No One But You

by Michelle Monkou

  “Thank you for inviting us.” Sara tried not to sound like an overzealous fan, but failed.

  “Here, let’s sit in the sunroom. We can enjoy the view without the crisp fall air chilling us to the bone. I hope you’re ready to eat. I had Rose make her delicious chicken salad. I have either garden salad greens or freshly baked sourdough bread.”

  “Sourdough bread for me.” Jackson provided the biggest grin to their host.

  Alethea’s face lit up, much brighter than when Sara shared her appreciation with the author. Sara glanced at Jackson, wondering what got him talking. Was it the fresh bread?

  After everyone helped themselves to the simple, but tasty fare, Sara set aside her plate. She wiped her mouth and fingers, hoping to communicate the clue that she was ready to start the interview. However, Alethea and Jackson, with heads close together, were in deep conversation. Sara cleared her throat to regain control of her interview.

  “Alethea, let’s start again.” Sara took out her small tape recorder and set it on the table. She pushed in the Record button and sat back.

  “Oh, no.” Alethea looked up and shook her head fiercely. “I will not be taped.”

  “My apologies,” Sara said quickly, grabbing the tape recorder to stop it. “I wanted to prevent misquoting you and making sure that I captured the essence of your thoughts and motivation.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, but I still can’t give you permission.”

  Sara didn’t want to make the incident into a big deal. She wasn’t a reporter by trade. Knowing when to lay low and when to go charging after a topic was based on gut reaction. She sensed that her subject today would test those abilities.

  “Plus I’m not partial to being interviewed, like I warned you. But we can chat over our meal and maybe you’ll get some kernels of information. Okay?”

  Sara nodded. What choice did she have?

  Alethea turned her undivided attention toward Jackson. “I don’t think that you are from here, right?” She didn’t wait for his nod. “How long have you been chasing after this young lady?” Alethea chuckled, clapping her hands.

  “I wouldn’t say that he’s chasing after me,” Sara felt compelled to explain, especially at the smug look on Jackson’s face.

  “If you say so.” Alethea turned back to Jackson.

  “I’m an old friend of Sara’s. I’m in town for a few days and didn’t want to pass up any opportunity to hang out with her. However, I was fine keeping myself busy for these few hours while she conducted her interview with you.”

  Alethea waved her hand dismissively. “I’m always up for the company of a hunky young man. As a matter of fact, my interest motivated my parents into sending me to Smith College for women. I wouldn’t say that it toned down my wayward personality, but I directed my juices toward writing.”

  Sara relaxed against the chair. She sensed a great story about to be told. Although Alethea carried her fifty-five years well with only fine lines and a slender body, the author had a well-documented lifestyle that bordered occasionally on the wild side.

  “My first couple of essays had a militant edge. Hey, I was young and idealistic.” Alethea chuckled. Her gaze took on a faraway look, while a small smile played on her lips. “My parents had a fit when I decided that I was moving to Africa.”

  “Africa?” Jackson queried in awe.

  Sara looked over at Jackson. Even he’d fallen under Alethea’s spell.

  “Hey, it was the seventies. I was celebrating the various African countries’ independence. Met quite a few notable leaders of the Pan-African movement, which took me on a journey through the Caribbean.”

  Sara could only shake her head. Alethea lived the life that she dreamed. At a young age, this author had purpose and passion. After the emotional upheaval in her past, Sara couldn’t fathom moving around, much less taking off to live on a faraway continent. She craved order and stability—two things that life hadn’t offered up to her.

  “Which country?” Jackson asked.

  “Guyana.”

  Sara couldn’t comment since she’d barely heard about the country.

  “What took you there? Was there a revolution? Civil rights issue? Protests and marches?” Jackson probed.

  Alethea shook her head. “Unfortunately it wasn’t such a noble cause.”

  “Love?” Sara asked, before raising her hand to her mouth. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound…”

  “Uh-oh, sounds like you have a strong opinion.” Alethea stared hard at Sara, who shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Jackson also studied her.

  “Why did you go to Guyana?” Sara opted to refocus on her interview.

  “A man who meant the world to me invited me to his homeland. We’d met in Africa. He was a popular political figure who had garnered support from two sides who were bitter enemies. I loved his fervor for politics. Often I went to his rallies, ready to help with his cause.”

  “What happened?” Sara prompted, fully engrossed in the story.

  “Elections were at hand. He decided to throw his hat in the ring, rather than let the old establishment take over, or allow some of the more radical parties to step in.” Alethea played with her bracelets. “Those were exciting times, let me tell you.” She grinned at them. Her face appeared years younger with her recollection of the past. “We decided that we wouldn’t bring me out as his woman until after the elections, so voters wouldn’t be distracted.”

  From what Sara remembered in Alethea’s bio, she’d never married. There were no children. As a matter of fact, there were rumors about her sexual preferences. Somewhere in this, Sara doubted that the ending of this story included a husband.

  “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.”

  Chapter 5

  Jackson 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 ra
ttling 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.”