No One But You (6 page)

“Did you write during this time?” Jackson asked.

“I wrote my memoirs and published a couple books in the Caribbean, but writing wasn’t my focus. I was madly in love. I had my future mapped out with a husband and little children on my knees.” Alethea grew serious, almost sad. She appeared to lose inches, as she shrunk into the chair. She continued, in a softer voice, “After he won the election, his political handlers and financiers advised him that having a foreign first lady was not in his best interest.” Her hands balled into fists at her side. “Suddenly I couldn’t get close to him. They, however, got unnaturally close to him. They were the gatekeepers who made sure that we would be separated.”

Sara’s body tingled with the similarities of their stories. They had different circumstances, but the outcome was eerily similar—rejection for not being good enough.

“And it worked. After his inner circle went to work on my reputation, the newspapers took a chunk, and then people who I considered friends turned on me. That’s when I decided to write fiction. Life and my idealistic notions didn’t mix. I made my pain, my love, my dreams larger than life, using a crazy set of characters.”

“That’s the book that earned you the National Book Club award,” Sara said. She could hardly contain her excitement that they were discussing one of her favorite books.

“I can admit it now that I’m older and have a few nuggets of wisdom that the book is a four hundred page, male-bashing thesis. But at the time, it was a balm to my ego and hurt feelings,” Alethea said.

“Uh-oh, I think this is when I need to take a hasty exit.”

Jackson stood, straightening his pants legs. He approached Alethea with an outstretched hand. “It’s been a pleasure, but male-bashing scares me,” he said.

“Just like a man to run away when things get going. Can’t I entice you to stay?”

Sara looked up for Jackson’s response.

Jackson matched her gaze and winked. “I’m sure Sara would rather get going with the interview.” He touched his forehead with his finger in salute.

“Hmm. I’d suspected that you had a thing for Sara. But I didn’t realize how badly you’d been bitten by the love bug.”

Sara blushed, concentrating on her notepad.

“Sara, call me when you’re ready,” Jackson said and slipped out the doorway before either one of them could respond.

Nevertheless, Alethea followed him to the door. Jackson’s departure did take some of the energy out of the room. His presence offered a reassurance while she worked. His instinct for her needs felt like a partnership. Now wasn’t the time to indulge her fantasy. And that was all it was.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, took a deep cleansing breath and reopened them. Time to get back to Alethea.

Her visit with Alethea wasn’t going the way she’d anticipated. Now they were teetering on the edge of each other’s personal business. Sara adjusted herself in the large overstuffed chair and waited for Alethea to return.

“What’s keeping you and Jackson apart?”

“Excuse me?” Sara dropped her pen and had to retrieve it.

“He wants you. You want him. What’s the issue? Is he married? You’re not holding out for love, are you? That could leave you living in a house by yourself, forgotten and misunderstood,” the older woman said.

Sara shook her head at all of Alethea’s statements. This interview had taken a weird turn. A spotlight with too much intensity had flipped on her. Sara wrestled for control.

“A new generation is reading your works in college. Is there any update to your message?”

Alethea chuckled. “Have some lemonade. I like your tenacity. Okay, let’s get down to business.”

J
ackson looked out the window, admiring the view that he wouldn’t have had a chance to enjoy if he’d helped drive on the way up to northern Illinois. As the passenger, he leaned his car seat back and folded his arms. Classical jazz music played softly in the background. Another minute of silence and he’d go insane.

“I don’t think we should pull off. I don’t mind driving back to Chicago.” Sara had one hand on the steering wheel and the other propping her head up.

“Why are you so set on going home? It’s later than we’d planned.”

Sara shrugged.

“I think you’re spooked by what that author said,” Jackson said. He wanted to touch her shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He knew from the way her hand tightened on the steering wheel and her jaw clenched that she was working through a new set of worries.

“I’ll admit that Alethea’s interview wasn’t quite what I had in mind. But don’t let her crazy opinions lead you down the wrong path.”

“You’re working extra hard to negate your feelings,” Jackson replied.

“Oh, my, didn’t know that you also majored in psychology.” Sara glared at him before returning her focus to the road. “What do you want from me? I don’t have anything in my emotional reserves for you, Jackson. You and your kind have wiped me out.”

“My kind. Am I some sort of a subspecies?”

“Something like that. And I manage to select the worst, time and time again.” Sara veered off the road and onto the off ramp.

Jackson relaxed when he noticed that she headed for a gas station. The needle wasn’t quite at
E
, but he sensed that she wanted a chance to escape from him. “I’ll pump the gas,” he said. He stepped out of the car and began to fill the tank.

As he waited, he spied on her through the back window. She looked tired and tense. Granted, he didn’t feel completely at ease, either. They needed time to talk—really talk—and get some things out of the way.

“I can drive.”

“I know you can. But I’m fine.” Sara ran a hand through her hair.

When she yawned for the third time, Jackson pushed his point. “Look, don’t bite my head off. We both need to sleep. I’ll get you home and then take off. Remember, my car is at your place.”

Sara didn’t respond immediately. But after one more in a series of yawns she said, “Okay.”

They finally pulled into her apartment complex close to midnight. Jackson lifted out their overnight bags and followed Sara up to her apartment. As much as she tried to pretend otherwise, Jackson recognized the tired droop of her shoulders. Several times, she tripped as she navigated the steps up to the third level.

“Oh!”

Jackson almost bumped into Sara when she stopped suddenly. A woman paced in front of Sara’s door. She looked startled when they appeared. At her feet, there was a baby carrier with a little baby asleep under a blanket.

“I need to talk to you,” the woman said to Sara, her gaze shifting down at the baby.

“I’ve nothing to say to you.”

Jackson didn’t like his vantage point from the stairway and eased his way onto the landing to stand next to Sara. He’d seen Sara angry, but not like this. There was a quiet fury that permeated her tight-lipped expression.

The woman was dark-skinned, with a medium build, and her hair was in an untidy ponytail. She clutched a white tissue in one hand, while the other hand played with keys. She looked a few years younger than Sara. The baby, now awake, began to squirm. Jackson touched Sara’s elbow to let her know that he was by her side. He couldn’t determine if this woman was family or friend. One thing was certain, she was not welcomed.

Sara appreciated Jackson’s presence. He provided a warm comfort for the iciness that had wrapped around her limbs and extremities. After a long drive, she barely had the energy to deal with anything out of the ordinary. Yet, life continued to test her. This was the same woman who brought her wedding ceremony to a devastating halt.

“May I come in, please?”

Sara shook her head. “Have you lost your mind?”

Then the baby grunted, with face contorted, as it worked up to a full blast.

Sara hesitated. When she had to pull her windbreaker close because the cool temperature pierced her clothing, she surrendered. This baby needed to get out of the night air. She took out her keys, opened the door and stepped back, without uttering a word.

“Thank you.” The woman set down the baby. “Sara, my name is Martha.”

“I know who you are,” Sara snapped. She’d learned Martha’s name nine months ago, but her name hadn’t been the only thing that would be seared into Sara’s memory.

“I’ll take your bag into your room,” Jackson said and he sidled past her.

Sara barely nodded. Her place was small enough that no matter where Jackson went, he’d more than likely hear the entire conversation. There wasn’t anything she could do about that. Once again, Martha invaded her world, setting things in motion.

“May I sit? Just for a minute. I’ve been standing out there for two hours.”

Sara nodded, keeping a close eye on Martha, who sank into a chair. “What do you want?” Sara asked.

“I’m looking for Blake.” Martha’s hand didn’t stop its constant motion of picking at her skirt, which had worked itself several inches above the knee.

“Blake!” Just saying his name set Sara on edge. “I don’t know anything about Blake. Nor do I want to know anything about him.” Her voice rose, as did her temper.

This woman had the nerve to sit in her apartment, asking for help to find Blake. Her wide-eyed, baby face didn’t move Sara one bit.

“Look, before you toss me out of your home, hear me out, please,” Martha said.

The baby’s low-pitched grunt turned into a wail.

“Shh, sweetie.” Martha retrieved the struggling bundle from the carrier and held the baby tightly to her chest. “She’s all I have.”

Sara noticed that Martha didn’t have a bag for the baby and only a blanket remained in the carrier. “Do you need to breast-feed?”

Martha shook her head. “I have a bottle, but I need to make the formula.” She pulled out a Baggie of white powder and a large baby bottle. “Do you know how to make the bottle?”

“No!”

“Well, could you hold Sonia and I’ll make it.” Martha unburdened her load into Sara’s arms before she could protest.

Sara held the baby stiffly away from her body. This scenario was not normal. The baby burrowed into her neck, still grunting her protests. Martha’s slamming of cabinets and rattling of silverware shifted Sara’s attention toward the kitchen.

Sara entered the small area, bristling and ready to do battle. The small bundle in her arms diluted her anger when the child grabbed hold of her thumb and started cooing.

Martha could be her opposite. She had to be close to six feet. There was nothing delicate about her frame or movements. She was solid, even thick, by some standards. Where Sara bordered between light and medium brown, Martha had a tone of dark walnut and short hair.

Her attitude was bold, even brash. Did she bulldoze her way into Blake’s life? What about this young girl ultimately took him away from a life with her? Like Jackson had with her, did he conclude that Martha wasn’t good enough?

Sara directed Martha around the kitchen. While the water boiled for the mixture, she excused herself to check on Jackson. Since his escape to her bedroom, he hadn’t stepped a foot out of the room.

“Hey,” she called, popping her head in the doorway. “Comfortable?”

“I’m fine. How about you?” He looked down at her arms. “Now that’s a pretty picture.”

“Don’t even go down that road.” Sara paused, wondering if she should even begin to explain about this situation. “She’s Blake, my ex’s, woman.”

Jackson nodded. Whatever he thought, he kept to himself. “She wants to know where’s Blake?”

“And…can you help her?” He reached up and stroked the baby’s hair.

“No, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t.” Now he played with the baby’s fingers, cooing right along with her.

“Don’t start with me. This baby is the only thing saving her mother from getting kicked out of my apartment. She doesn’t deserve anything better.”

“Okay, calm down before you agitate the baby.” He stood and reached for the baby. “I want to hold her.”

“All yours. Her name is Sonia.” Sara handed over the baby. “Let me see if her bottle is ready.”

“Hello, little one,” Jackson said in a singsong lilt. Then he whispered, “I think there is about to be some drama going on.”

The baby’s response was a loud wail that had Sara running into the room. Even Jackson looked surprised as the little body squirmed and tensed in full rage. Her brown face turned darker.

“All yours.” Jackson promptly deposited the baby back in Sara’s arms.

“Wimp,” Sara called over her shoulder, as she hurried back into the living room.

“Thanks for keeping her.” Martha took her child, who recognized the bottle as her tool for ultimate satisfaction. The baby opened her little mouth to speed up the process. Once she was fully engaged in her meal, Martha resumed her seat.

Sara remained standing with her arms folded.

“I know this looks bad—me, being here with my child, asking for your help.”

“That’s an understatement,” Sara said.

“I don’t know what I was thinking that day at the church. You couldn’t marry him.” Martha’s voice cracked. “I loved him.”

“Telling me a week, even a day before the wedding wasn’t an option? If you’re sleeping with my—Blake, you had to know my schedule. But you waited until I was in church with my family, friends, even co-workers to desecrate everything with your swollen belly and vile accusations.” Sara tapped her foot as the memory that didn’t need much coercion replayed. The sordid revelation took place when the priest asked if there was anyone who knew why these two should not be married. She used to think that question was rhetorical. No one expected anyone to speak up.

However on that bitterly cold January morning, the exception ruled. At first, she thought Blake was being silly and had brought in one of his friends to play the part of the other woman. Martha had looked like a cartoon character with her bright-red, cocktail length dress. Her hair was styled in an upswept French roll, and her makeup was thick and theatrical. When she stood after raising a noisy objection, the church gasped because her stomach protruded as if delivery could occur in the next second.

Sara’d wished that her body was weak because she would have liked to have closed her eyes and fainted and remained that way until everyone was long gone. Instead, her body stiffened from the onslaught of Martha’s nasty words, which weren’t acceptable in a polite crowd, much less in a church. Then Martha proceeded to tearfully explain to the church how Blake came to her bed when he wasn’t getting anything worthy in Sara’s. He was trying to do the honorable thing by taking care of both of them.

But she wasn’t having it. Reliving it with the star player only a few feet away reignited her fury. Her face tightened as the anger stirred. “I don’t know where Blake is. The last time that I saw him was when he was being taken to the hospital after my uncles beat him senseless.”

Martha shook her head. “That was messed-up.”

“You would have been next if it wasn’t for that belly.”

“I know you hate me because I have a child and you don’t. Blake said you had some problems.”

This woman was beyond clueless. “Martha, did you drive here?”

“I took the bus.”

“Here’s what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to pay for a taxi to take you back to the rock you crawled out from,” Sara said.

Martha’s face screwed up with misery. “Please. I don’t have anywhere to go. Blake was paying the rent. Then he stopped.”

“And you still love this man?” Sara walked over to the telephone directory and started flipping through the yellow pages. “Ever heard of the saying ‘what goes around’? Do you think that you were the only woman in his life? Were you that naive to think that you had him like that?” Sara snapped her fingers.

“I figured you’d know where his family is. Maybe they will help me, since this is their granddaughter.”

Clueless
was too kind of a word to describe Martha’s inability to understand her current state of abandonment. Sara, however, acknowledged her awareness and also accepted that Blake was a hustler. Not marrying him, saved her from his good-for-nothing ways.

“This is what I know about his family. Blake said that his father died soon after he came back from Vietnam. His mother remarried and he doesn’t speak to her because of his stepfather,” Sara offered.

“He told me that his mother and father lived in Jamaica. His father is a retired doctor. He was here to finish up law school and then he was returning to open his own practice. We were going to be married in Jamaica after he finished law school,” Martha said.

“Did he need money for law school?”

Martha looked down at her baby, who had fallen asleep. A large teardrop fell onto the baby’s arm. “He asked for a couple hundred, at first.” She looked up at Sara. “I got my money back, though.”

“I did too, at first,” she said.

Martha wiped her cheeks with the tissue Sara handed her. “Then he borrowed a couple thousand. I didn’t make my car payment and missed a couple bills for a few months to give him the money.” A sob broke from her. “He never paid me back. They repossessed the car. My credit cards are at the limit.”

“Why come to me? I should be the last person you’d want in your face.”

“I haven’t told my parents.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” Martha shrugged. “I look older than my age.”

Sara had her beat by three years, but felt worlds apart from her. She was young enough to be gullible and had an ego that got her in trouble.

“Look, Martha. I don’t know where Blake is. I don’t really care to know or have any dealings with him. I’m talking to you because you basically gave me no choice when you showed up at my door with your daughter. However, it took me a while to get over the drama. I’m still in cleansing mode. The only thing that I can do is help you get to your parents. Are they local?”