No One But You

by Michelle Monkou

  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.

  His phone, which was still clipped on his belt, buzzed. He ignored the small gadget. It quieted. A few minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Again, he tried to ignore it. But then he remembered that his mother may be under the weather.

  He answered.

  “Jackson, were you sleeping?”

  “Denise?” He struggled to sit up. He was glad to hear from her, especially since she could give him news about Sara. He’d almost managed the entire day without thinking about her. But he was glad that Denise blew away that accomplishment.

  “I feel bad calling you so late, but I wanted to return a favor.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sara gave me some great advice. I’m getting my life together and I hate to see my friends struggling. Hold a minute.”

  Jackson heard the phone click. He rested his head in his hand to wait for her to return to the call. His stomach rumbled. He dropped the phone from the sharp pain.

  His stomach lurched. Stabbing pains had him clenching his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep from crying out. Something he ate didn’t agree with him.

  Finally he was able to pick up the phone. The brief episode wiped him out. “Hello,” he said, struggling to speak.

  “Hey, I thought I’d lost you there. Sara?”

  “Yeah.” Sara’s voice sounded hesitant.

  Jackson tried to focus. “What’s going on?”

  “Sara and Jackson, you’re both my friends. I’ve stood on the sideline throughout your relationship and saw love as it truly is. I don’t know what happened this last time. But I think there is a lot of unfinished business. So go ahead and talk. I’ll go back to what I was doing.”

  Jackson couldn’t believe what Denise had done. He wanted to call her name and ask her more questions. But he knew that Sara was on the line. He could hear her breathing. Was she equally confused?

  “Jackson, how are you?”

  “I’m hanging in there.”

  “You sound different. Did she wake you? I can’t believe she pulled this conference call stunt. She’s lucky that she’s not here.”

  “I know what you mean. I have a cold or something. I thought it was allergies, but I’m not sure. Where is Denise?”

  “She’s at home with her parents taking care of personal business.”

  “But she’s okay, otherwise?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jackson remained still on the bed. His mouth felt dry. But he didn’t want to waste a second getting water from the refrigerator. He desperately wanted her to stay on the phone and not run off.

  “How’s work?” she asked.

  “Busy. Are you busy?” This two-step dance frustrated him. He wanted to know if she thought about him. Did she have sleepless nights? Had anyone turned her attention?

  “I’m working on my first draft of Alethea’s story. Tough going sometimes. I wrote her a letter because I wanted to ask a few more questions. I need her detailed response, not her usual, casual off-the-cuff remarks.”

  “I’m confident that you’ll write a wonderful, eye-op
ening essay on that remarkable woman.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I may have to come back to Chicago.” He uttered the statement and waited. A coughing fit erupted.

  “Jackson, you don’t sound good at all. Look, you need to rest.”

  “I don’t want to hang up.” He didn’t care how he sounded. He wanted to hear Sara’s voice.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I don’t, either. But you need rest. Call me when you feel better.”

  Jackson closed his eyes, disappointed that the call was about to end. “I will.”

  He hung up with enough time to run to the bathroom. For the remainder of the evening, he repeated the pattern of lying down, sitting up with sudden pain and running to the bathroom. By the morning, his sheets were soaked with sweat. But he couldn’t move to change it. He felt as if something held him down, pinned him to the bed.

  His throat was beyond dry. His lips were cracked and hurt when he moved them. The light bothered his eyes and he kept them closed.

  He struggled to hold onto one thought. Sara wanted him to call her. She hadn’t turned her back on him.

  Sara hung up the phone slowly. Her forehead wrinkled by a worried frown. Jackson didn’t sound good at all. She didn’t know anyone who could check on him. And he sounded bad enough to need the attention.

  She got out of her bed to get her pocketbook. She pulled out all the business cards that accumulated in her bag. Among the lot, she looked for Gladys’s card. Before the big falling out during the book club meeting, she had passed out her card. At the time, Sara had slipped it in her bag with no plan to ever use it. She’d thought that she’d leave that city and its crazy social rules.

  Now at ten o’clock, she was about to call someone she’d only briefly met to get Eleanor’s number. Sara took a deep breath, hoping that she’d get lucky.

  “Gladys, this is Sara. Please accept my apologies for calling so late.”

  “Sara?” Gladys yawned. “I was watching TV. How can I help you? Everything okay?”

  Sara did feel guilty for not calling Gladys and thanking her for defending her. She’d been such an emotional mess that she’d forgotten. Later, calling her would have been her excuse to learn what Eleanor was up to with her son and the infamous daughters. She’d rather not know.

  “Do you have Eleanor’s number?” Sara explained why she needed the number. Gladys didn’t object, and provided her with the number quickly.

  “If you need anything else, I’m here.”

  Sara rang off and then redialed the Thomases’ residence. She didn’t expect to get through to Eleanor so easily. The staff were probably experts at fending off callers. Now the time grew later, but she wasn’t about to give up.

  Jackson’s father answered. His irritation was apparent in his greeting.

  “Mr. Thomas, this is Sara.”

  “Who?”

  “Sara Lovell. I visited your home a few weekends ago.”

  “Oh, yes. Jackson isn’t here. I’ll let him know you called.”

  “Wait!” She could visualize him lowering the phone to the base. “I just hung up from Jackson.”

  “And you had a fight and want me to intervene on your behalf.” He cleared his throat. “Jackson is an adult, Miss, ah…”

  Sara shook her head. Now his father was going to be a pain. “Sir, I’m not calling about me. Jackson is ill.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s allergies. But what does that have to do with you?”

  “I just spoke to him and he sounded very weak. I think someone should check on him.”

  “I saw him today, Sara. He’s probably got a sinus infection. No need to get dramatic. Let him rest tonight. You have a good evening.”

  This time, she couldn’t stop him from hanging up. “What a schmuck!” Sara didn’t know whether to call back.

  She readied for bed, but felt restless. She didn’t believe in mystical reasoning about having a cosmic tie with soul mates, and the like, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Jackson.

  She called his number. Maybe if he answered, she’d feel more reassured. The phone switched to his voice message. In the next ten minutes, she called three times, giving him time in case he was in the bathroom. There was no answer.

  She didn’t think that he would refuse to pick up her calls. The next time she picked up the phone, it was to order airline tickets. The cost for a short-notice trip put a dent in her bank account, but she didn’t care.

  By midnight, she crawled into bed, hoping that she could catch a couple hours of sleep before having to head to the airport. She didn’t want to be tired when she got to Columbus. If Jackson needed her help, she wanted to be able to help him.

  She closed her eyes and said a prayer. He may need all the help she couldn’t provide.

  Chapter 12

  Sara landed at seven on a rainy day. The weather blanketed the area in a soggy dampness. The traffic of morning rush hour slowed her down even more. The good thing was that Jackson lived at the edge of the city limits.

  Her taxi driver did his best to weave through the traffic to Jackson’s home. She’d never been there, but had a personal card he’d given her with his private information.

  She pressed his doorbell, shifting back and forth, waiting for him to answer. She called once more, on the cell, acknowledging that she’d probably overloaded his voice mail. Still no reply.

  This time she called his father ready to make him understand that he needed to take her seriously.

  “Sara, I’m on my way. I’ve been trying to reach Jackson since you called and there’s no answer. I have a key.”

  Sara sat at Jackson’s door. People walking their dogs or jogging looked at her strangely. She waved when they didn’t seem to get their fill of her sitting there. One concerned resident sent the neighborhood security to investigate. Sara produced her identification upon their request. They scrutinized the small card, not listening or caring to hear her explanation. She could already read from their body language that she was about to be told to leave.

  “It’s okay, gentlemen. She’s with me.” Cecil Thomas emerged from his car. His distinguished manner immediately made them back off.

  They handed back her identification.

  “Don’t leave, though. I may need your services.” Cecil opened the door and entered.

  Sara squeezed past him, calling out to Jackson. The sound of water running drew her past the kitchen, into the bedroom. The bedsheets were rumpled, and pillows were strewn around the bed.

  She’d stopped calling out to him. Dread had a hold on her, like cold fingers icily spreading over her body. Her stomach tightened with uncertainty. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, she followed the sound of running water. As she came around the corner to the doorway of the bathroom, she saw Jackson lying on the floor.

  “Help! Help me.” She dropped to her knees, reaching out to touch him.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Jackson’s father ordered. He touched his son’s head and then his neck. “Call an ambulance!”

  “Jackson,” Sara called. She disobeyed Cecil’s order and touched Jackson’s cheek. “Please answer me, baby.” He was so still and pale, but his skin was hot.

  She looked down the length of his body. He still wore his work clothes. How long had he been like this?

  Fifteen minutes later, the paramedics arrived and Sara and his father had to leave to give them room. Sara strained to hear their assessment at the scene. Once they knew that Cecil was the father and she was…well, a mere friend, they directed their comments to him. Sara hoped the man would have the decency to share the information with her.

  In a matter of minutes, they lifted Jackson onto the gurney and rolled him out of the building. Sara stood in the living room, glad to see that they hadn’t pulled a sheet over his face.

  “They are taking him to the hospital. He’s dehydrated with a raging fever. They are afraid that his kidneys may have started shutting down.”

  “I’m coming,” Sara d
eclared, ready to do battle if he contradicted her.

  “I’d have it no other way. Come with me.”

  Sara blinked. She welcomed his inclusion, but didn’t trust that it would hold once his son was better. Her theory was strengthened when they rode to the hospital with barely any conversation between them. For right now, she only wanted to concentrate on Jackson.

  They sat in the hospital waiting room until a doctor visited them. He explained that they were giving him IVs and strong antibiotics. They would need to monitor him carefully for the next few days. Jackson wasn’t necessarily in the clear, but he was now in capable hands.

  “After he talks to his father, may I see him?” Sara asked the doctor, still unsure that Cecil would not object.

  “Sure. Are you Sara?”

  Sara looked at Cecil. “Yes.”

  “He’s been repeating your name since he regained consciousness.” The doctor shook their hands and left.

  “Maybe you should go in first.” Cecil paced, his hands nervously rubbing his chin.

  “I’ll be here in the hospital for a while. You go ahead.” Sara did feel much better that Jackson was awake, but also because he called for her. She dropped wearily into one of the chairs, grabbed one of the celebrity gossip magazines and tried to exercise patience while Cecil visited his son.

  Jackson listened to the beeps of the medical equipment surrounding him, looking over at the IVs. He wondered about the uniformed medical personnel bustling past the window of his room. His last memory was of washing his face in the bathroom. While his memory wasn’t holding onto all the details, he couldn’t explain why he thought he’d heard Sara.

  One conversation with her and he was like a lovesick pup. Even in sickness, he’d heard her call his name. If it were only true, he’d be the happiest patient.

  “Son, how are you doing?”

  “Dad? I’m confused.” Jackson hadn’t been sick a lot as a child. And he certainly had never been in the hospital. So the look of deep concern from his father disturbed him. His father was the rock.

  Cecil filled him in on how he managed to end up in the hospital. “You have Sara to thank. She’s here.”