A Love To Remember. Angela WeaverЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 2

      Atlanta, Georgia

      Two days after learning of her godfather’s death, Sasha woke one limb at a time.

      The feeling of blood pumping through her veins and the dull ache in her back brought the welcome sensation of being alive. Yet, the source of the pain took her a moment to figure out. Slowly as the haze of sleep began to lift, she realized that for the first time in weeks she’d slept in a bed. Actually, a feather bed with four down pillows, soft cotton sheets and a down comforter.

      She opened her eyes and squinted into the darkness before rolling over and reaching. Her long fingers encountered nothing but the soft duvet cover. Sasha looked at the glow of the bedside clock—10:30 a.m. She’d slept three hours, but she felt as if she’d been sleeping for a few minutes. She rolled over again and fumbled around until she managed to locate the switch for the bedside lamp. Low light suffused the room. Thick drapes covered two windows, a flat screen television flanked by heavy dark furniture and crème-colored walls.

      Sasha pushed a pillow behind her back and inhaled the lavender scent exuding from the bed sheets. The king-size sleigh bed shouted luxury.

      Uneasy, Sasha picked up the telephone and began to dial. Because of the sanctions against Cuba, she had to dial a service in Canada to be rerouted to her parents’ new home. A moment of silence passed as the international connection took place. When if finally came, the stuttered ring made her heart slip a beat.

      “Hello?” a familiar voice answered.

      “Momma.”

      “Sasha, baby. Where are you?”

      She closed her eyes and gripped the phone tighter as her chest tightened. The sound of her mother’s voice simultaneously relieved her and reminded Sasha of how much she missed her family. She took a deep breath and steadied her voice before replying. “I’m calling from Atlanta.”

      “Oh, baby. I’ve been praying for you since I found out about Camden. How are you?”

      She sat up straighter. “I’m okay. Momma, does Dad know about Uncle Camden?”

      “We got a letter in the mail about two weeks ago.”

      Sasha cradled the phone tighter. “Did he come to the funeral?”

      “No. I wanted to go, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

      Part of her wanted to voice the unspoken question of why. Yet, she held back. Her father was a man who lived by simple rules and staunch pride. No matter the history and connection between him and her godfather, Camden Ridgestone’s death wouldn’t have broken his vow never to see or speak to his best friend again.

      “Is he around?”

      “He’s out checking the caves. Now, how did you find out about Camden’s death? I thought you were on an island in the Asia.”

      “Uncle Camden’s attorney tracked me down.”

      “Why? It would have been impossible for you make it back in time for the funeral.”

      “I’m required to be at the reading of the will,” Sasha responded slowly.

      Several heartbeats passed before her mother said, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

      “I’m not sure I like it, either, but I really didn’t have a choice. Uncle Camden’s attorneys took care of everything from the plane tickets to this hotel suite.”

      “Hotel suite?”

      Sasha smiled and curled her legs under her like a child. “At the Ritz Carlton. The place has a bathroom bigger than my studio in Brooklyn. Not to mention the monogrammed slippers, bathrobes and a Jacuzzi tub.”

      “Samuel won’t like the sound of that.”

      Sasha automatically tensed at the mention of her father’s disapproval. “Mom, I know you don’t like to keep secrets, but if you tell Dad that Uncle Camden included me in his will Dad’s blood pressure will shoot through the stratosphere.”

      “I’ll let him know you called and that you’re all right. But you have to call me back and let me know what’s going on.”

      “Promise. I love you, Momma.”

      “I love you more, hummingbird.”

      Sasha’s chest suffused with love at the sound of her pet name. She waited for the click on the other end of the line before placing the phone back on its cradle. Sasha slid off the bed and stretched as her toes sunk into the carpet before slipping into the hotel slippers and donning the plush terry bathrobe.

      Spying a small counter with a coffee pot, tea and snacks, her stomach growled, reminding Sasha that she hadn’t eaten since arriving on the East Coast. Just as she crossed the living area, she heard a knock on the door.

      Sasha secured the belt around her robe and opened the door. A hotel attendant smiled and Sasha stepped aside as the man wheeled in a dish-laden cart. “Good morning,” she greeted him.

      “Morning, I hope you don’t mind that I’m a little late. We had a little problem with the service elevator this morning. But don’t let that bother you because the toast should still be warm and the coffee could still scald the living daylights out of a man.”

      Sasha laughed and shook her head as she let go of the doorknob and let the door swing closed. “I wasn’t expecting breakfast, so cold or hot really doesn’t matter to me since I’m starving.”

      Her eyes, which had just minutes before been narrow slits, opened when the smell of fresh roasted coffee wafted into her nostrils. He sat the cart alongside the windows and pushed back the curtains, letting bright sunlight into the room. She crossed the room and picked up one of the silver covers to discover fresh croissants, muffins, toast, fruit and an assortment of jams.

      “This is enough to feed a small family.”

      “The Ritz might be cheap when it comes close to Christmas bonus time, but they don’t play around with making the guests feel welcome.”

      “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

      “You’re not from around here, are you?”

      “Originally? No. I was born in North Carolina, but I’ve spent most of my life traveling.”

      He chuckled and a smile slid up his face. “You know, we’re not really supposed to talk to the guests.”

      Happy to hear American English and be in the company of a fellow person of color, she winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. How about a cup of coffee?”

      “All right. My name is Frank.”

      After a half hour of food and conversation, Sasha locked the hotel door behind Frank and made her way to the bathroom. All it took was one quick look into the wall-length mirror to ruin her easy morning. The Senegalese woman who’d braided her hair had done an excellent job. But hiking through tropical forests and moving through thick underbrush had turned her stunning hairstyle into a complete disaster. The cornrows were in dire need of rebraiding. Since that wasn’t an option and she didn’t possess a proper hat or scarf, she sighed heavily. Sasha sat on top of the closed toilet seat, reached over her head and pursued her only option. Wincing at the thought, she began the two-hour process of unbraiding her hair.

      People should be required to give three