In the Light of Love. Deborah Fletcher Mello

their orders. A small girl with a large bustline smiled eagerly as she made her way to the table.

      “Are you ready to order, sir,” she said, her grin as wide as her full face.

      “Two coffees, please, one regular and one decaffeinated. And I’ll have an apple pastry.”

      “How about you, ma’am?”

      Irene returned the girl’s smile. “Just coffee, thank you.”

      Reaching for the menus the girl promised to be right back, then headed toward the kitchen.

      “What happened between you and Shannon?” Irene persisted.

      Jericho tossed her a quick glance, then shifted his gaze across the room, avoiding his mother’s stare for a second time. He shrugged, driving his shoulders skyward before responding. “Shannon is desperate for a husband and I’m not interested in the job. She seems to be having a difficult time accepting that, though.”

      Irene sensed that there was much her son wasn’t telling her. She nodded her head ever so slightly before responding. “Well, she made a very generous donation to the hospital tonight. You don’t have to marry her but you do have to spend a day with her.”

      Jericho shook his head. “That’s what irritates me the most. Shannon knows full well that I have no interest in spending any time with her. To make matters worse, things were so crazy with her following me around that I didn’t get a chance to catch up with Miss London. I really wanted to get her telephone number. Now, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to track her down. What if she’s not from Atlanta?”

      “Are you talking about the other young woman bidding against Shannon?”

      Jericho nodded, noting how his mother rolled her eyes in response. “What?” he asked, his annoyance resurfacing in his tone.

      Irene laughed. “If you want her telephone number all you have to do is ask. You seem to forget that she had to register so that she could bid. I should have her contact information in all that paperwork we packed in the trunk of that car. But, how do you know she’d even want you to have her telephone number?”

      Jericho grinned, a sudden rush of hopeful anticipation filling his face. “I just know, Mom. If I’d had half a chance, I’d have given her mine. And thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

      His mother waved her head from side to side, reaching to rub her palm against the back of his hand. “I think I do, but if you keep acting up like you were before, you’re not going to be very happy with me. You will see the back of my hand on your bottom and then some, and I don’t care how old you are.”

      Chapter 6

      Mary London pulled the ringing telephone to her ear.

      “Hello?”

      “Yes, hello. Is Talisa London available, please?”

      “Who’s calling?”

      “Jericho Becton.” The man’s voice was a deep bass, a rich tonality that would have resonated nicely over the radio.

      “Are you a friend of Talisa’s?”

      “She and I met last week, ma’am, and it’s very important that I reach her. I’ve tried calling her a couple of times before but I don’t know if she’s been getting my messages.”

      Mary stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other clutching the telephone receiver. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Well, Talisa’s not home at the moment. But I will tell her you called.”

      “Thank you,” Jericho said, following with a heavy sigh.

      Mary could hear the disappointment in the man’s voice. The sadness of it echoed loudly in the tone of his voice as he gave the woman his contact information, repeating over again how anxious he was to make contact with Talisa. As Mary dropped the telephone receiver back onto the hook, her husband came through the kitchen door, waving hello as he entered.

      “Hey.”

      “Hey, yourself,” Mary responded. “How was your day?”

      The man shrugged, not bothering to respond as he took a seat at the kitchen table and reached for the lacings that bound his leather work boots.

      “Don’t take them boots off in my kitchen,” Mary scolded, fanning her hand in the man’s direction.

      “Why you got to start the minute I come through the door?” her husband responded. He paused, his hands frozen in midair in front of him as he gazed up at her.

      “I’m not starting anything. I’m finishing this. Take them boots out of here. I just mopped this floor clean and you come in here ready to kick trash on the floor. I’m not having it.”

      Rising from his seat, Herman swore, profanity filling the air with his annoyance. That was all it took before the duo was arguing bitterly back and forth, the moment turning uglier with each comment that passed between them.

      As she came through the front door, Talisa could hear the two of them bickering loudly. Her mother’s voice had risen four octaves, the older woman screaming unintelligibly and her father yelling back just as loud. She shook her head in disgust as she entered the room to stand between the two of them. Her presence was greeted with silence as one parent eyed the other, vile stares racing between them. Her father suddenly turned away from the two women, plopping back down against the thinly padded chair, reaching for his bootlaces.

      As Talisa shook a finger at one and then the other, she couldn’t help but think she should be used to the ugly that frequently passed between her folks. During the course of their forty-two-year marriage, Herman and Mary London had forever walked a fine line between love and hate for one another. Since Talisa had been three years old she knew she would never understand how two individuals with such an abundance of love for her and everyone else, could totter so precariously from one side of malevolence to the other side of devotion when it came to the relationship they shared with each other.

      “Why do you two have to act so ugly? The whole neighborhood can hear you both screaming. Miss Taylor is still standing on her front porch eavesdropping,” Talisa said, pointing in the direction of their next door neighbor.

      “Betty Taylor can stand wherever she pleases. But she don’t ever want to get in my business if she knows what’s good for her,” Mary proclaimed, spinning her stout body around to reach for the mop. “Just look at what you done to my floor,” she hissed in Herman’s direction.

      The man reached for his boots, standing up straight as he headed out of the room in his bare feet and up the stairs. He muttered under his breath as he made his exit.

      “Daddy doesn’t need you fussing at him the minute he gets home from work. You know how hard his days are.”

      “Don’t be telling me about your daddy. I’ve been with that man longer than you’ve been around. I know about your daddy.”

      “You just need to give him a break. I bet your blood pressure is sky-high right now. That’s not good for either of you.”

      Mary shrugged, moving to change the subject. “We’re having baked chicken, rice and green beans for supper. I even made some peach cobbler for dessert. Your daddy likes my peach cobbler.”

      Talisa smiled, leaning to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Did I get any calls?”

      Mary nodded. “Some boy called here for you. I forgot his number though. Your daddy and his mess threw me right off track. I was just about to get a pen and some paper when he come in here with his evilness.”

      “Do you even remember the man’s name?”

      Mary sucked her teeth, tossing her daughter a look that said she should be careful with the tone of her voice. “Jericho. Like in the Bible.”

      Talisa inhaled swiftly, surprise