An Island Affair Page 9

  “They’ve prepped her,” said Eli calmly, “gave her something to put her to sleep.”

  “You know, I haven’t seen her or John much since...”

  “Since you found out he wasn’t your biological father? Yeah, I know. It’s all Ma talks about when I call her—how much she regrets not telling you sooner.”

  “It changed everything for me. Made me question everything in my life. I don’t know who I am.”

  “You’re a Conner, that’s who you are! So what, Daddy’s not your biological father. Hasn’t he given you everything that a father should give a son?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand that you and I had the same upbringing. We were afforded the same opportunities, and we were instilled with the same values. What am I missing?”

  “You’re missing everything.”

  “Yeah, they should’ve told you the truth. No doubt. I’d be pissed if it were me, too.”

  “But it’s not you. So let’s just drop it.”

  It was a conversation that was never comfortable. I felt as if my entire life had been a lie, and it caused me to be uncertain about my identity. I didn’t know who I was or where I came from—and at times I wondered where I was headed. I only knew the life that John and Sarah Conner had constructed for me. And that life had been built on a lie.

  But right now I had to look ahead. And that meant seeing my mother.

  * * *

  My mother lay there, motionless, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy and an oxygen tube in her nose. She looked more helpless than I’d anticipated, and guilt immediately overtook me. I had ignored her calls when she needed me most. She was about to face one of the most daunting events in her life, and I hadn’t been there for her. She’d struggled with heart disease for some time. She and I had talked at length over the years about her making some healthy lifestyle changes to get her hypertension under control. But she was stubborn, just like me. Thought that she could control things on her own. She’d passed that trait on to me, too.

  I kissed her forehead, and she opened her eyes.

  “Jax,” she whispered. She didn’t smile, but I knew that her heart was filled with joy that I was there.

  “Don’t talk,” I told her. “Just rest. I’ll be here after the surgery is over. We can talk then.”

  I needed some air, so I stepped out of the room and strolled down to the family waiting room where my brothers were. Eli chatted with his wife on his cell phone. I gave my brother Sean a strong embrace and glanced over at Drew, who paced the floor while talking on the phone.

  “Good to see you, Jax,” said Sean. “Ma’s been asking about you. I’m glad you made it so she doesn’t have a hissy fit.”

  “I had to be here.”

  “The surgery should go well. She’s floating on some good drugs right now.” Sean was the prankster in the family. He took his cell phone out and showed me a picture. “I took a picture of her with her hair all over her head. I can’t wait to show it to her.”

  “You are still stupid,” I told him.

  “I’ve got to keep the old woman on her toes.”

  “Jackson Conner.” Drew finished his phone conversation and then pulled me into an embrace. “Good to see you, bro. How’s business?”

  “Business is good. I’m right in the middle of a new project,” I explained.

  “Oh, that’s right—that Bahamas thing you were telling me about.”

  “Yes. Doing some work for an old friend.”

  Drew was an unyielding playboy, vowing never to settle down with one woman. He preferred the challenge of playing the field.

  “I hear there are some beautiful women over there in the Bahamas. Is that true?” he asked.

  “I’ve really been too busy to notice.”

  “What?” asked Drew. “Nobody is that busy.”

  “You know Jax is a workaholic.” Eli walked over after finishing his call and patted me on the back. “He’s always been very focused. Regimented. You could learn a thing or two from your younger brother, Drew.”

  “All work and no play makes for a very dull life.” Drew plopped down in a chair and started flipping through his phone. “He could learn a thing or two from me.”

  I walked over toward the window, deciding now was the time to check in with Lance and see how things were going at the Grove.

  “Everything’s under control here,” Lance told me. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s about to go in for surgery.”

  “You should focus on being there for her. Don’t worry about things here. We’re good.”

  Lance was a good construction manager. Because his work ethic was very much like mine, I had no reservations about leaving the job site for a couple of days. We talked for a few minutes longer and then I ended my call. My back was to the room, and when I turned around, my eyes met John Conner’s. He walked toward me, held his hand out to me. I took his hand in mine and gave him a strong handshake.

  “Good to see you, Jackson. I’m glad you could make it. Means the world to your mother...and me.”

  I just nodded. There was so much I wanted to say but didn’t. It wasn’t the time or place.

  He walked away and headed back to my mother’s room, where he stayed till she was taken into the operating room.

  The surgery was a success, and many hours later my mother recovered in the intensive care unit. A breathing tube in her mouth and several wires attached to her body, she lay there peacefully sleeping. I was able to visit briefly, but needed to share the time with my brothers. We were told that the breathing tube would be removed within twenty-four hours, and until then she wouldn’t be able to talk.

  My heart ached. It was hard to see my mother so helpless. I wished I could turn back the hands of time. I wouldn’t have been so rigid or allowed my anger to get the best of me. I wouldn’t have let so much time go by without talking to her, without telling her that I loved her in spite of everything. And as soon as she opened her eyes, I vowed I would tell her so.

  * * *

  I woke, curled up in a chair in the corner of the room. When I opened my eyes my mother was looking at me.

  She smiled. “You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Ma.” I sat up straight in my chair, feeling a crick in my neck.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “They went home to grab a bite to eat and catch some shut-eye. I wanted to be here when you opened your eyes,” I said. “How you feeling?”

  “A lot of pressure in my chest area. Feels like it’s burning.”

  “Should I get the nurse?”

  “No, they told me it would feel like this for a while until I begin to recover.” She looked me over. “You’re looking a little thin. You been eating?”

  “Not as much as I should. I miss your cooking.” I laughed at my comment and tried to avoid the elephant in the room, but it was useless. “Mom, I’m sorry for treating you the way I have since...since everything went on. I’ve been selfish and judgmental.”

  “I’m sorry for hiding the truth from you. I just wanted you to have a normal life without having to concern yourself with identity issues.” She winced at the pain. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kept it from you. You deserved to know.”

  “I understand why you did it. I know you were protecting me.”

  “But I ended up hurting you more in the end. And now I’ve destroyed your relationship with John, who loves you more than you’ll ever know.”

  “I know he does,” I said. “It must’ve taken a lot of humility to raise another man’s child like that.”

  “After he decided to do it, he never gave it a second thought.” She winced again. The pain must’ve been tremendous and my heart went out to her. “But you know what... As mu
ch as John Conner loves you, he’s not your father. And you have a right to know who your father is. His name is Patrick H. Wells. The H stands for Harvey.”

  “My middle name,” I said.

  Mom didn’t respond. Instead she continued. “He’s the mayor of some small town in Louisiana. I don’t know how to reach him, but he shouldn’t be hard to find. I’m sure you can just look him up on that internet.”

  “Patrick Harvey Wells, huh?” My heart smiled.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know anything about me?”

  “He doesn’t even know you exist, baby. So you shouldn’t have too many expectations,” she said. “He’s married, he has a family, and he’s a political figure. And that makes things very complicated.”

  “He deserves to know that he has a son out there in the world.”

  “Be sure to guard your heart, Jackson.”

  It was the last thing she said before she began to doze off.

  Chapter 12

  Jasmine

  With walls painted in lovely, warm hues, my office was beautiful. The hardwoods shone as bright as the Bahamian sunshine that crept through the windows on the back of the house. The dark walnut desk was a perfect counterbalance to the floors. And the art I’d hung on the walls—the lovely, contemporary pieces that I’d picked up at last year’s Los Angeles Arts Festival—were just the right touches to bring the room together. I leaned back in my brown leather chair and closed my eyes. Thoughts of Jackson raced through my mind, as I got lost in my work. Over the few months since the reconstruction of the first house started, I had literally become a workaholic. I’d already developed a solid marketing plan for the property and had begun keeping long hours. I already loved working at the Grove. It felt like home.

  The end to another week, and although Jackson had been gone for only a few days, it seemed like months. I’d so hoped that he’d call or text, but I hadn’t heard a word from him. I missed seeing his face at the Grove and wondered how long it would be before he returned.

  The Clydesdale was close to completion. The floors in the entire house had been refinished, the walls were painted, fixtures in place, the wiring and plumbing redone. I had already begun working with an interior decorator that had given me her vision for the place. The Symonette Room had been a tribute to the Caribbean goombay artist George Symonette and designed in rich colors and musical art. Other rooms would pay tribute to legendary goombay and Rake and Scrape artists of the Caribbean. I was passionate about designing that house, particularly since I had a love for music.

  Jorge walked past my office. “It’s late, Miss Talbot, and I hate to leave you here. There’s a storm approaching. It’s already coming down pretty hard. Can I get you a taxi to the ferry?”

  “Thanks, Jorge, but I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay the night. No need fighting the storm tonight.” I smiled.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I assured him. “Go on home.”

  “Okay.” But he was reluctant to leave and lingered in the doorway.

  “I’ll be fine, seriously. Go on,” I told him.

  “I’ll see you in the morning?” he asked.

  “Bright and early.”

  “Have a fantastic evening, mi querida.”

  “You too, Jorge.”

  I followed him to the front door and locked it behind him. I turned on the porch light and started back toward the stairs when I heard the sound of someone tampering with the lock. I swung open the door and was surprised to see Jackson standing beneath the bright porch light. A taxicab slowly eased away from the curb.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I came by to check things out, see what kind of progress the men made while I was gone,” he said, stepping inside. He began to look around, moving into each room. “They did an amazing job of finishing things up here.”

  “Yes, they did,” I agreed.

  “We’re going to begin work on the Talbot House first thing Monday morning. They should’ve already started pulling up the linoleum in the kitchen and bathrooms over there.”

  I was barely listening to Jackson. His mouth was moving but I was too busy staring at his facial features. The way his eyes danced when he talked about the Grove. He had just as much passion about the place as the Talbot children did about their inheritance. His lips looked kissable, and his cologne lingered in every room. I realized just how much I’d missed him.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked. “Didn’t you hear the weather forecast?”

  A harsh storm threatened to sweep across the island. Long before Jorge said good-night, I had already decided to stay at the Grove instead of rushing to catch the water ferry. It was safer. I had grown up in the Caribbean, so I knew how abrasive the weather could be during a storm. I had been through many a hurricane season and my share of tropical storms. I had already called Daddy hours before and told him not to worry about meeting me at the ferry.

  “I’m just going to stay over. No need heading home in this,” I told Jackson.

  As if to underscore my words, thunder roared and a flash of lightning shot through the front window.

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he said. “Do you mind if I bunk here for the night, too? It’s getting pretty violent out there.”

  “I don’t mind at all. The beds that I ordered came earlier this week, so there’s a king bed in the Symonette Room on the third floor. You can sleep there,” I told him. “You hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “I’ll cook you something.”

  “Really? You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “You have a better idea? The weather’s too bad to go out and get anything. I have some grouper in the kitchen, and the ingredients for conch salad. What do you say?”

  “I say, thank you.” He smiled. “And I’ll help. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

  “Maybe I can.” I walked into the kitchen and Jackson followed. I tossed him a black apron and then tied a red one around my waist. “Let’s get started.”

  Jackson thoroughly washed the fish while I prepared the ingredients for the conch salad. I showed him how to fillet and season the grouper with rich Bahamian spices. He was an attentive student, taking in every detail.

  “Go ahead and place it in the oven,” I told him. “I know you’re hungry right now, so I have some papaya in the fridge that you can nibble on until dinnertime. I’ll be in the Grand Room for a bit.”

  The Grand Room was the home to my grandfather’s baby grand piano. It was the room where I envisioned entertainment would take place—artists from all over the world would give live performances. There would be round tables covered in crisp white tablecloths and a huge dance floor. I loved the Grand Room just as much as I loved playing the piano. My brother Nate and I played the piano. We were the only two of the Talbot children who had taken after our grandfather. I wasn’t a professional, but could play the piano enough to get by.

  Taking a seat at the grand piano, I began to play a familiar song—softly mouthing the words of John Legend’s “So High.” Suddenly during the chorus, I heard a voice rise above mine, with falsetto vocals that captured John Legend’s notes perfectly. It was one of the most beautiful voices I’d ever heard.

  I glanced over at Jackson, who was standing in the doorway, singing his heart out. I continued to play as he sang effortlessly. After the song finished, I heard clapping.

  “Bravo!” he said.

  “No, bravo to you!” I was astounded. “What was that?”

  “Oh, that was nothing.”

  “You’re in the wrong line of work. You need to be on somebody’s record label.”

  “It’s a hobby.” He walked over and took a seat next to me at the piano. “What else can you play?”

 
I started playing the notes of another Legend tune, “Ordinary People.”

  “You like this guy, huh?”

  “He’s easy to learn,” I explained. “I play by ear.”

  “You’re good.”

  “I’m okay.”

  As the storm swept across the ocean, we spent the entire night in the Grand Room. I played the notes while Jackson sang the vocals of every song in my repertoire. After I hit the last key of the last song, I rested for a moment. We chatted about our lives and surprisingly Jackson opened up to me.

  “The day she told me that John Conner wasn’t my father, I thought my world had come to an end. It’s hard to explain.” He told me about the lie that had destroyed his relationship with his mother.

  “I would feel the same way if I found out that the man I called Daddy wasn’t my biological father. I’d be devastated,” I told him. “My dad is my best friend.”

  “Same with my mother. I felt betrayed. And I wasn’t very nice to her.” Jackson held his head low. “I’m ashamed of the way I treated her...not taking her calls. I didn’t even know she was having heart surgery until the last minute.”

  “At least you were able to make it there...to be by her side. I bet it meant the world to her.”

  “It meant everything to her.”

  “Are you still angry with your stepfather?”

  “Not so much,” he said. “I’m just really curious about my real father. I need to have a conversation with him. I keep imagining what he must be like...how he talks, looks. If I have any of his traits.”

  “Have you looked him up on Google?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Fear, I guess.”

  “Don’t you want to know?” I asked. I grabbed his hands in mine for a moment.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I rushed upstairs to my office and grabbed my laptop, brought it back downstairs. “What’s his name?”

  “Patrick H. Wells,” he said.

  I logged on to my computer and opened my Safari browser. Typed Patrick H. Wells into the search bar. I sorted through the results of the images until I found a photo of the man. He was an older version of Jackson—same skin tone, eyes and smile, same curly hair. The similarities were astounding.