No One in the World

by E. Lynn Harris; RM Johnson

  “You didn’t have to come all the way over here for that. You could’ve called, like you normally do when you pay it.”

  Years ago, Austen’s mother’s house had been paid for. When Austen needed money to rebuild her late father’s business and was unable to get a bank loan, her mother gladly offered to refinance the mortgage on the house.

  Austen vehemently objected.

  Angela said, “With the money, do you think you’ll be able to make your father’s business better than it was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will the business provide a good living for you?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Then we’re getting you that money.”

  Austen was able to keep only two of the promises. The business was successful, and it did provide well for her, but soon Austen would not be able to pay back the money. That meant that the mortgage on her mother’s home would go unpaid, and her mother, who was retired and only drew Social Security, would lose her home. Austen could not let that happen.

  “Austen, are you okay?” Angela said, pulling Austen out of her thoughts.

  “Yeah, Mommy, I’m good.”

  “No. There’s something wrong. This whole recession and housing thing . . . you okay with money? You don’t need—”

  “No, no. Everything is fine,” Austen lied. “Actually business is much better than you would think. I really came by to give you some news.”

  “What news, baby?”

  Austen sighed and tried her best to pass her smile off as a sincere one. “I’m getting married, Mommy.”

  29

  I took Eric to one of my favorite steakhouses in Chicago and ordered the ten-ounce filet, with sautéed spinach and garlic mashed potatoes.

  When the tall, dreamy-eyed waiter turned to Eric and said, “And you, sir?” Eric seemed uncertain. He stared at the menu as though it was a tough school exam, and then ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

  “Hold on,” I said to the waiter, turning to Eric. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Why don’t you get a steak, or lobster, or both?”

  Eric gave another puzzled look at the menu, then back up at me. “That would be okay?”

  “Sure. Order whatever you want. This is your first meal out of pri—” I caught and corrected myself, afraid of embarrassing Eric in front of the waiter. “Your first meal back in town.”

  Eric smiled a little at my mistake. “I . . . I don’t know what’s good. Can you order for me?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” I happily looked up to the waiter. “He’ll have the ten-ounce filet, medium well, the lobster tail, the potatoes au gratin, and grilled asparagus.” I turned to Eric. “Would you like beer or wine?”

  “Beer.”

  “And a Stella, please.”

  The waiter took our menus and disappeared.

  “Wow, you really know your food,” Eric said.

  “One of my favorite things, along with Broadway shows, great music, and good wine.”

  We were silent for a moment; both of us, I imagine, were looking for something to say. I looked up at him, and as with every other time, I was mildly startled to see a spitting image of me. It was truly eerie just how much we looked alike.

  The waiter brought us bread and butter, which mercifully gave me fuel for conversation.

  “This is some of the best warm bread you’ll ever taste,” I said, sliding it over to Eric.

  He took a couple of pieces and started to butter one. He held it up to his mouth, about to take a bite, but before he did, he said, “It wasn’t the traffic that made you late, was it? You weren’t sure you still wanted to pick me up. Same reason you didn’t come yesterday.”

  Before my mother had passed, she always said I was very intuitive. “You’re a mind reader,” she would always tell me. I obviously shared that gift with my twin brother. I pondered whether I wanted to be truthful with him.

  “No, Eric. It really was the traffic. You saw all the cars on the way out here. That’s what I was stuck in.” I lied, not sure why. “And yesterday I had trial. Couldn’t get away.”

  “So, were you able to get that info I asked you for?”

  “I had to pull some strings, but yes, I did. That was for the mother of your daughter, right?”

  “Yeah,” Eric said, looking as though he didn’t like having to confirm who the number was for.

  “I guess there would be nothing wrong with you calling her.”

  “Wouldn’t matter if it was. I need to find out why she’s tryin’ to take my rights away. So do you have it or what?” Eric said.

  “I do. But I’m going to need something in return.”

  “What?”

  “I asked you before why you were in prison. You said you’d tell me later. I need that to be now.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Because we’re brothers, and if we’re going to try—”

  “Try?”

  “If we’re going to do this, we can’t be keeping secrets.”

  Eric looked down at the piece of bread on his plate, then back at me. “No.” He picked up the bread and his knife and sloppily smeared butter on it. “I’ll find the information myself,” he said, while chewing. “That’s that. Now can we just move on?”

  “This is no longer about the phone number and address. After we’re done here, I’ll be taking you to my house . . . my home, and I hate to say it, but I need—”

  “To know what I was locked up for, before you go letting some ex-con, who could’ve been locked up for murder or something, into your crib. Don’t worry, Cobi, I won’t steal your mother’s silverware.”

  “Don’t talk about my mother,” I said, defensive all of a sudden.

  Eric looked at the frown on my face, then down at my left hand. I had a tight fist around my butter knife, as though I were going to do something criminal with it.

  “I’m sorry,” Eric said. “But you’re making a big deal out of nothing. It ain’t nothin’ crazy.”

  “Then tell me,” I said, getting tired of this back and forth. “Or not. But know, if that’s the way you want to play it, we’ll be going our separate ways when we’re finished eating.”

  “You just like all the rest of them: got a little money, look down your nose at folks when they don’t do exactly what you say. Well, fuck you!” Eric got up, turned to leave, and then turned back to grab a handful of the sliced loaf before walking out.

  I watched him make his way toward the door, then exit, and I felt bad for what I had done.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Winslow?” the manager, a graying man in a dark suit asked.

  “Yes,” I said, still looking at the door.

  “Shall I call the police?”

  Taking offense, I said, “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Winslow, forgive me,” the manager apologized, and then left me.

  Had I made a mistake? I had been looking for my brother for almost a month, then after finding him, I drove him away after only a few days.

  I stood up from my chair, prepared to go after him, but a moment later I sat back down. If he could not be honest with me, there was no way I could invite him into my home and expect things to work. This had to be done on terms that I was comfortable with, and honesty was a priority.

  I lowered my eyes, still not feeling any better about forcing my brother away, when I felt the chair opposite me move.

  I looked up and was surprised to see that Eric was taking his seat again. “You really need to know?”

  “Yeah, I really do.”

  “I stole a car. That’s what I did. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, picking up my fork, prepared to eat again, but I stopped. “Why was it so hard for you to tell me that?”

  “You have everything given to you. From what I see, there ain’t nothing that you don’t got, or can’t get if you wanted it. That little information you just got from me, all you had to do was punch a few buttons on a computer, and you cou
ld’ve known it. But I had to give it to you. All my life people been in my business, the foster care system, the city, the courts. I just wanted not to be forced to give up what’s my personal business for once.”

  I realized I’d made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry, Eric.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, looking away. “I’m used to it.”

  30

  After you,” Cobi said, unlocking the huge wood-and-glass door to the mansion.

  Eric stood at the threshold, intimidated. This place seemed like somewhere he should’ve never been.

  Eric walked into the foyer and waited for Cobi to close the door and walk him the rest of the way into the house. He looked down at the beautiful, waxed hardwood floors beneath him, the old paintings, from the original artists long passed, hung in giant wooden frames on the walls. He saw furniture that looked as though it may have cost more than Eric would make in his lifetime.

  “So, what do you think?” Cobi said, resting his briefcase on the floor beside the leather sofa.

  “This is your house? Where you live?” Eric said, as though he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

  “I know, a little over the time top, huh. It was rumored to have once been owned by a prince who would visit on occasion from England. But I don’t know if that’s true or not. Want me to take you on a tour of the rest of the place?”

  “Yeah, man,” Eric said. “Sure, let’s see the rest of it.”

  What Eric saw was a first floor with a restaurant-style kitchen with professional-grade, stainless steel appliances. He saw the indoor swimming pool, the bathrooms done in black granite and marble, the media room that sat thirty people and looked like a real movie theater. He saw the library, the den, and the recreation room that housed a red felt pool table with a surface larger than any bed Eric had ever slept on.

  Outside were five acres of gated, sloping, manicured lawn, shrubs, and bushes that looked meticulously tended to. There were even trees towering a hundred feet high on one end of the property.

  Cobi walked Eric over to the six-car garage, then hit a button on his keychain that rolled up the door.

  “That was my mother’s car,” Cobi said, pointing to a beautifully preserved, vintage silver 1970 Jaguar. “And that one’s mine,” he said, nodding toward the Audi. “But I just keep it parked back here, since I’m driving my father’s now.”

  “Your father. The same guy that adopted you but not me? Where is he? I’d like to meet his ass,” Eric said, resentment in his voice.

  “He’s dead, as is my mother,” Cobi said, looking unblinkingly at Eric. “Plane crash about a month ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Were they—”

  “That’s all you need to know about them. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  Cobi led Eric up the long, curving staircase to the second floor.

  “My bedroom is the last room at the end of that hall,” Cobi said, pointing down the black-and-white tiled corridor. Cobi walked a few more steps and stopped between a pair of doors, spaced ten feet apart. “One of the bedrooms up here was my parents’, one is my father’s study, one was converted into a sitting parlor for my mother, and the other is a designated guest bedroom, which leaves these two free. You have your choice of either.”

  Eric turned to Cobi. “One of these?”

  “Yeah, whichever one you choose,” Cobi said. “They’re both around the same size, just decorated differently. Go ahead, step in.”

  Eric walked into the first to find an enormous bedroom furnished with a California king-size bed, the blades of a copper ceiling fan rotating lazily above it. There was a dresser and chest of drawers, a forty-two-inch flat-screen TV, and a leather sofa, loveseat, and table in a separate sitting section of the room.

  “Okay,” Cobi said. “Let’s check out the other one.”

  “I don’t need to,” Eric said. “This one is perfect.”

  “Are you sure, because—”

  “Dude, I’m coming from a jail cell. The closet is probably bigger than where I lived.”

  “Well, when you go to hang up something, you’ll find that you’re probably right.”

  “Won’t need to hang nothing up,” Eric said, spreading his arms out. “’Cause all I got is the clothes on my back.”

  Cobi looked sadly at his brother but didn’t respond to what Eric said. “Is there anything else, before I leave you alone to get settled in?”

  “Yeah. That information I asked you for. You never gave it to me.”

  Cobi reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He passed it to Eric.

  “Thanks. You got a phone here I can use?”

  “On the nightstand, by the bed.”

  Eric turned back to Cobi, fishing for words. “I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful for what you’re doing or resentful for all this stuff you got.”

  Cobi smiled. “I understand. I might feel the same way if things were the other way around.” Cobi walked toward the bedroom door. Before he stepped out, he said, “I hope things work out with your phone call.”

  Worry on his face, Eric said, “Me, too.”

  31

  After five full minutes of staring at the phone, Eric picked it up, dialed the number from the paper Cobi gave him, and held his breath. As the phone rang, he stared down at the petition, the legal document to strip him of his parental rights. There had to have been some mistake.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice said.

  Eric froze at the sound.

  “Can I speak to Jess Freeman?” Eric asked, his voice trembling slightly.

  “This is Jessica Freeman. Who is this?”

  Eric paused. “It’s . . . it’s Eric.”

  The silence lasted so long that Eric thought he had been hung up on. “Jess, you there?”

  “How did you get this number?” Jess said, her voice only a whisper. Eric pictured her hunched over the phone, her hand cupped over the receiver like she had something to hide.

  “I’m out. I’m out of prison.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “I got this thing, this petition from the lawyer. Why are you doing this, Jess?”

  Silence again.

  “Jess?”

  “Read it again. It’s self-explanatory. I’m sorry, Eric. I have to go.”

  “No, Jess. Wait! I need to—”

  The line went dead.

  Eric held the phone to his ear a moment longer.

  He pushed the redial button, waiting while the phone rang. It was picked up by voicemail.

  “Jess, I don’t know why you hung up on me. I need to talk to you. I want to see you and Maya. Please. Call me back.” He thought to give her the number but realized he didn’t know what it was. “Call me back at the number on your Caller ID, okay?”

  He placed the phone back in its cradle. What was going on? What was Jess doing, and why in the hell wouldn’t she at least tell him? Did she no longer love him? Even if that was the case, why would she try to steal his baby from him?

  Eric dropped his head in his hands. After a moment, he looked up, looked around the room. Why was he even here? Did he expect the man down the hall to save him? Eric knew Cobi lied about the traffic being the reason he was late. Eric had always relied on his intuition, and it told him by the look on his so-called brother’s face that the man had doubts about him. He was probably in his bedroom right now, regretting inviting Eric in and trying to find the most polite way to tell him that in the morning he would have to leave. Eric decided he would save him the trouble.

  He walked over and pressed his ear to the door and heard no one moving around outside.

  He carefully opened it, stuck his head out, and looked both ways down the hall.

  Downstairs, there were lights on. The dim light above the stove, the lamp burning in the living room window, and an overhead hallway light that allowed Eric to see as he searched the first floor.

  He stopped by a plaque hangin
g on the wall by the front door, a half a dozen small hooks protruding from it. This was where Cobi had hung his ring of keys when they walked into the house earlier.

  There were three sets hanging there. Eric walked up very close to the plaque, fingered the sets till he noticed the Audi key with four inter-locked silver rings on it.

  He gently lifted the set and headed for the back door.

  32

  Eric made a turn onto a dark, winding road, wishing he had paid more attention to the directions on the way here.

  As the Audi’s xenon bulbs cut through the dark space ahead, Eric leaned close to the windshield, the glow of the car’s illuminated red instruments painting his face as he squinted to see where he was going.

  Before leaving the house, Eric stopped in the family room, where the entertainment center was. He stood in front of the sixty-inch flat-screen mounted on the wall above the fireplace and sized it up. It would be too big to fit in the car and too time consuming to take down. He snatched the DVD player, the Bose Surround Sound system, and cable box instead.

  As he drove, Eric knew the plan wasn’t fully developed, but it was in action. He would pawn the electronics he stole for spending money, and then he’d take the car to a chop shop.

  But what if the shop he knew of was no longer there? He knew he’d only get a few grand for the car, and then he’d have no transportation. Maybe he should keep it. But then exactly where would he go? To Jess’s?

  She sounded like she didn’t want to see him. But if he pulled up in a big, expensive new car, he was sure that would be a different story.

  Eric cut the wheel, made a right, and thought the surroundings were starting to look familiar. He relaxed a bit, feeling more confident about the decision he had just made.

  All of sudden, the car lost power. Not just the engine, as if he had run out of gas, but the entire car. The lights shut off, the cabin went dark, the car shut down and eventually rolled to a slow stop as Eric steered it toward the side of the road.

  “Fuck!” Eric said, hammering the wheel with the side of his fist. He yanked the hood release from under the dash, threw open the door, and sprang out of the car. He raised the hood and stared down at the engine with only the light of the moon to see.