Hidden Memories (26 page)

Sage found herself the center of attention, as if she were on trial, with all the questions they fired at her.

“What’s the governor of Georgia really like?”

“Oh, I heard you live in a mansion.”

“Ava says you drive a Mercedes-Benz, is that true?”

“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt badly by that bomb. Do they know who did it?”

“Have you really met the president of the United States?”

Sage answered their questions, surprised that they all knew so much about her. She’d assumed her mother wouldn’t talk about her except to complain that she’d gone to college, then gotten a big-time job in Atlanta, and forgotten all about her family. Now she didn’t know what to think about her mother’s apparent pride in her success.

Chatting with her steprelatives, Sage learned how devastating Aaron’s death was to his family. Aaron’s family depicted him as a wonderful, giving and generous man.
If only they knew the truth,
Sage thought. It was amazing how a man could be both revered and hated, with the same degree of passion.

For just an instant, Sage wished she had come home before Aaron died, to confront him about the rape. She had made arrangements to fly to Baltimore two days earlier, but had to reschedule because of an unexpected business meeting. She’d actually been relieved when Cameron asked her to attend the meeting on his behalf. She hadn’t really wanted to see Aaron on his deathbed. Seeing him frail and helpless and ravaged by cancer might have lessened her anger and bitterness, made her want to forgive him. And that was one thing she never wanted. She didn’t ever want to forgive him.

“Excuse me,” Sage said, glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall over the stove. The old clock brought a soft smile to her mouth, triggering a memory of the time seven-year-old Aaron Jr. had taken it off the wall to let the bird out. She had put it back a few minutes before their mother came into the kitchen. “I need to use the phone.”

“Use the one in my room,” Aaron suggested. “It’s much quieter.”

“Okay,” Sage said, rising from the chair. She bent to retrieve her briefcase leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Are you going to call the governor?” asked a cute little girl with long ponytails. Sage couldn’t remember whose daughter she was.

“Not right now,” Sage answered, returning the child’s sweet smile. She walked up the back stairs to the second floor and their voices faded away, replaced by an eerie quiet.

Sage stopped at her mother’s room. Peeking in the doorway, she realized the room was virtually unchanged. The next room was her sister’s. It was typically Ava—bed unmade, drawers half-opened, clothes strewn on the floor and bottles scattered on the dresser. She continued to Aaron’s room.

Smiling as she eased down on the bed, Sage remembered how different the twins were. Aaron’s room had always been neat and orderly, Ava’s room a disaster zone. As a teenager, Sage had often asked her mother,
“They’re so different Are you sure they’re twins?”

She picked up the telephone and called Marika. After talking on the phone with her assistant, she took a chance and called Ramion at his office, smiling when he answered.

“I thought you’d be in court,” she said.

“The judge ordered a recess until three o’clock,” Ramion said. “How are you, baby?”

She sighed into the phone. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

“I am. Really. It’s just being surrounded by Aaron’s relatives. They drilled me about my life in Atlanta, and I guess they know more about me than I expected.”

“What about your mother? How did it go with her? How did she act?”

“I haven’t seen her yet. She and Ava went grocery shopping. But part of me wants to leave, go back to the hotel and wait to see her tomorrow. The only trouble is the other part of me knows I’m just trying to avoid the unavoidable.”

“Listen to the first part, baby. Get it over with.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

“I know. I know.” She heard the shrill sound of his beeper. “You gotta go?”

“Yes,” Ramion said. “I’ll talk to you tonight. Love you, bye.”

Sage leaned back against the bed and closed her eyes for a few minutes. She thought about the attic where she’d slept—where she’d been raped. Struck with the urge to go up there, she crossed the hall to the attic door. She turned the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t open. She tried again, but realized that the door was locked.

She heard the floor creaking and turned toward the back stairs.

“That door has been locked for years. Mama closed off the attic after you left,” her brother explained as he walked over to Sage. A wry smile spread across his face. “No one ever goes up there. After you left, Ava thought there had to be a ghost up there.”

“She told me,” Sage said.

“I came up to tell you that Mama and Ava are home,” Aaron said.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay,” he said, before turning around and heading toward the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Sage walked down the back stairs that led into the kitchen.

“Oh, Sage, Sage, Sage,” Audra said, when she saw her daughter emerge from the stairs. She ran to Sage, hugging her tightly. Sage felt the eyes of everyone on them, and slowly, reluctantly responded to her mother’s overpowering embrace.

“Hello, Mama,” Sage said, backing away and staring into her mother’s face. The woman she’d seen just a few months ago looked different. It was in the eyes, Sage decided—the bright, vibrant eyes that were now dull, weary.

“You look so good, so beautiful,” her mother said. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Don’t hug her forever,” Aaron said, watching them hug and wondering why Sage had never come home before now.

“I could,” Audra said, releasing her tight grip around Sage’s waist. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

“You saw her in October,” Aaron reminded his mother.

“I know, but it wasn’t long enough.”

An awkward silence filled the space between mother and daughter until Ava broke the spell. “Don’t I get a hug?”

“Ava,” Sage said, grabbing her younger sister. “Are you holding up?”

Ava tilted her head to the side and released a somber Mona Lisa smile. “I’m okay.”

“Enough with the hugs and kisses,” Aaron said. “Let’s get the groceries out of the car so we can eat.”

“Amen,” Cedric said, twirling the glass of rum and coke in his hand. “I’m starving.”

* * * * *

Sage didn’t shed a tear at her stepfather’s funeral. When she spotted her Aunt Maddie sitting across the church aisle, an understanding gaze passed between their eyes. They both knew that the praises the minister bestowed upon Aaron Hicks were not entire truths, but distorted by the prism of permanent passing. Sage wanted to stand up and shout the truth about the man lying dead in the coffin. But she knew no one would have believed her.

Sheets of rain poured from the sky as the funeral procession made its way to the cemetery. Sage and Ramion headed in the opposite direction, toward the Hicks home, where family members would all gather after the funeral services.

“Aunt Maddie! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Sage jumped up from the couch and embraced her aunt when she entered the living room crowded with relatives.

“I came to see
you
,” Aunt Maddie said, putting emphasis on the last word. Lowering her voice, she whispered into Sage’s ear. “I certainly didn’t come to pay my respects to Aaron. That funeral was too good for him. That minister made him out to be a saint. But we know better.”

“We sure do,” Sage said, and then noticed the expensive fur coat. “You look fabulous.” Her aunt had always managed to dress like a wealthy woman despite the teacher income she’d always lived on.

“Thank you, dear. And you’re as pretty as ever. Satchel would be so proud of you.” She smiled, making deep impressions on both sides of her round face. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancé? He’s the real reason why I came to old Aaron Hicks’s funeral.”

Ramion was in deep conversation with Cedric about sports.

Sage tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me, Cedric. I want Ramion to meet my aunt.”

“Yes, yes,” her uncle said, getting up from the sofa. “I need to fix another drink.”

Ramion stood up as well.

“Honey, this is my aunt. Aunt Maddie, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Ramion Sandidge.”

Ramion extended his hand, but Aunt Maddie ignored the offer. “We’re going to be relatives. You’re marrying my very favorite niece. I think a hug is more appropriate.” Aunt Maddie gave him a quick, warm embrace.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kennedy,” Ramion said, flashing a warm smile at the tall, big-boned, light-skinned woman.

“Oh no, call me Aunt Maddie.” She tucked her arm into Ramion’s elbow. “Come walk with me. I want to get to know you.”

“Remember, Aunt Maddie, he’s a lawyer. He knows how to duck and dodge questions.”

“Good, because I’m pretty good myself. I’m really going to enjoy this,” Aunt Maddie said, steering Ramion into the dining room. “Now tell me how you met my niece.”

* * * * *

While Ramion became acquainted with Aunt Maddie, Sage and her mother traveled down memory lane to the fork in their past that sent them down separate paths. Audra longed to cut through the tangled vines of their memories.

“Sage, I really need to talk to you,” Audra said, her fragile voice unusually insistent.

“Yes, Mama?” Sage said, leaning against the kitchen counter, nibbling on the last piece of coconut cake.

“I heard you telling Aaron that you’re leaving tomorrow.” She paused, carefully choosing her next words. “I want to talk with you privately. With you leaving so soon, I might not get another chance.”

Sage nodded. She’d dreaded this moment, although she’d known it was inevitable. All day, she’d felt her mother watching her, practically stalking her with her eyes. Even at the funeral when Audra should have been focused on her grief, Sage had caught her mother staring at her with pleading eyes.

“Come upstairs. We’ll have some privacy in my room.”

Sage followed her mother up the stairs, noticing the familiar creak and squeak of the floorboards. The third step from the top would squeal, and the step at the top of the stairs had always creaked the loudest. As Sage entered her mother’s bedroom, she immediately felt Aaron’s presence—his smell was there, still lingering.

“So, Mama, I see you haven’t changed much in your room. Same furniture, arranged the same way. Exact same pictures on the wall. Nothing’s different.”

“Yes there is,” Audra said, closing the door before easing onto the queen-sized bed. “You’re here. You’re standing in my bedroom.”

“True,” Sage said, as she perched on the edge of the vanity bench. She turned around and peered into the mirror, seeing the reflection of herself as a young girl, instead of the image of the woman she now was. She remembered how she played with her mother’s makeup, creating an unrecognizable face—black eyeliner dotting her eyelids, blush smeared all over her cheeks and more lipstick on her chin than her lips. Audra would catch her and lightly chide,
“Don’t rush your childhood. Once it’s gone, you can never get it back.”

Sage turned around and found her mother staring at her, as if she were suddenly going to disappear before her eyes.

Sage glanced away, fixing her gaze on the mantelpiece that accented the gas-burning fireplace. “Ah-ha, I see where some of my pictures have disappeared to,” Sage said, noticing recent photos of herself neatly lined on the mantelpiece. There were more pictures of Sage than the twins. “I knew Ava was swiping my pictures.”

“That’s not all,” Audra said, as she stood up and walked over to the tall mahogany armoire. Sliding open the top drawer, Audra removed a photo album. She handed it to Sage.

With a curious expression, Sage opened the album. Unable to contain her surprise, Sage cried, “Mama, I don’t believe this.” It was all there. Her life organized on the pages of this leather book—an invitation to her college graduation, report cards, pictures, and newspaper and magazine articles.

“I don’t remember these photographs of me and Daddy,” Sage said, peering at a strip of black-and-white snapshots of her at seven with her father at an amusement park. There were four pictures: Sage kissing her daddy on the cheek, Satchel kissing her, she and Satchel smiling, and Satchel covering Sage’s eyes.

“Please let me take these pictures and have them copied.”

“Okay,” Audra said hesitantly.

Sage continued to leaf through the album. A picture of Billie Holiday surrounded by a group of children fell out. Sage picked it up and gave her mother a questioning gaze.

“That’s the time your father met Billie Holiday. He was always crazy about her.”

“I remember,” Sage said, smiling tenderly at her father who appeared to be twelve or thirteen in the picture.

“I sent that article about you in
Essence
to everybody. I know they get tired of me boasting about you.”