A Love to Remember

by Angela Weaver

  “He’s dead.”

  “Good God,” Thorne rushed. “Your father’s passed away?”

  Instinctually, she pushed the thought of her father’s mortality away. “No, my godfather.”

  “I’m sorry, love.”

  From the corners of her eyes, Sasha glimpsed the photographer shift back and forth with indecision. He didn’t know whether to comfort her with a hug or take another step back. Although they came from separate continents and had radically different experiences growing up, it hadn’t taken Sasha long to notice the big similarity: neither of them dealt well with the human species in emotional situations.

  In a somber voice, he said, “Sasha, there’s no way you can make it back to the States for the funeral.”

  The uncharacteristically strained tone in his voice derailed her train of thought. She simply nodded her head. “I know.”

  Sasha’s knees could no longer bear the weight of her sorrow. Her knees gave out and she collapsed back against a tree. Ignoring Thorne completely, she lost herself with precious memories of Uncle Camden. Eight months ago, he had surprised her by showing up in England on the very day of her acceptance into the Zoological Academy. Just last month, she’d called to wish him happy birthday. She’d begun to end the conversation with “I love you.” But he hadn’t heard it because the line had been disconnected.

  Only with the sudden loss did she come to grips with the depth of emotions for her sixty-year-old godfather. Grief consumed her. She wanted to share more time with him. She wanted Uncle Camden to be her guide again like he was years ago, as they explored the rainforests and Mayan ruins of Belize; when they ran from alligators, camped on barges and tracked black howler monkeys for two weeks. She wanted to eat peanut butter sandwiches and drink coffee so strong that it doubled as an insect repellant. Her sorrow deepened and memories gave way to tears.

  “I’ll start packing,” Thorne volunteered.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. The finality of the moment weighed on her shoulders. She thought about her parents, her great aunt Margaret and her best friend, Lena. The images of all her loved ones flashed through her mind. Sasha was no stranger to death. After having spent all of her life observing nature’s cycle of birth and death, she’d come to accept it. This time, however, death cut to the bone.

  Moments later after she’d managed some semblance of control over her runaway emotions, Sasha stood up and without a word, pushed back the tent flap and stepped inside. “We’ll be back soon, Thorne,” she said huskily.

  However, even as she voiced those words she had a feeling in the bottom of her stomach that it wouldn’t be as soon as she hoped.

  Chapter 2

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Two days after learning of her godfather’s death, Sasha woke one limb at a time.

  The feeling of blood pumping through her veins and the dull ache in her back brought the welcome sensation of being alive. Yet, the source of the pain took her a moment to figure out. Slowly as the haze of sleep began to lift, she realized that for the first time in weeks she’d slept in a bed. Actually, a feather bed with four down pillows, soft cotton sheets and a down comforter.

  She opened her eyes and squinted into the darkness before rolling over and reaching. Her long fingers encountered nothing but the soft duvet cover. Sasha looked at the glow of the bedside clock—10:30 a.m. She’d slept three hours, but she felt as if she’d been sleeping for a few minutes. She rolled over again and fumbled around until she managed to locate the switch for the bedside lamp. Low light suffused the room. Thick drapes covered two windows, a flat screen television flanked by heavy dark furniture and crème-colored walls.

  Sasha pushed a pillow behind her back and inhaled the lavender scent exuding from the bed sheets. The king-size sleigh bed shouted luxury.

  Uneasy, Sasha picked up the telephone and began to dial. Because of the sanctions against Cuba, she had to dial a service in Canada to be rerouted to her parents’ new home. A moment of silence passed as the international connection took place. When if finally came, the stuttered ring made her heart slip a beat.

  “Hello?” a familiar voice answered.

  “Momma.”

  “Sasha, baby. Where are you?”

  She closed her eyes and gripped the phone tighter as her chest tightened. The sound of her mother’s voice simultaneously relieved her and reminded Sasha of how much she missed her family. She took a deep breath and steadied her voice before replying. “I’m calling from Atlanta.”

  “Oh, baby. I’ve been praying for you since I found out about Camden. How are you?”

  She sat up straighter. “I’m okay. Momma, does Dad know about Uncle Camden?”

  “We got a letter in the mail about two weeks ago.”

  Sasha cradled the phone tighter. “Did he come to the funeral?”

  “No. I wanted to go, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Part of her wanted to voice the unspoken question of why. Yet, she held back. Her father was a man who lived by simple rules and staunch pride. No matter the history and connection between him and her godfather, Camden Ridgestone’s death wouldn’t have broken his vow never to see or speak to his best friend again.

  “Is he around?”

  “He’s out checking the caves. Now, how did you find out about Camden’s death? I thought you were on an island in the Asia.”

  “Uncle Camden’s attorney tracked me down.”

  “Why? It would have been impossible for you make it back in time for the funeral.”

  “I’m required to be at the reading of the will,” Sasha responded slowly.

  Several heartbeats passed before her mother said, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’m not sure I like it, either, but I really didn’t have a choice. Uncle Camden’s attorneys took care of everything from the plane tickets to this hotel suite.”

  “Hotel suite?”

  Sasha smiled and curled her legs under her like a child. “At the Ritz Carlton. The place has a bathroom bigger than my studio in Brooklyn. Not to mention the monogrammed slippers, bathrobes and a Jacuzzi tub.”

  “Samuel won’t like the sound of that.”

  Sasha automatically tensed at the mention of her father’s disapproval. “Mom, I know you don’t like to keep secrets, but if you tell Dad that Uncle Camden included me in his will Dad’s blood pressure will shoot through the stratosphere.”

  “I’ll let him know you called and that you’re all right. But you have to call me back and let me know what’s going on.”

  “Promise. I love you, Momma.”

  “I love you more, hummingbird.”

  Sasha’s chest suffused with love at the sound of her pet name. She waited for the click on the other end of the line before placing the phone back on its cradle. Sasha slid off the bed and stretched as her toes sunk into the carpet before slipping into the hotel slippers and donning the plush terry bathrobe.

  Spying a small counter with a coffee pot, tea and snacks, her stomach growled, reminding Sasha that she hadn’t eaten since arriving on the East Coast. Just as she crossed the living area, she heard a knock on the door.

  Sasha secured the belt around her robe and opened the door. A hotel attendant smiled and Sasha stepped aside as the man wheeled in a dish-laden cart. “Good morning,” she greeted him.

  “Morning, I hope you don’t mind that I’m a little late. We had a little problem with the service elevator this morning. But don’t let that bother you because the toast should still be warm and the coffee could still scald the living daylights out of a man.”

  Sasha laughed and shook her head as she let go of the doorknob and let the door swing closed. “I wasn’t expecting breakfast, so cold or hot really doesn’t matter to me since I’m starving.”

  Her eyes, which had just minutes before been narrow slits, opened when the smell of fresh roasted coffee wafted into her nostrils. He sat the cart alongside the windows and pushed back the curtains, letting bright sunlight into the room.
She crossed the room and picked up one of the silver covers to discover fresh croissants, muffins, toast, fruit and an assortment of jams.

  “This is enough to feed a small family.”

  “The Ritz might be cheap when it comes close to Christmas bonus time, but they don’t play around with making the guests feel welcome.”

  “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Originally? No. I was born in North Carolina, but I’ve spent most of my life traveling.”

  He chuckled and a smile slid up his face. “You know, we’re not really supposed to talk to the guests.”

  Happy to hear American English and be in the company of a fellow person of color, she winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. How about a cup of coffee?”

  “All right. My name is Frank.”

  After a half hour of food and conversation, Sasha locked the hotel door behind Frank and made her way to the bathroom. All it took was one quick look into the wall-length mirror to ruin her easy morning. The Senegalese woman who’d braided her hair had done an excellent job. But hiking through tropical forests and moving through thick underbrush had turned her stunning hairstyle into a complete disaster. The cornrows were in dire need of rebraiding. Since that wasn’t an option and she didn’t possess a proper hat or scarf, she sighed heavily. Sasha sat on top of the closed toilet seat, reached over her head and pursued her only option. Wincing at the thought, she began the two-hour process of unbraiding her hair.

  People should be required to give three months’ notice before dying.

  Sasha reached into her purse, pulled out a small packet of facial tissues, and wiped away a stray tear. So what if dying was an inevitable part of life—her uncle Camden should have told her he was terminally ill with cancer and he was putting her in the will.

  Sasha balled the damp tissue in her hand and looked out the window at the passing scenery. The afternoon sunshine felt warm against her skin, but she turned away and closed her eyes. She let the motion of the moving car and butter-soft leather seats against her spine lull her into a calm state. But not even soothing jazz pouring from the invisible back speakers could rid her of the sense of loss and sadness.

  She was feeling guilty and angry, and she hated it. Hated that she’d been off on the other side of the world while her godfather had suffered. Hated the fact that she hadn’t called or written in over a month. If only she’d known…

  Her nails dug into the armrest and she resisted the urge to rub her eyes as she contemplated the remainder of the day. Uncle Camden’s attorneys had arranged for the three-hundred-dollar-a-night suite with all the perks money could buy, but she’d barely slept a wink. The idea of spending an afternoon of sitting with people she didn’t know and finding out that she might have inherited things that she didn’t want had kept her awake throughout the transcontinental flight. Sasha shivered with the thought.

  This was the first time in her memory that someone she loved had died. Both her maternal and paternal grandparents had died when she was a baby. Her mother and father had been only children and keeping with what she called the Clayton tradition, Sasha was on only child. Not for lack of trying for a little brother or sister. Her mother’s second miscarriage had guaranteed that she would be the only offspring. If the day came that she actually took part in the mating cycle and got married, she vowed to have at least three kids. Every child should have a sibling. Instead of having an older brother or younger sister, she’d been alone. Of course, that meant extra attention from her parents and the undivided love of Uncle Camden, but she could have traded it all to not feel the loneliness she felt at that moment.

  “Here we are, miss.”

  The car stopped and the driver began to unbuckle his seat belt in preparation for opening the door, but Sasha waved him off. “I can get the door.”

  “Of course, I shall be returning you to the hotel. Please wait in the lobby for me.”

  “Thank you.” Sasha looked the driver again. Short black curly hair with a smattering of silver. She’d been too distracted and upset to pay attention to the man when he’d picked her up at the airport the day before. But now she noticed his British accent. It wasn’t the fashionable accent of the international reporters she often met in her travels, but the familiar lilt of Uncle Camden’s British lilt. Feeling another bout of weeping coming on, she scrambled out of the car.

  Sasha stepped out of the taxi into a landscaped lower plaza. A cold breeze hit her cheek as the car door closed behind her. She pulled the winter air deep into her lungs, let it out slowly and released a smidgen of tension. A clear blue sky complete with tiny dots of clouds reflected off the doors. She instinctively tilted her back and she looked upward over the glass-and-steel structure. Her eyes landed on the top of the building and she blinked in pleasant surprise. Unlike most of the skyscrapers she encountered in her travels, she didn’t find the pointed top. Instead, the building hosted two half circles like delicate wings curving toward one another.

  Shaking off her thoughts, Sasha gripped her purse and joined in the stream of people entering the building. Men and women were dressed in the latest business wear chic. By the time Sasha made it from the automatic glass doors to the richly appointed elevator lobby, she’d lost count of the number of designer handbags, ties, timepieces, cell phones and wireless headsets.

  Sasha felt more out of place than ever, not that she didn’t blend in. She’d had her herringbone black suit custom-made from one of the best tailors in Bangkok. So what if the Brooks Brothers design was two years old. Her ex-high school roommate and Manhattan-dwelling best friend had assured her that a well-made black suit matched with a cream-colored silk camisole never went out of style. She followed a group of briefcase-toting men into the elevator and pressed the button for one of the higher floors. Briefly glancing at the LCD panel, she checked the time and the temperature. A groan welled up in the back of her throat—she was early. She would have to wait an extra twenty minutes. She caught an interested glance from one of the male passengers, and quickly returned her gaze to the door, before curiosity drew her eyes back. Sure enough, he was looking right at her. Sasha dropped her gaze again and barely kept from squirming. He looked to be in his late thirties with straight brown hair and a curious twinkle in his green eyes. Like the rest of the group, he wore a blue dress shirt underneath his dark suit jacket.

  The number couldn’t go up fast enough for Sasha. The sooner she got off the elevator, the sooner she’d find out why her godfather had summoned her to Atlanta, and the sooner she could get back to her work. Correction: the sooner she could get the heck away from all those people. She exhaled, remembering the words from one of her previous therapists. No, she wasn’t anti-social; she just hadn’t been properly socialized. The elevator stopped and Mr. Green Eyes stepped off. Sasha let out a breath and then pulled it back in as the elevator stopped on her floor. She stepped off onto a plush Persian rug and inhaled. The slightly heavy scent of vanilla made her sneeze.

  “Ms. Clayton?”

  “Yes?” Sasha looked up from digging into her purse to grab another Kleenex. She wiped her nose and looked in the direction of the female voice that had called her name.

  “Good Afternoon. My name is Gretchen Stevens. I’m Mr. Hawthorne’s executive assistant.”

  She held out her hand in greeting. After a moment’s hesitation, Sasha shook her hand. The woman’s fingernails were perfectly manicured while hers hadn’t seen polish in months.

  “The attorneys are on their way from the courthouse and should arrive within the hour.”

  Sasha nodded and was careful not to examine the slight brown at the woman’s perfectly blond roots. Instantly, she compared the woman’s expertly applied makeup to the female sable’s instinctual urge to groom before coming into season. The human animal had never been the subject of her academic studies, but she couldn’t help but see the similarities with her professional research.

  “Pleas
e follow me.”

  She stopped in a separate room. Three walls were covered in Impressionist art and the third wall was in fact a window looking out over the city.

  “Please feel free to use the laptop, watch TV or peruse the magazines while you wait.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I get you something to drink, Ms. Clayton? Coffee, tea or soda?” she asked through a toothy smile that shouted cosmetic dentistry. The assistant kept addressing Sasha by her last name, a fact that made her feel older than her thirty-one years. She opened her mouth to tell the woman who had her beat in age by at least half a decade, that her name was Sasha. But she shoved the irritated thought to the back of her mind and she recalled the Southern tradition of calling adults by their last name.

  “No, thank you.” She smiled. “With the time change I won’t have any trouble staying awake. It’s the sleeping that will be difficult tonight.”

  “How about a mineral water? Transcontinental flights have a nasty tendency to cause dehydration. My skin is always parched even after a short flight to New York.”

  Startled, Sasha looked from the sight of the airplane flying in the horizon to Gretchen. “How did you know?”

  “I made your travel arrangements. I hope that the flight and your hotel are adequate?”

  “Very nice.”

  “Good. I’ll go get that Pellegrino. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “No, thank you,” she responded with a hastily contrived smile. At that moment she was about to take anything to get the secretary away from her. Sasha watched the woman leave the room and sat in the stuffed leather chairs near the window. Needing something to grab a hold of besides her purse, she picked up a copy of the local newspaper and sat it on her lap.

  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. She thought she’d conquered her issues with being around people. Or she thought she had. Taking a hard look at her life for the past two years, she brutally came to the conclusion she was deluding herself. She hadn’t spent more than a total of three months in civilization since she’d broken up with Byron Jackson.