Hidden Memories (28 page)

“Audra gave it to our mama after she married Aaron. I always thought you should have it.”

“I definitely want it,” Sage said fervently. A picture of her father loomed in her mind. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a plate of barbecue ribs. Barbecue sauce covered his mouth and hands. “I’ll always treasure it,” Sage said softly, fingering the medal like a precious jewel.

“There’s something else you should know.”

Catching the tone in Aunt Maddie’s voice, Sage looked up at her aunt. “What’s that?”

“Your father’s body was never found.”

“What do you mean?” Sage asked, as a crease crept between her eyebrows. “They said he was dead. I remember it so vividly. Those two scary-looking men ringing the doorbell and asking to see Mama. They said they found his dog tags.”

“Yes, they’d found his dog tags, but they never found his body. He was presumed dead because the village he was in was razed by bombs.”

“You mean his body wasn’t in the coffin?” Sage asked, thinking about the closed-casket funeral. She could still see her mother clinging to the casket, weeping hysterically.

Aunt Maddie shook her head.

“And even after all these years, they’ve never resolved his MIA status?”

“I don’t know, Sage. Once he was officially declared dead, they probably stopped looking for him. You know how the government is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vietnam was a very unpopular war. When cases were closed, they usually stayed closed.” Tossing her head lightly, Aunt Maddie said, “Think about it this way—if he were alive, he had many, many years to come back to his family.”

“What if he’s a prisoner of war?”

“They claim they know which soldiers were captured. And if he had been taken, he would have been released by now.”

“What if he were stranded over there?”

“It’s unlikely. Highly unlikely.”

Her eyes gleaming with hope, Sage asked, “Aunt Maddie, what if he’s alive?”

“Sage, please, I didn’t tell you this to give you false hope. I don’t think he’s alive.” Aunt Maddie placed her hand against her chest. “I would know in my heart if my brother were alive. Too many years have gone by. I just wanted you to know the truth. That’s all.”

Chapter Fourteen

The scent of musk from a single burning candle wafted in the air of the darkened room. Wearing thigh-high stockings, red panties and a sheer red bra, Sage lay in the middle of her bed. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. Nor was she alone.

“Are you ready?” Ramion whispered into her ear.

“Ready for what?” Sage asked, her body tingling with expectation.

“To forget,” he said, nibbling softly on her ear, shoulders and neck. He slipped his fingers between her legs, touching her center so soft and wet, so velvety smooth.

Waves of pleasure pulsed through Sage. She quivered with anticipation.

“I think you’re ready,” Ramion whispered, his fingers lingering inside her moistened folds. His tender kisses became insistent, probing, demanding. Sage returned them with equal intensity.

Ramion moved his mouth from her swollen lips. “I’m going to love you from the bottom to the top.”

He opened her legs, spreading them wide. He massaged and licked the bottom of her feet and very tenderly kissed the inside of her legs, from her calf to her knee to her thighs. He licked the insides of her legs, stroking and caressing the softness of her inner thighs.

He placed his mouth between her legs and tasted her liquid gold, his tongue circling, exploring. A rush of pleasure spiraled through her.

“Please don’t stop,” she groaned, wanting him to continue the exploration of pleasure.

Lying above her, Ramion was ready to explore, and probe deeper inside her pleasurable cavern. The presence of his probe inside her, vibrated her body as Sage arched her hips upward and he moved deeper inside her. They flowed together, rocking back and forth in a fluid motion, flowing freely, intensely, until ecstasy spun them free.

“Water, please,” her hoarse voice crackled in ragged breaths.

Ramion lifted up from the bed, sweat glistening on his naked body, and said, “I’ll be back.”

He returned a few minutes later with two ice-filled glasses of water. Sage took a glass from him and drank the water in quick gulps. Handing Ramion the empty glass, she leaned back against the pillows and pulled the sheet up to her chest.

Closing her eyes with a satiated smile and feeling better than she had in weeks, Sage uttered happily, “I forgot everything.”

Ramion stretched out against her body. “I could tell,” he said, smiling with pride and satisfaction.

“Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Baby, a lot has happened to you in the past week. Going to your stepfather’s funeral, talking to your mother after all these years. You needed to forget, if only for a moment.”

“Make me forget again,” Sage said.

Ramion tenderly kissed her on the lips. “I understand the range of emotions you feel, everything from anger to excitement, from joy to sadness.”

“You’re right.” Sage rubbed her hands against her face and through her tangled mass of curls, and released a long sigh. “And everything is so mixed up together that I still don’t know how I feel.”

“Maybe you just need to give yourself time to figure out which feelings are temporary and which ones are permanent.” Ramion put his arms around Sage’s shoulders.

“I feel relieved about seeing Mama, in a bittersweet kind of way.”

Twirling her hair around his fingers, he asked, “Is it going to end there? I mean, are you going to spend time with her? Let her visit…”

“You mean let her back in my life?” She sighed before continuing. “Probably. It’s going to take time, but I think we can begin again. I want to get to know her. I can’t believe it myself, but I want to reestablish a relationship with her. Does that sound strange?”

“No, baby, we all need our mothers, no matter how grown we are.”

Shaking her head, Sage said, “It feels like I closed one door, only to open another.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about my father.”

“There’s no mystery, Sage. You know something you didn’t know before. It doesn’t change anything.”

Sage rose up and leaned over Ramion, her expression puzzled. “It changes everything. What if he didn’t die? What if he’s alive?”

“If he were alive, you would know. He hasn’t been in touch with his mother, his sister, you or your mother.” Ramion softened his tone and affectionately stroked Sage’s cheek. “You resolved the issue with your mother; it’s time to move on. Get out from under the dark cloud of the past.”

Sage sank back into the bed, the truth of his words getting through. “Maybe you’re right.”

Ramion placed his hands on her cheeks, drew her face toward his and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t want you to be hurt or disappointed.”

Sage settled into his arms, leaning her head in the crook of his shoulder. They were quiet, savoring the moment, as the embers of their passion died down.

Sage was almost asleep when Ramion asked, “Do you want to go away? Maybe next weekend or the weekend after that? A quick trip to Florida or South Carolina?”

Yawning, Sage said, “Sounds wonderful, but remember we’re going to DC next month.”

“Oh, yes, the Governors’ Conference.”

“Dinner with the president,” she said, her voice laced with excitement.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ramion said. “I have something for you.”

“What?” Sage said, leaning her head on her elbow.

He reached under the bed and removed a small gift-wrapped box. “For you, baby.”

“You are so sweet.” She unwrapped the gift and opened the jewelry box. “It’s beautiful,” she said, staring at a gold pin shaped like a butterfly. Diamonds bordered the wings.

“For your collection.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Why do you cry when I’m trying to make you smile?”

She laughed softly. “It’s just so beautiful, so thoughtful, and so sweet.”

“But there’s something else. Keep going.”

“My mother said that Daddy started painting again after I was born. He tried to make it as an artist, but he got discouraged and started working for a factory. After I was born he found his muse. She said he called me Butterfly because I had inspired him to try again to be an artist.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ramion said.

“When he was painting, he would play Billie Holiday over and over. One time, Mama bought him a new album. She was sick of hearing Billie Holiday. I can’t remember who it was, Sarah Vaughan, Esther Phillips, Nancy Wilson, or somebody like that. She played the album and Daddy got very upset. He wouldn’t paint without it.”

“Maybe he couldn’t paint unless he heard Billie Holiday’s voice.”

“Maybe,” Sage said.

* * * * *

At the Governor’s Mansion, Sage stepped onto the terrace, feeling the soft spring winds gust around her, blowing her hair and stirring the aroma of blooming flowers. She looked up at the cloudless powder-blue sky and thought,
What a beautiful day to take off work.

A glass of orange juice and a plate filled with croissants rested on the cocktail table centered in front of the antique wrought-iron furniture. Looking for the governor’s wife, Sage walked over to the window and spotted Sarah kneeling beside a row of flowers.

Sage opened the terrace door leading to the gardens and went down the steps. She smelled the freshly cut grass as she walked across the lawn. “Good morning,” she said when she reached Sarah.

“Hi, Sage,” Sarah said. She was kneeling beside a bed of annuals, smoothing dirt around them. “I’m finished here. I was about to come up.”

“They’re beautiful,” Sage said, also admiring the rows of perennials that Sarah had planted. “What are they?”

“Oh, they’re day lilies. They grow well in the shade. The soil here is so rich and fertile, my plants are really thriving.”

“I thought the gardeners took care of the flowers.”

“Poo! They have their job. But I love gardening, and I wasn’t about to give that up because I live in the Governor’s Mansion.” She took off her gloves and started back toward the terrace.

“Ah, this is your private garden,” Sage said.

“Yes, and I’m very proud of it. I can spend hours out here. This is the best time of year to plant…” She stopped and then said, “You didn’t come to hear about gardening.”

Sage and Sarah walked up the stairs and entered the terrace. Sage sat down on the chaise lounge.

“So how do you like being the First Lady of Georgia?” Sage asked.

Sarah stood in front of the wrought-iron tea cart. She picked up a glass pitcher filled with iced tea the color of honey and poured herself a glass. “Would you like some?” she offered, gesturing with the pitcher.

“Sure.”

“I absolutely love it,” Sarah admitted, as she poured another glass of tea. “People treat us like royalty. I was always given special attention as the mayor’s wife, but well, being the First Lady of Georgia, it’s a whole different ball game. I’ve attended several functions—lunches, teas, social clubs—where I’m the only woman of color, but nobody makes a big deal of it.” She handed Sage the glass of tea and sat down on the black- and white-striped sofa.

“What about the kids?” Sage asked. “How are they adjusting?”

“Jessica and C.J. are doing fine. They complain sometimes that they don’t have the freedom to play like they used to, but they’re getting used to it. Now Jewel, she’s always hated being in the spotlight, so I’m sure she never tells anyone that she’s the governor’s daughter. Jewel has always been contrary. I thought college would make her appreciate the advantages of being a politician’s daughter, but it seems to have made her more resentful.

“Enough about the kids,” Sarah continued. “Let’s talk about our project. I’m very excited about it.” She reached across the table, picking up a red file folder. “I’ve gone through the Mansion and come up with a list of items I want to replace,” she said, handing Sage the folder.

Reading the list, Sage arched her brows. “Is this all?”

“I’m not crazy about the Federal period. It’s too formal and conservative, but the artwork complements the décor. The goal shouldn’t be to drastically change the Mansion, but to enhance it, to reflect the artistic contribution of blacks in this state.”

“I agree.” Chuckling, Sage said, “Imagine if we completely renovated the Mansion and furnished it with nothing but black art.”

“Whoa! That wouldn’t just be controversial, that’d be tantamount to blasphemy. They’d throw us out of here.”

“Or burn the place down.”

“Exactly. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t be amused.”

Sage sipped her iced tea. “What about the library? There aren’t any black books on the shelves.”

“That’s why I want to devote a whole section to black literature. I’m going to be meeting with several ladies from the Black Librarians Association on Tuesday. Hopefully they can make recommendations or refer me to other organizations.”