Afraid to Love Page 7

  Heather nodded hesitantly. I waited for her to ask how I knew Mark or what the hell would he want with a black woman like me, but she didn't.

  “That's my Mark. Do you know where I could find him?” I asked.

  “No,” she shook her head.

  “Thanks anyway,” I sighed.

  “Are you in some sort of trouble?” she asked.

  “No,” I shook my head and stood up.

  I walked away from her without looking back. I knew she was only trying to be kind, but I had to talk to Mark. I didn't have time to explain things to her that she would understand anyway. I was torn between wanting to slap Mark and wanting to kiss him. I didn't want to be the damn ebony heartbreak, but I felt doomed to the archetype he had introduced me to. I cried as I walked back towards the cafe. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks and made tiny wet blotches on the side walk. I could feel passersby staring at me, but for once I really didn't care what they thought of me.

  Chapter 10: Mark

  I packed the last of my clothes into the suitcase. I paid my rent ahead of time, because Monday morning I was leaving for Germany. I didn't want to stick around the city that now reminded me of Cynthia. She was a lost cause to me and I didn't know what to do about it. I was going to do what came easily. I was going to leave, the same way I did when everyone told me to give up on my writing, the same way I fled when my mother died. I punched the suitcase and looked in the mirror. I always hated times when my only option was to leave, but here I was, ready to leave again. I hadn't told anyone yet and I knew my father wasn't going to be happy about it. I don't know why he cared so much whether I lived in the same city or halfway around the world.

  I needed to get a haircut. My blond hair was growing too long and starting to get in my way during the long hours I spent typing away at the computer. My misery provided me with all the inspiration I needed, but I wasn't producing anything worth talking about.

  Tomorrow evening I was expected to attend my mother's annual birthday dinner party. I knew it made the others feel better, but to me it only made things worse. Why the hell would you have a dinner party for a dead woman? Why cook all of her favorite foods when she wasn't there to eat them? This year I was more down about it than usual. I had hoped to invite Cynthia to come along, but that had left with the breeze. It was hard to believe that the arrival of my mother's birthday dinner meant that it had almost been a year ago that I met Cynthia. All four seasons had passed in the blink of an eye.

  Summer was coming on hard and the temperature was rising. The heat waves reminded me of the ebony lioness's savannah. It had been my intention to write a happy ending for that book, but the lioness hadn't allowed it. She had snarled at me until I gave her the ending she wanted, the ending that made sense, although I didn't realize it until the pages had finished printing. She wanted to be alone. I scribbled my goodbye to Cynthia and dropped it in the post. Had she read it? If she had, what did she think? Would it make a difference?

  No, not to me at least. Europe was calling my name. I needed something to feel the time until the publisher got back to me about The Ebony Heartbreak. I couldn't stand another moment trapped in this city of dead things. Dead mother, dead friendships, and most of all, dead hope.

  At the newsstand this morning I spotted a bridal magazine. The model that graced its cover was no other than the model I had seen that day while wandering the streets. She hadn't been a happy bride, only a model looking to make a few quick bucks.

  Not sure what else to do with myself, I made my way to the coffee shop. My feet followed their familiar trail, but my mind was an eternity away. I fruitlessly grasped at vague ideas for my next novel, but couldn't hold onto them. They were fleeting, like everything else. Nothing stuck, because nothing ever did.

  As lost as I was to my thoughts, I walked by Cynthia without noticing. If she hadn't whispered my name I may have never known.

  “Mark...” It was both a gasp and a whisper.

  I turned slowly, unsure if I had really heard her.

  “Cynthia?” I said.

  My voice was flat and numb. We studied each other, each hoping the other would make the first move, say the first word, but was there anything to be said? I began to turn away from the relationship that never was and would never be, but she grabbed my hand.

  I studied her hand, taking in the sight of her ebony skin and the chewed edges of her nails. My mind refused to think past the nails. There was a story there. Cynthia must have noticed that I was staring at the aftermath of her nail biting habit, because she pulled her hand away.

  “I didn't like it,” she whispered. “I didn't like the ending.”

  “It's the only one that made sense,” I said, glancing down at her feet.

  Her toenails were painted a lovely shade of blue that complemented her dark skin. Another piece from the story. Had I included a description of her beautifully painted toes? Had I made her real enough? Had I given the ebony lioness all that I could? I shook my head to rid myself of the doubts I have after writing any story.

  “You're the writer!” she protested.

  “But the characters tell their stories,” I said.

  Cynthia took my hand again and pulled me down next to her on the bench.

  “She didn't get to tell her story,” Cynthia said.

  I tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn't allow it. I frowned and considered leaving.

  “Then tell me what's on her mind,” I said, crossing my arms. “Tell me her story.”

  Cynthia gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment and her brown eyes finally met mine.

  “Her story is still in the making,” she said.

  I couldn't help but smile. She was getting better at polite word sparring.

  “So what happens next?” I asked with an arched brow.

  “This does,” she whispered.

  Cynthia wrapped her arms around my neck and trailed her fingers through my hair. I studied her expression, but it was blank as she leaned in close and brushed her soft, supple lips against mine. For the first time, it was she who moved her tongue between my lips and initiated the dance.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her closer to me. She climbed clumsily into my lap and pressed her breasts against my chest. I trailed my fingers down her spine and felt her tremble. What was she so afraid of? I wanted to ask, but Cynthia still held my mouth captive.

  When the kiss broke, she rested her head against my shoulder, but she didn't speak. I stroked her hair and was surprised at how soft it was. I always expected a weave to feel course against my skin.

  Cynthia looked up at me and then kissed me once again. The kiss was shorter, but more passionate.

  “I don't know what comes next,” she whispered.

  “Come with me to my mom's dinner party tomorrow,” I shrugged.

  “I thought your mom was dead?” she asked.

  For a moment her expression was confused, but it was quickly turning to anger.

  “She is,” I sighed. “Every year my dad and her sister throw a party on her birthday. They force us all to get together for a meal of her favorite foods. I know it's silly...”

  “I don't think it's silly,” Cynthia said as she touched my cheek.

  Her palm was warm against my skin. Our lips met in a hungry kiss and I held tightly to her, fearing that at any moment she would breakaway and flee from me once again, but she didn't.

  “Come to Germany with me,” I said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I'm leaving Monday morning, just come with me,” I said again.

  “What?” Cynthia looked up at me and blinked. “Why are you leaving?”

  “I just need to get away for a while,” I admitted.

  “What about my job?” she asked.

  “Didn't you quit?”

  “No,” Cynthia sighed, “I didn't resign.”

  “Come with me anyway,” I said.

  “Okay,” she nodded.

  Chapter 11: Cynthia

  Germany w
asn't as great as Mark had made it sound, but I did enjoy myself. The hospital board allowed me to resign with the promise of good recommendations. While we were in Germany, I decided that I wanted to go back to school and further my education. I wanted to be something other than a nurse. I wasn't cut out to be on the bottom of the totem pole. I had always wanted to be a doctor and I was going to make it happen.

  I tried for weeks to convince Mark to change the ending of The Ebony Heartbreak, but he wouldn't. He claimed that nothing else would make sense.

  “That's how the story ended! It's the only thing that makes sense! It's not our ending,” he laughed. “It's just a book.”

  “But it's a book about me!” I retorted.

  “Just loosely based on you,” he teased. “You'd never be like her.”

  “Shut up!” I said, playfully slapping him on the arm.

  “Ouch!” he mocked. “Okay, so maybe it is based on you. You're violent enough!”

  I slapped his arm again and he pulled me into his lap and leaned into the chair. I kissed him and nibbled on his tongue. A knock on the door meant room service was bringing up our dinner and my growling stomach wasn't going to allow me to get down and dirty before eating.

  Mark set out the food and poured the wine. I was about to take a sip of my wine when I noticed something floating in it. I was just about to tell Mark we needed to call downstairs because they gave us dirty glasses when I realized it was a little gold ring with a not so little diamond in it.

  I blinked, not sure what to think.

  “Cynthia,” Mark said and my heart skipped a beat. “Will you marry me?”

  “Not yet,” I said and shook my head.

  I looked up at Mark who was staring blankly into his food.

  “Not yet, because I promised my dad I'd finish college before I got married. Mark, I want to be with you, but I want to keep that promise. I love you, Mark.”

  His numb expression turned into a grin and he leaned across the table to kiss me, knocking over my glass of wine.

  “Sorry,” he said as he captured my lips.

  “We need to clean that up,” I laughed.

  “Nah, we have housekeeping for that,” he said.

  “They're going to charge us extra,” I giggled.

  “That's okay, you just agreed to marry me after you finish medical school, so everything's okay,” he chuckled.

  “So do you want to keep the ring until then?” I asked.

  “No, that's yours,” he said, “so you don't forget this night.”

  Epilogue

  I stood nervously in front of the mirror, willing my hands to stop shaking.

  “It'll be okay,” Sasha laughed. “If he's waited this long to marry you, he certainly won't mind waiting until you've finished getting ready.”

  “I'm just nervous!” I laughed.

  “Why?” Sasha asked.

  “Because I'm getting married!” I said.

  “You've been with him nearly eight years now! You've lived together for five of those years! What's there to be nervous about?” she laughed.

  “I'm pregnant!” I whispered to her.

  “That's great news! Have you told Mark?” Sasha said, practically bouncing into the air.

  “Not yet, I just found out this morning,” I said.

  “I bet he'll be thrilled,” she laughed.

  “I hope so,” I said, biting my lip.

  “Don't be silly, of course he'll be happy!” she said as she pulled me into a quick hug.

  The music started and I swallowed hard.

  “This is it,” I whispered to my reflection. “The day we've been waiting for.”

  “Quit talking to yourself in the mirror and get out there and marry that man!” Sasha said. She gave me a shove through the door.

  I almost tripped but fortunately regained my balance before I was in sight of the guests. The church was filled with white roses and people. The crowd made me nervous, even though it consisted of our family and friends.

  I must have hesitated for too long because Sasha gave me another gentle push and I began to walk down the aisle. Mark looked handsome in his three piece suit and tie. My wedding was perfect. The only thing that could have made it better was if Daddy had still been alive to give me away.

  I took Mark's hand and smiled. Mark had wanted to write our own vows, but I wouldn't do it. Next to his, my words would look sloppy and poorly planned at best. In the end we agreed to go with the traditional vows. As we listened to the preacher, Mark gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  Both of our hands were trembling when we exchanged rings.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Mark pulled me close to him and our marriage was sealed with a long and lusty kiss. I could hear Sasha and my other friends making cat calls and whistling from the back.

  “I'm pregnant,” I whispered in his ear when the kiss finally broke.

  “What? Really?” he asked.

  He smiled and I sighed in relief.

  “Yes, really!” I laughed.

  “Is it a boy or girl?” he asked.

  “I don't know yet,” I laughed, “I just found out I was pregnant this morning!”

  After the reception, we left the church surrounded by our friends and family. Sasha had wanted to throw rice, but Mark wouldn't agree to it because he said it was bad for the birds so they threw birdseed instead.

  Mark had wanted to rent a limo to take us to the airport, but I said we should take his car instead. After all, he's only driven it about a dozen times since he bought it.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we pulled out the parking lot.

  “It's a surprise!” he laughed.

  “It had better not be Germany again,” I teased.

  “Nah, I was thinking we'd go somewhere warmer, maybe the Caribbean,” he shrugged.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “We can, I haven't bought the tickets yet,” he said.

  “What? You said you had everything worked out!” I yelled. “How could you do this?”

  Mark laughed and I crossed my arms.

  “I should slap you,” I laughed. “This isn't the time to joke.”

  “It is too,” he replied.

  “So are we really going to the Caribbean?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Good, because I only packed my bikinis and lingerie,” I smiled.

  “We may not see the beach at all if you keep talking like that,” Mark laughed.

  “And here I was thinking of all the interesting things we could do on the beach!” I giggled.

  “Oh, really?” Mark asked, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, but we better not miss the flight because I have to be back in time to start work in June,” I laughed.

  “We won't miss our flight!” he said.

  “Did you bring your laptop?” I asked him, teasing because I knew he took the damn thing everywhere.

  “Of course, I did,” he laughed. I knew it.

  “You’d better keep me inspired,” he teased.

  It wasn't so bad being the muse. The thought gave me an idea.

  “Hey, I know what you can call your next book,” I teased.

  “What's that?” he asked.

  “The Ebony Muse,” I smirked.

  “Maybe I'll make it the sequel to The Ebony Heartbreak,” he said.

  “So she can have her happy ending?” I asked, hopefully.

  “We'll see,” he chuckled. “It just depends on what the characters decide to do.”

  “You should make them behave,” I laughed.

  “Don't you know that being a writer is like working with wild animals?” he asked.

  “How's that?” I arched a brow.

  “You never know when a character will suddenly turn on you,” he laughed.

  “I love you, Mark,” I replied softly. I leaned over so that I could rest my head on his shoulder.

  “I love you too, Cynthia,” he grinned as we pulled into the airport park
ing lot.

  “I love you more,” I teased.

  We pulled into the parking lot of the airport and Mark leaned over and kissed me.

  “Welcome to the rest of our lives,” he whispered against my neck.

  “You goof,” I laughed, but he was right, our real lives were just beginning.

  I had just finished medical school and Mark's science fiction books were just beginning to pick up popularity. I decided then that real life doesn't begin until you’re happy, and everything else is just a dress rehearsal.

  THE END

  ***

  If you’ve enjoyed this book please check out the other titles by Leona Jackson.

  About the Author

  Leona Jackson lives in Detroit, Michigan. This is her third novel.

  Copyright 2013 Leona Jackson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author. All characters are a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. All characters are over the age of 18.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Afraid to Love