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“Hello?”
“Yes, hello. Is Talisa London available, please?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Jericho Becton.” The man’s voice was a deep bass, a rich tonality that would have resonated nicely over the radio.
“Are you a friend of Talisa’s?”
“She and I met last week, ma’am, and it’s very important that I reach her. I’ve tried calling her a couple of times before but I don’t know if she’s been getting my messages.”
Mary stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other clutching the telephone receiver. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Well, Talisa’s not home at the moment. But I will tell her you called.”
“Thank you,” Jericho said, following with a heavy sigh.
Mary could hear the disappointment in the man’s voice. The sadness of it echoed loudly in the tone of his voice as he gave the woman his contact information, repeating over again how anxious he was to make contact with Talisa. As Mary dropped the telephone receiver back onto the hook, her husband came through the kitchen door, waving hello as he entered.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Mary responded. “How was your day?”
The man shrugged, not bothering to respond as he took a seat at the kitchen table and reached for the lacings that bound his leather work boots.
“Don’t take them boots off in my kitchen,” Mary scolded, fanning her hand in the man’s direction.
“Why you got to start the minute I come through the door?” her husband responded. He paused, his hands frozen in midair in front of him as he gazed up at her.
“I’m not starting anything. I’m finishing this. Take them boots out of here. I just mopped this floor clean and you come in here ready to kick trash on the floor. I’m not having it.”
Rising from his seat, Herman swore, profanity filling the air with his annoyance. That was all it took before the duo was arguing bitterly back and forth, the moment turning uglier with each comment that passed between them.
As she came through the front door, Talisa could hear the two of them bickering loudly. Her mother’s voice had risen four octaves, the older woman screaming unintelligibly and her father yelling back just as loud. She shook her head in disgust as she entered the room to stand between the two of them. Her presence was greeted with silence as one parent eyed the other, vile stares racing between them. Her father suddenly turned away from the two women, plopping back down against the thinly padded chair, reaching for his bootlaces.
As Talisa shook a finger at one and then the other, she couldn’t help but think she should be used to the ugly that frequently passed between her folks. During the course of their forty-two-year marriage, Herman and Mary London had forever walked a fine line between love and hate for one another. Since Talisa had been three years old she knew she would never understand how two individuals with such an abundance of love for her and everyone else, could totter so precariously from one side of malevolence to the other side of devotion when it came to the relationship they shared with each other.
“Why do you two have to act so ugly? The whole neighborhood can hear you both screaming. Miss Taylor is still standing on her front porch eavesdropping,” Talisa said, pointing in the direction of their next door neighbor.
“Betty Taylor can stand wherever she pleases. But she don’t ever want to get in my business if she knows what’s good for her,” Mary proclaimed, spinning her stout body around to reach for the mop. “Just look at what you done to my floor,” she hissed in Herman’s direction.
The man reached for his boots, standing up straight as he headed out of the room in his bare feet and up the stairs. He muttered under his breath as he made his exit.
“Daddy doesn’t need you fussing at him the minute he gets home from work. You know how hard his days are.”
“Don’t be telling me about your daddy. I’ve been with that man longer than you’ve been around. I know about your daddy.”
“You just need to give him a break. I bet your blood pressure is sky-high right now. That’s not good for either of you.”
Mary shrugged, moving to change the subject. “We’re having baked chicken, rice and green beans for supper. I even made some peach cobbler for dessert. Your daddy likes my peach cobbler.”
Talisa smiled, leaning to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Did I get any calls?”
Mary nodded. “Some boy called here for you. I forgot his number though. Your daddy and his mess threw me right off track. I was just about to get a pen and some paper when he come in here with his evilness.”
“Do you even remember the man’s name?”
Mary sucked her teeth, tossing her daughter a look that said she should be careful with the tone of her voice. “Jericho. Like in the Bible.”
Talisa inhaled swiftly, surprise registering across her face. “Jericho Becton?”
“Yeah, I think that was it.”
“And you didn’t get a telephone number?”
“I told you what your daddy done. Threw me right off track with his foolishness. That poor boy’s number went right out my head. But I’m sure he’ll call back. He’s called before. He’ll call again.”
“Before?” Talisa’s tone was incredulous. “You mean this wasn’t the first time?”
Mary shook her head, reaching for a broom to sweep her floor. “No. He done called two or three times. I just forgot to tell you.”
Talisa pursed her lips, rolling her eyes with disbelief. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“You’re welcome,” the woman responded nonchalantly, oblivious to her daughter’s annoyance.
Talisa tossed her hands into the air in frustration as she spun out the door. As she headed up the stairs, she passed her father making his way back down. He had changed from his city employee’s uniform into a pair of khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. He leaned to kiss her cheek as they stood side by side on the same riser.
“I don’t like it when you two fight,” Talisa said, leaning her head against her father’s shoulder.
“We wasn’t fighting. It was just a matter of differences.”
“Well, I don’t like that either,” Talisa responded.
The man laughed, kissing her forehead. “We’ll work at it. We’ll try to do better. So, when do you leave for Africa?”
Talisa grinned. “In a few weeks. I can’t wait.”
Her father returned the wide smile. “I’m real proud of you, pumpkin. I hope you know that.”
Leaning into her father’s hug, Talisa pressed her cheek to the man’s broad chest. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you so much.”
Herman London winked his eye as he released his grip around her torso. “Daddy loves you, too, baby. Daddy loves you, too.”
Sitting side by side in the family living room, Talisa’s parents were still trading barbs back and forth, stopping just long enough to watch an old Cosby Show rerun, before resuming their bickering during the commercial breaks. Talisa knew it would go on for most of the night, finally calming when one or the other retired for the evening.
Throwing her body across the length of her queen-sized bed, Talisa heaved a deep sigh. Jericho Becton had tried to call her. Not only had he called her, but he had actually tried on three separate occasions to catch up with her, and her mother had let the knowledge of that fact just slip from her mind. Talisa shook her head at the absurdity. For months now she’d been ignoring the woman’s forgetfulness, turning a blind eye to the laundry that was left to mildew in the washing machine, or the dinner charred around the edges.
The termination notices from the utility companies had been laughed at as Talisa had rushed to make the payments, insuring services weren’t disconnected. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached,” her mother would say with a deep chuckle, shaking gray hair from one side of her full face to the other. Talisa and her father would laugh with the woman, both ignoring that there might actually be a problem that they needed to address.
In conjunction with the woman’s already volatile temperament, she was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. Talisa made a mental note to discuss it with her father so that they might consider giving her mother’s doctor a call to ask for advice.
Rolling over onto her stomach, Talisa reached into her nightstand drawer for a telephone directory. Flipping quickly through the pages, her disappointment was thick when she found no home listing for Jericho Becton. She found his office number, though, and repeated it in her mind as she agonized about whether or not she should call it. With nothing to lose, she reached for the phone extension and dialed.
A woman with a deep, Southern drawl answered the line. “Doctor’s office. May I help you?”
Talisa cleared her throat, trying to will the nervous butterflies from her abdomen. “Yes, please. I’m trying to reach Dr. Jericho Becton.”
“I’m sorry, but the office is closed. You’ve reached the answering service. Is this an emergency?”
“No, it isn’t. I just needed to speak with him.”
Talisa could hear the woman flipping through a pile of papers before she spoke again. “Dr. Jericho Becton isn’t on duty so I’m unable to page him for you. In fact, we’re directing all his calls to his father, Dr. Elijah Becton. According to my notes, Dr. Jericho will be out of the country for the next twelve months. His father is handling all his patients. Would you like me to page Dr. Elijah for you?”
Talisa shook her head into the receiver. “No. That’s not necessary. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“Not a bother, dear. If you change your mind, just give us a call back. Any of the operators will be able to reach the doctor for you.”
“Thank you.” Talisa disconnected the line, wiping at a tear that had edged its way to the corner of her eye. “Just perfect,” she muttered under her breath. “Of all the lousy luck…”
Chapter 7
There was nothing left for Jericho to pack. His mother had arrived earlier in the day, navigating his laundry, his shopping, the watering of his plants, and organizing his duffel bag of casual clothing to prepare him for his trip. He smiled as he thought about his mother, the way she easily flitted from one chore to the other, ignoring his pleas for her to let him take care of things on his own. She’d been ignoring him since he’d been knee-high and able to tell her no. She’d chosen instead to do for him as if he were unable to do for himself. The relationship had made for some interesting moments between them when Jericho had grown old enough to challenge her parental authority and assert his independence. Folding his own laundry, preparing his meals, and making his own bed had been more than a task with Irene Becton at the helm.
Jericho reached for the telephone, tempted to dial the woman’s number one last time. Giving it a second thought, he dropped the receiver back onto the hook. He’d already left three messages with the woman who’d answered the telephone. Three times he’d been told that Talisa wasn’t home to take his call. Three times Talisa hadn’t bothered to call him back. Maybe he had been wrong about what he thought he’d seen in her eyes the night the two of them had met. He inhaled sharply, the memory of her pulling at his breath. The telephone ringing distracted him from his thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Jericho, hello.”
The man heaved a deep sigh, pausing noticeably as he recognized the voice on the other end.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
“What do you want, Shannon?”
“I just called to tell you what a delightful time I had the other day. I was hoping we might be able to do it again.”
“I don’t think so, Shannon. I was obligated for one afternoon. That’s all.”
“So, is that what our date was to you? An obligation?” The woman’s tone was quickly brimming with tension. Jericho could feel the hostility beginning to spill across the telephone lines.
“It was your twenty grand, Shannon, and you got what you paid for. I was just upholding my end of the contractual agreement.”
“I still love you, Jericho. Why are you being so hateful?”
Jericho sneered. “There isn’t an ounce of love between us, Shannon. A woman doesn’t do what you did to a man she claims to love.”
“I made one mistake, Jericho. I deserve another chance.”
Jericho scoffed at the thought. “Is that what we’re calling what you did? A mistake?” He shook his head into the receiver. “Don’t do this, Shannon. You know that there is never going to be anything else between us. Don’t make this difficult.”
“I’m trying to make amends, Jericho. I want to show you what you still mean to me.” The woman’s tone was beseeching as she whispered loudly into the telephone, tears outlining her words.
Jericho refused to be moved by the display of emotion. “I have to hang up, Shannon. I have things to do. Thank you for calling.”
“Jericho—” Shannon started before the dial tone filled her ear.
Jericho was annoyed by the rise of anxiety that had suddenly filled the pit of his stomach. As he stood with the telephone still pressed against the palm of his hand, the phone cord pulled from the wall, his body shook uncontrollably.
At the Atlanta airport, Jericho sat waiting for his British Airways flight to Entebbe, Uganda. He had a six-fifteen departure time, so his plane wouldn’t land until seven twenty-five the next morning. With an extended twelve-hour layover at London’s Heathrow Airport, he wouldn’t see Africa until Monday morning, after a second overnight plane flight. He would have more than his fair share of time to while away, thinking about things that did nothing but cause him anxiety.
At that particular moment, Shannon Porter and Talisa London were both on his mind. So deep in thought, he barely noticed the flow of passengers gathering in the hard seats to the right and left of him. When a young child brushed against him, the little boy racing from his mother’s side to his father’s, the touch against his pant leg caused Jericho to jump with surprise. The child gave him a cautious stare, and then lifted his small hand to wave before scurrying off to peer out the large glass windows to the aircraft parked outside.
Jericho heaved a deep sigh. He had no interest in spending his entire two-day journey to Africa thinking about any woman, especially one who wasn’t interested and one he surely didn’t want. Unfortunately, the memories of both females seemed intent on haunting his spirit. He sighed again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as he finally looked up, taking in the view around him.
A newspaper stand caught his eye and he rose from his seat, shifting his carry-on bag against his shoulder. Pulling a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution from a wire rack, he dropped a dollar bill against the counter and headed back toward his seat, not bothering to wait for his change.
As dark as his mood, the paper’s headlines were dismal at best, and the drab surroundings of the airport did little to lift Jericho’s spirit. He dropped back into a seat, tossing the paper onto the chair beside him. An airline attendant caught his eye and smiled, mouthing hello as she gave him a come-hither look. Jericho gave her a quick bend of his lips, then dropped his gaze back into his lap. He still had over an hour to wait before the airlines would start boarding flight # 0062 and he had no desire to make small talk. He closed his eyes tightly, crossing his arms against his broad chest.
He flashed back to the night of the auction and Talisa’s warm smile. The woman had been a breath of fresh air and Jericho had inhaled the essence of her like much needed oxygen. The connection between them had been instantaneous, Jericho had thought, reflecting back on the waves of energy that had spun like a raging fire between them. He had been out of control, his mind lost in the brilliance of their connection. When she had bid, countering each offer, he had taken that as confirmation of his emotions, confident that she, too, was feeling the same things he was.
He bristled at the memory of Shannon’s exorbitant bid, the flagrant display of the woman’s wealth nothing but an acute irritation. Shannon had always placed far too much emphasis on her father’s money, almost to the point of belittling anyone who had less than she did.
Since they’d been in first grade together at Marietta’s The Walker School, Shannon had played by rules few others would ever understand. Even at the tender age of six, she’d imagined the world revolved around its axis for her alone and that the sun and moon set and rose as she willed them to. At The Walker School, Jericho’s had been the only dark face in the small class of twelve students. The friendship between him and Shannon had been established at birth by virtue of their two fathers both being Yale University alumni and their mothers building an alliance on the demands of their elite social circle. By third grade, Irene Becton had insisted on a school with a more diverse student body and Jericho and Shannon’s camaraderie was reduced to weekend gatherings and holiday vacations.
In junior high school, Jericho had become smitten with puppy love and Shannon had found a viable boy toy to manipulate and control. With much instigation from both sets of parents, they had allowed his infatuation and her obsession to define their romantic relationship. Despite both of them dating other people off and on during high school, once in college they’d been easily drawn back into the possibility of forever that their parents had seen for each of their futures. The Porter family had welcomed the prospect of their only daughter marrying a surgeon. Jericho’s parents had seen resounding potential in Shannon being an ideal doctor’s wife. Shannon had cleverly masked her idiosyncrasy to be self-absorbed from both families, and only Jericho had true knowledge of the woman’s propensity for coldhearted antics.
A chill ran through him and he shivered in response. He clasped his arms tighter around his upper body, stealing a glance up at the attendant who was still cutting her eye in his direction, hopeful for his attention.
There had been a part of him that had truly loved Shannon. He’d reconciled her flaws and had learned to turn a blind eye to her deficiencies, focusing as much attention as he could muster on her strengths. His sophomore year in college she’d shown up unannounced at his dorm room door, paying him a surprise visit for his twentieth birthday and the two had become lovers. Shannon Porter had taken his virginity, but the loss of her own was still a mystery to him.
His first taste of heartbreak had come six months later when he’d flown to Vassar College, only to find her in bed with a fellow history major. Shannon had sworn the relationship was nothing special, just a momentary lapse of judgment for a quick minute of sexual release. He’d believed her heartfelt plea for forgiveness, her long lashes batting back the rise of tears. Things between them had improved and he’d actually found himself believing in the possibility of him and Shannon Porter living blissfully in love for the balance of their lives.
His surgical residency had been taxing on the relationship, but they’d endured. Both of their mothers had massaged the strain, rallying support to get them through the bouts of aloneness his intense schedule placed on their time together. But Jericho had seen the signs of their demise, choosing instead to ignore the warning signals that Shannon was clearly not the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. The reality of that fact was made clear the last night the two of them had spent together.
The entire evening had started badly with Shannon in a snit about nothing and unhappy about everything. Dinner had ended with her throwing a tantrum because Jericho had refused to give up his weekend golf plans with his father to fly with her to Aspen, Colorado for an impromptu ski trip. It had been his father’s fiftieth birthday and Jericho had been planning the get-together for months. Shannon had refused to understand, wanting him to defer his attention to her instead.
Despite her pouting, Jericho had spent the balance of their evening struggling to make Shannon happy. A spontaneous stop at a local jeweler had netted Shannon a diamond tennis bracelet and cost him a month’s salary. After promising to take her away for a one-week holiday in Hawaii for her birthday, Shannon had seemed pacified and back at her apartment she’d feigned contentment. Later that night, as they lay side by side in her bed, he could never have imagined what would happen next.
The clock had barely struck midnight when the bickering began, Shannon once again imploring him to change his weekend plans to be with her. The bickering had increased to an all-out battle with Shannon throwing her possessions from one side of the residence to the other. When she’d lunged at him, slapping his face with the palm of her hand, it had taken every ounce of restraint for Jericho not to hit her back. The arrival of Atlanta’s finest, beating their nightsticks against the front door in response to a neighbor’s complaint should have been enough, but Shannon had taken their disagreement to a point of no return.
The duo had been separated, him in the living room and she in the bedroom, as the two law enforcement officers listened first to his side of the story and then to hers. Then, to Jericho’s dismay, he’d been handcuffed and hauled off to the local police precinct, having to defend himself against an accusation of domestic violence. Shannon Porter had accused him of assault, the tale of her attack complete with sobbing tears and enough dramatic innuendo to place doubt on Jericho’s character. Four hours of questioning had finally unearthed the truth and Jericho had been released.
Heartbreak couldn’t hold a candle to the pain Jericho had felt. Everything within him had been destroyed. As the sun rose that next morning, so did Jericho’s resolve. Shannon Porter became dead to him, nothing more than a faint memory of a bad time in his life. He’d never told his parents or hers what had happened between them. He still didn’t know why, just wanting nothing more than to place as much distance between him, her and the memory as he could find. He believed that if he didn’t have to discuss it, the easier it would be for him to forget. And now Shannon had the audacity to proclaim her blatant betrayal a mere mistake and her love for him to be real.
The little boy stood at Jericho’s knee, watching him curiously. It was only then that Jericho realized his face was damp from his tears. Glancing quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, he wiped the moisture against the back of his hand and forced himself to smile down at the child.
“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning toward the toddler. “My name’s Jericho.”
The boy laughed, his curly head bobbing against his shoulders as he turned back to his mother, reaching to wrap his arms around the woman’s legs. Jericho made a funny face, his eyes bugging out from his head, his tongue reaching down to his chin and the child responded with one of his own. They both laughed and for a quick moment, Jericho allowed the memories of Shannon Porter to stay dead.
