In the Light of Love. Deborah Mello Fletcher
noticed the flow of passengers gathering in the hard seats to the right and left of him. When a young child brushed against him, the little boy racing from his mother’s side to his father’s, the touch against his pant leg caused Jericho to jump with surprise. The child gave him a cautious stare, and then lifted his small hand to wave before scurrying off to peer out the large glass windows to the aircraft parked outside.
Jericho heaved a deep sigh. He had no interest in spending his entire two-day journey to Africa thinking about any woman, especially one who wasn’t interested and one he surely didn’t want. Unfortunately, the memories of both females seemed intent on haunting his spirit. He sighed again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as he finally looked up, taking in the view around him.
A newspaper stand caught his eye and he rose from his seat, shifting his carry-on bag against his shoulder. Pulling a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution from a wire rack, he dropped a dollar bill against the counter and headed back toward his seat, not bothering to wait for his change.
As dark as his mood, the paper’s headlines were dismal at best, and the drab surroundings of the airport did little to lift Jericho’s spirit. He dropped back into a seat, tossing the paper onto the chair beside him. An airline attendant caught his eye and smiled, mouthing hello as she gave him a come-hither look. Jericho gave her a quick bend of his lips, then dropped his gaze back into his lap. He still had over an hour to wait before the airlines would start boarding flight # 0062 and he had no desire to make small talk. He closed his eyes tightly, crossing his arms against his broad chest.
He flashed back to the night of the auction and Talisa’s warm smile. The woman had been a breath of fresh air and Jericho had inhaled the essence of her like much needed oxygen. The connection between them had been instantaneous, Jericho had thought, reflecting back on the waves of energy that had spun like a raging fire between them. He had been out of control, his mind lost in the brilliance of their connection. When she had bid, countering each offer, he had taken that as confirmation of his emotions, confident that she, too, was feeling the same things he was.
He bristled at the memory of Shannon’s exorbitant bid, the flagrant display of the woman’s wealth nothing but an acute irritation. Shannon had always placed far too much emphasis on her father’s money, almost to the point of belittling anyone who had less than she did.
Since they’d been in first grade together at Marietta’s The Walker School, Shannon had played by rules few others would ever understand. Even at the tender age of six, she’d imagined the world revolved around its axis for her alone and that the sun and moon set and rose as she willed them to. At The Walker School, Jericho’s had been the only dark face in the small class of twelve students. The friendship between him and Shannon had been established at birth by virtue of their two fathers both being Yale University alumni and their mothers building an alliance on the demands of their elite social circle. By third grade, Irene Becton had insisted on a school with a more diverse student body and Jericho and Shannon’s camaraderie was reduced to weekend gatherings and holiday vacations.
In junior high school, Jericho had become smitten with puppy love and Shannon had found a viable boy toy to manipulate and control. With much instigation from both sets of parents, they had allowed his infatuation and her obsession to define their romantic relationship. Despite both of them dating other people off and on during high school, once in college they’d been easily drawn back into the possibility of forever that their parents had seen for each of their futures. The Porter family had welcomed the prospect of their only daughter marrying a surgeon. Jericho’s parents had seen resounding potential in Shannon being an ideal doctor’s wife. Shannon had cleverly masked her idiosyncrasy to be self-absorbed from both families, and only Jericho had true knowledge of the woman’s propensity for coldhearted antics.
A chill ran through him and he shivered in response. He clasped his arms tighter around his upper body, stealing a glance up at the attendant who was still cutting her eye in his direction, hopeful for his attention.
There had been a part of him that had truly loved Shannon. He’d reconciled her flaws and had learned to turn a blind eye to her deficiencies, focusing as much attention as he could muster on her strengths. His sophomore year in college she’d shown up unannounced at his dorm room door, paying him a surprise visit for his twentieth birthday and the two had become lovers. Shannon Porter had taken his virginity, but the loss of her own was still a mystery to him.
His first taste of heartbreak had come six months later when he’d flown to Vassar College, only to find her in bed with a fellow history major. Shannon had sworn the relationship was nothing special, just a momentary lapse of judgment for a quick minute of sexual release. He’d believed her heartfelt plea for forgiveness, her long lashes batting back the rise of tears. Things between them had improved and he’d actually found himself believing in the possibility of him and Shannon Porter living blissfully in love for the balance of their lives.
His surgical residency had been taxing on the relationship, but they’d endured. Both of their mothers had massaged the strain, rallying support to get them through the bouts of aloneness his intense schedule placed on their time together. But Jericho had seen the signs of their demise, choosing instead to ignore the warning signals that Shannon was clearly not the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. The reality of that fact was made clear the last night the two of them had spent together.
The entire evening had started badly with Shannon in a snit about nothing and unhappy about everything. Dinner had ended with her throwing a tantrum because Jericho had refused to give up his weekend golf plans with his father to fly with her to Aspen, Colorado for an impromptu ski trip. It had been his father’s fiftieth birthday and Jericho had been planning the get-together for months. Shannon had refused to understand, wanting him to defer his attention to her instead.
Despite her pouting, Jericho had spent the balance of their evening struggling to make Shannon happy. A spontaneous stop at a local jeweler had netted Shannon a diamond tennis bracelet and cost him a month’s salary. After promising to take her away for a one-week holiday in Hawaii for her birthday, Shannon had seemed pacified and back at her apartment she’d feigned contentment. Later that night, as they lay side by side in her bed, he could never have imagined what would happen next.
The clock had barely struck midnight when the bickering began, Shannon once again imploring him to change his weekend plans to be with her. The bickering had increased to an all-out battle with Shannon throwing her possessions from one side of the residence to the other. When she’d lunged at him, slapping his face with the palm of her hand, it had taken every ounce of restraint for Jericho not to hit her back. The arrival of Atlanta’s finest, beating their nightsticks against the front door in response to a neighbor’s complaint should have been enough, but Shannon had taken their disagreement to a point of no return.
The duo had been separated, him in the living room and she in the bedroom, as the two law enforcement officers listened first to his side of the story and then to hers. Then, to Jericho’s dismay, he’d been handcuffed and hauled off to the local police precinct, having to defend himself against an accusation of domestic violence. Shannon Porter had accused him of assault, the tale of her attack complete with sobbing tears and enough dramatic innuendo to place doubt on Jericho’s character. Four hours of questioning had finally unearthed the truth and Jericho had been released.
Heartbreak couldn’t hold a candle to the pain Jericho had felt. Everything within him had been destroyed. As the sun rose that next morning, so did Jericho’s resolve. Shannon Porter became dead to him, nothing more than a faint memory of a bad time in his life. He’d never told his parents or hers what had happened between them. He still didn’t know why, just wanting nothing more than to place as much distance between him, her and the memory as he could find. He believed that if he didn’t have to discuss it, the easier it would be for him to forget. And now Shannon had the audacity to proclaim her blatant betrayal a mere mistake and her love for him to be real.
The little boy stood at Jericho’s knee, watching him curiously. It was only then that Jericho realized his face was damp from his tears. Glancing quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, he wiped the moisture against the back of his hand and forced himself to smile down at