“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