.

With her classes over, Sara headed home. There was still Alethea’s paper to write. Work was far from over. She stopped at a Chinese take-out and grabbed dinner. Since she’d been gone for so many days, her cabinets were bare and the expired milk had to be poured down the sink.

At home, she changed her clothes and then headed for the food. Skipping lunch hadn’t been deliberate, but the aftereffects made her famished. The smell of Hunan chicken and vegetarian fried rice called to her. After fixing a plate, she pressed the voice mail button to listen to her messages.

After the announcement that she had ten messages, Sara started eating. She keenly listened to the messages from her line sisters, her mother and a telemarketer. She perked up when she heard Jackson’s voice, but it was an old message when he’d been in the city.

Time would erase that expectation.

Her phone rang. She answered, a small smidgen of hope burning for Jackson’s voice.

“Sara, it’s Martha.”

“Martha?” Sara hoped there wouldn’t be any more drama with this woman and Blake.

“I’m back in town.”

“Yes.” Sara grew uneasy. An unspoken request hovered in the air.

“I didn’t get to speak to Blake.”

Sara kept quiet.

“I tried to get in touch with him. Don’t know why.” The young woman sighed, her voice trembled. “My parents were so angry with me that I thought I had made a mistake coming home.”

“But you didn’t make a mistake, did you?” Sara eased back into the conversation, sensing that Martha only wanted to talk through her fears. Seemingly she had been thrust into the counselor position to solve the problems of others. Who would help with her problems? Who would counsel her?

“They love the baby. I think that they prefer her to me.” Martha laughed, a sad haunting sound. “They will keep my baby while I go back to school full-time.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“As a mother, should I leave my child? I feel like I’m abandoning her. Will she understand what I did? I’ve already made so many mistakes.”

“Don’t focus on your faults, Martha. Your family is giving you a gift with a second chance. Do your best.” Sara ended the call with ambivalent feelings.

Martha was an unexpected variable who kept popping into her life. Some of those appearances hurt with crushing cruelty. Other times, like this one, there was a whimsical quality about it. Martha treated her like a mentor. She didn’t want to accept the title and all its responsibilities.

Yet she didn’t want to befriend Martha. She wanted to hold onto the hurt, but the woman wouldn’t let her. Martha’s sentimental nature and her phone call made Sara’s anger dissipate.

Her hand lingered on the phone. In her empty apartment, and with her empty life, she closed her eyes in meditation. Too many questions nagged at her. Sara noted that the answers she arrived at weren’t necessarily happy, neat ones. “Let go,” she whispered. She’d have to deal with accepting life’s disappointments.

She washed her single plate and fork. Refilling her glass, she took a long drink of iced tea. Time to work on Alethea’s story. Before she placed her fingers on the keyboard, she wanted to clear her mind. Her view of Alethea shouldn’t color the depiction of her life. This woman wasn’t to be pitied. She wasn’t perfect with her participation in men’s infidelities. And despite all of that, Sara was drawn to her.

“Let go,” she repeated.

Her prejudices needed to disappear before they destroyed her humility. She needed to let go of the aching sorrow that resulted from walking away from Jackson.

From her pocket where she kept Jackson’s note, she reopened the worn folded paper. Once again, she read the message:

 

Sara, I am a man of few real words, but larger-than-life emotions. Together we can ignore whatever we want to ignore. I need you in my life. If I’m by your side in the morning, I will know that we have jumped over the hurdles together.

Jackson.

 

Sara took the note and held it over the stove. Her hand trembled. Her act to turn this note into ashes may be overkill, but she had to let go of every reminder of her love.

Jackson worked long, hard hours with little sleep and far less food. He threw himself into mind-numbing work so that, when he put his head on the pillow, he’d be too exhausted to think about Sara. His body wouldn’t crave her touch. He would be too exhausted to be aroused by memories of their lovemaking.

His father popped into his office. “Did you have a staff meeting this morning?”

Jackson shook his head. He coughed to clear the scratching in his throat. “Most of the brokers had client meetings this morning.” He coughed again, reaching for the tea laced with honey.

“Why don’t you go home,” his father suggested.

Jackson looked up, surprised by his father’s soft response. He’d self-medicated to mask his symptoms of headache, runny nose and coughing that he attributed to the fall allergy season. “I’ll be okay. What are you planning to do for the rest of the day?”

“Heading home.”

Jackson couldn’t hide his shock.

“I know. The workaholic is going home early.” His father turned away and headed out of the office.

“What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

“Not at all.” His father thumped his chest. “I’m fit.”

Jackson couldn’t contradict the statement because his father was a model of good health. “Is it Mom?” Jackson hadn’t made it home since his parents returned from their trip.

“She’s quiet. I want to make sure that she is okay.” His father’s expression was shuttered, closed to any further questions.

“I’ll come by later this evening to see her.”

“She’d like that.” His father didn’t wear his subdued demeanor well. He looked uncomfortable, as if wanting to keep his worry in a private place.

Jackson rubbed his throat, wishing he could shake the irritation. He popped a few more pills and went back to work. Feeling a little hot, he opened the top button of his shirt and slackened his tie.

The phone on his desk beeped. “Mr. Thomas, you have a call from Ted Beavers,” his assistant announced.

“Please transfer him.” He had given Beavers a vague promise of when he would return. He was curious as to why he was calling.

“Ted! It’s Jackson.” Jackson popped a throat lozenge so he wouldn’t sound so froggy.

“Jackson, I’d hoped that you would return to Chicago soon.”

Jackson listened to Beavers rehash their conversation. He wiped his brow, growing uncomfortable. “I’m hip deep in several projects here. I have to move my timeline on doing anything in Chicago.” A headache loomed just below the surface like a heavy rolling pin pressing down from one end of his head to the other side.

“I look forward to reopening our discussion. I’m heading out of the country on business for a month. When I get back, let’s talk.”

Jackson jumped on the fact that he’d have four weeks before he would have to repeat his canned response that he had to move the timeline for coming to Chicago.

He polished off his tea, but not before sneezing three times. Getting a doctor’s appointment would take longer than going to the drugstore and picking up strong allergy medicine. He headed out of the office, letting his assistant know where he was going.

His phone buzzed at his side on the way to the store. He attached the ear piece and pressed the button to talk. “Hello.”

“Jackson, it’s Edgar Feldman, your golf buddy.”

“Hi, Edgar.”

“Do you have time around three to stop by my office? There is a task force that we’re commissioned to create. I think you’d work great with some of the other people.”

Jackson stroked his forehead, trying to soothe the pounding of his head. He sneezed and coughed, suddenly feeling chilled. He turned up the heat in his SUV, even while he felt the sweat bead on his forehead.

“You sound awful.”

Jackson acknowledged his illness, and every word and grunt hurt his throat. “I’m interested, but I’m not sure I can make it this afternoon.”

“That’s all I need to hear. You take care of yourself, young man. We can catch up in a day or so.” Edgar hung up.

Jackson got his medicine and promptly downed the prescribed two pills. His calendar still had several important appointments for the day. He continued with his schedule, pushing his mind to overcome the physical discomfort.

Nine o’clock that evening, Jackson left the restaurant where he’d met with three brokers. He managed a small bowl of chicken soup, but he didn’t feel any better. As a matter of fact, his condition broke up the meeting because he looked so terrible.

Jackson went to his condo. He dropped his keys on his bedside table and dropped onto the bed. His head spun and he leaned back against the pillows, hoping that the bed would stop spinning.