No One But You (14 page)

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-opening 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.

S
ara 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 declared, 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.”

Jackson perked up. He tried to raise himself, but he didn’t have the energy.

“Hey, take it easy. She’ll be in soon. And I do have to call your mother. She will be a mess when she hears this.”

“Sorry to cause all this fuss. I thought it was just my allergies.”

“They think it was a strong strain of the flu virus. You’re working so hard that you probably compromised your immune system.”

“What health book have you been reading?” Jackson joked with his father, a little embarrassed by his father’s show of concern. Emotions were to be hid and displayed only when necessary and, more importantly, in private moments.

“I know Sara wants to see you. I’ll go get her.” His father placed a hand over his and then turned away.

Jackson rested his eyes, waiting for Sara to enter. His energy had waned with his father’s visit. He hoped that he would not drift off to sleep. But he was so tired.

Sara entered the room. Jackson was still. She wanted to cry. The steady beeps of the various heart and blood pressure machines gave her small comfort. Otherwise, his pale sunken features would unravel what small self-control she had.

She approached the bed and gently took his hand. Unfortunately he’d fallen asleep, but as long as the nurses didn’t mind, she wanted to be at his side. Simply watching him sleep comforted her.

Making herself as comfortable as a hospital chair allowed, she took her position next to him. She stroked his fingers, placing small kisses on those hands she knew so well. Her tears spilled on them and she brushed them off his skin.

“Sara,” he whispered.

At first, she thought that she’d imagined the sound of her name.

“Sara,” he said, slightly louder.

She raised her head to see his eyes flicker open. She smiled, then grinned. “Oh, baby, don’t say anything.” She kissed him softly on his lips.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

“Shh. I didn’t think you were so desperate to see me.” She winked at him.

His mouth trembled, forming a weak smile. “Thank you.”

Sara started to cry again. “No, thank you.” She kissed his forehead, as he slipped back into a peaceful slumber. “I’ll be back.”

Sara left the hospital, but she was in a quandary. There was no way that she was going back home to Chicago while Jackson was still touch-and-go. She had her small duffel bag and not much else and no place to stay.

Her cell phone rang. “Yes?”

“Sara, this is Cecil. I’m sending a car to the hospital for you. I want you to stay at the house.”

“Oh, sure.” Sara hung up the phone, more than a little shocked. She didn’t know how long Cecil’s generosity would last or whether it spread to his wife. But she wouldn’t pass up free accommodations, especially since she didn’t know how long Jackson would be in the hospital.

An hour later, she entered the house that she thought she’d never visit again. The maid led her into the house away from the familiar family room to Cecil’s office. His style and personality definitely marked this room.

“Have a seat.”

Sara complied, her nervousness returned. She didn’t expect to feel as if she were on an interview.

“I want to thank you for being so persistent. And while Jackson is in the hospital, I’m hoping that I will get to know you.”

So this was like a job interview. Who knew that she had to be judged worthy of being a friend? Was this where she’d gone wrong the first time? Sara kept her theory to herself.

“My wife and I will be going to the hospital this afternoon. You’re welcome to accompany us.” He stood.

Sara followed suit. She hoped Jackson’s recovery would be on the fast track. She didn’t take orders well. The whole male dominant attitude made her want to snort.

“Vernetta will show you to your room. Eleanor is resting and will see you later. I have a few calls to make and don’t want you to feel that you have to eat in the dining room. You may eat lunch in your room, if you wish.”

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.” Sara meant it. She’d rather be in the private, smaller confines of the room.

Sara followed the maid up to the room. They passed several closed doors. The room chosen for her was at the far corner toward the front of the house. She looked around, wondering which one was his parents’ and, more importantly, which one was Jackson’s when he stayed here.

She entered the bedroom. The room color reminded her of a creamy blueberry with white trimmings around the window. A small spattering of a shade of raspberry accented the décor. At the window, she noted that she had the front view.

Growing up in this large house with servants and chauffeurs must have seemed quite natural, unlike her memories of home life with her mother and stepfather, where the blending of families didn’t quite work like the Brady Bunch. She had counted the time when she could escape to college. Two worlds, miles apart, and she and Jackson were attracted to each other.

Sara touched the curtains, fingered the decorations and admired the picturesque landscape paintings on the walls. At least there was a TV to keep her occupied.

The maid returned with her lunch on a tray.

“Thanks. Do you know if Eleanor is up and around?” Sara wasn’t exactly dying to see Jackson’s mother, but considering that she’d been invited to the house, she should show her appreciation in person.

“Mrs. Thomas is in her room. If you’d like to visit her, I’ll let her know.”

“No, that’s okay.” No need to rush the process since they would see each other on the way to the hospital.

Sara ate her soup, sandwich and warm apple crisp. Only crumbs remained in a matter of minutes. With only tea on the plane, she hadn’t eaten anything else.

Eating made her feel much better. She pulled out her laptop and set up a small work area at the desk in the corner of the room. Before long, she was fully engrossed in Alethea’s story as the words continued to flow.

The maid returned and instead of bothering her, she brought a fresh pot of hot water and an assortment of tea bags. Sara paused long enough to thank her profusely. If she stayed in this environment for too long, she’d be spoiled rotten.

Two hours later, she’d run out of anything further to write. She needed to think about the direction that her essay took. Taking a break at this time didn’t upset her. The time away from the work provided her with time to rejuvenate.

“Miss Sara, the Thomases are waiting for you,” the maid said through the door.

Sara hurriedly fixed her hair, straightened her clothing and grabbed her pocketbook. She went down the grand staircase, wishing that she’d heard them so that she could have been ready. As she entered the foyer, the maid said, “They are in the car.”

She hoped they hadn’t been waiting too long. Hurrying, she ran toward the car, almost stopping short at the sight of Eleanor. She certainly didn’t look herself.

She looked quiet and withdrawn.

Cecil sat in the front with the driver. He was visibly subdued. She and Eleanor were directed to the back. Sara stepped aside to allow Eleanor to enter first. She offered a weak, tired smile before sliding into the seat. Sara took her seat, wondering what she should say to Eleanor. They had separated under unpleasant circumstances. But Jackson’s illness looked like it had sucked the energy out of his mother. Sara couldn’t hold onto the anger when Eleanor appeared so weak.

Jackson’s father chatted with the driver. Sara could only see his profile occasionally when he turned to address him. Cecil didn’t seem to be able to relax. From where she sat, he appeared to be stiff and deliberate in how he thought and what he said.

Muffled sounds of sobbing startled her. Eleanor was crying into a handkerchief, trying to mute her misery. Sara acted on instinct and moved closer to the older woman. Eleanor looked up with redrimmed eyes, her fingers working at the lace trimmed handkerchief. Sara couldn’t offer supportive words, but she had a shoulder for lots of hurting folks. She wrapped her arm around Eleanor’s small frame and eased her head against her shoulder.

“Jackson is a fighter. He’ll be fine.” Sara believed every word she said.

By the time they reached the hospital, Eleanor had regained her composure. She didn’t look much better, but her emotions were being held in check. When they exited the car, Cecil was not the wiser of his wife’s meltdown.

On the way to his room, Sara remained respectfully behind the Thomases. Cecil and Eleanor walked together. Sara was glad to see that Cecil had his arm around his wife. Maybe his aloof personality didn’t run deep.

They navigated the long hallways, elevators and additional hallways. Sara trailed the couple to Jackson’s room. When they entered, she retreated and headed for the waiting room.