Last Bride Standing

by Patricia Anne Phillips

Genres: African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A  Lost Memory. . . After journalist Wanda Gray's plane crashes in Kenya, searchers find no survivors, and she is believed dead. But Wanda is very much alive, injured and slowly recovering on an African ranch. She remembers nothing of her former life--not her accountant husband Steven or even her own name. A New Love. . . Soon, in the lush, exotic African countryside, Wanda is discovering a new world. . .and a lover who will change everything: tall, lithe, ranch owner Ahmed. Day by day their desire is blossoming into a gloriously passionate romance: elemental as earth, sensual as the hot wind, and insatiable as the lions that stalk the night. A Truth About To Explode But Wanda's happiness can last only as long as Ahmed doesn't know she is married and her past remains a secret. Every moment draws them closer to the next unexpected twist of fate--one that will draw Wanda into a maelstrom of emotions--and a heartbreaking choice. . .

Release date: November 20, 2014

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 385

Sample

Los Angeles, January 2001

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving me, Wanda,” Steven said, as he sat on the edge of their king-sized bed, watching as his wife took up most of the bed packing her suitcases.

Her back was turned to him, but from the melancholy in his voice, she didn’t have to look in his face to see his unhappiness with her decision.

Wanda gently closed the suitcase, walked around the foot of the bed and turned to face him. She took a backward step beyond the foot of the bed and leaned against the year old oak dresser which stretched almost the length of the wall. She folded her arms across her chest and stared into his drooping brown eyes, trying to gauge the depth of his distress.

“Besides,” he continued. “I don’t like the idea of your connecting flight being one of those small private jets. The Tribute should have paid for you to stay on British Airways.” He got up, took her hand and pulled her down beside him. “I just don’t understand why you had to accept this assignment.”

She placed one hand under his stubborn set chin, kissed him on his cheek, and ran her fingers through his black, close-cut hair. He looked so sad; she was beginning to hate leaving him, even if it was only going to be for three weeks. But he should have known that one day this would happen. After all, it’s what she had been striving so hard for over the last year—to expand her talents as a lead journalist for the LA Tribute to include taking trips to places like Africa. Wanda landed her position at the Los Angeles Tribute newspaper three and a half years ago. The Tribute paid her for her move to Los Angeles from Chicago.

“I’ll be back in three weeks, honey. I’ll make it up to you. This is my big break, Steven, don’t make me feel guilty for accepting this assignment.”

Wanda sat beside him. He held her tight in his arms as he looked down at her smooth, brown thighs. Her short black bathrobe had fallen open and stopped halfway up her thighs.

“I’m a journalist, Steven. This is what I do. I’ve worked hard for three years for a break like this one, doubly hard over the last year to get this trip to Africa. Honey, just three weeks and we’ll be back together.”

Wanda followed his eyes as he looked over their bed. She could see the thoughts flooding Steven’s mind—of him sleeping alone in this large bed they shared. She could imagine how lonely he must be feeling. Since they were married, they had spent no more than a week apart.

Wanda knew Steven hated being alone. It was bad enough that he had been an only child, ten years old when his mother abandoned him, Steven had been devastated.

Steven had lived with his mother in their small wood-frame house in South Central Los Angeles for as long as he could remember. After she left, he continued to stay in the house alone for a week hoping she would return. She didn’t, but she had contacted her only sister and told her that Steven was alone in the house and asked her to look after him.

Steven stayed with his aunt until he graduated from high school, moved out of her house to room with a couple of friends that graduated with him.

Before Steven met Wanda, he drifted from woman to woman, trying to find a woman that he could settle down with and fill the void in his life left by his mother’s untimely departure. In some ways, he was still a child at heart, and could never get enough attention to appease him.

Wanda knew he depended on her to be there for him, and now she was leaving him, for what he must think to be an eternity. As she sat there watching him she wondered what he would do with himself while she was away?

Wanda could tell by the defiant set of his shoulders that anger had filtered into his sadness over her leaving. She knew him well enough to detect that one obvious sign of him being angry, although he was trying desperately to conceal it. Looking at him, she felt almost as though she was abandoning him—as did his mother.

Steven reached for her, held her tighter, and then pulled away to get a good look at his wife’s face.

“Why don’t you finish packing while I take a shower. It’s early and we still have the rest of tonight, you know,” he said, breathing in the scent of her perfume.

Wanda stood up in front of him, tipped her full, pouty lips up in an inviting smile at her husband’s suggestion.

As Steven got up to go to the bathroom, the phone rang. Wanda brushed passed him and went to answer it. It was Karen, her older sister. Wanda was thirty-three and Karen was three years older.

“Are you finished packing, Wanda?”

“Yes. I just have a couple of things that I can pack tomorrow morning. She pulled her bathrobe tighter, tied the belt around her waist. “How is my nephew?”

“He’s feeling better. Some of the other kids at school had the flu, too. I hope you’ve packed enough warm clothing for your trip. I hear that January is cold in Kenya but the rainy season is March and April.”

“I’ve packed enough. Steven says it’s enough to last me for two months.”

“Is he still angry?”

“Yes. But he’ll get over it. I can’t refuse an opportunity like this one. Besides, having some time apart might be good for both of us.” But Wanda wondered if it was true. She and Steven had a good marriage, but lately they both seemed to be going in separate directions. When she came home on time, he was late, and when he came home on time, she was late. There was always something to do.

“That man loves you, Wanda. Now, take care of yourself. And remember. You and Steven promised to come home this summer. I still can’t believe you left Chicago to live in Los Angeles. It just doesn’t seem the same since you left, and that was four years ago.”

“I love you, Karen. Tell mom I’ll call her when I get to Kenya so she won’t worry about me. I’ll call you as soon as I get back.”

“I’ll tell her when I go to see her tomorrow on my way to the office, and I’ll talk to you in three weeks.”

Wanda hung up and stepped out of her bathrobe, letting the belt drop to the floor.

The décor in their bedroom was done in neutral colors of sand pebble, with ivy and some prints, except for the organza cushions piled high on their king-size bed that were all bright colors. The wallpaper, in pale green moiré silk, was framed with sanded down woodwork to its natural oak. The drapes and carpets all through the apartment were also sand pebble.

Wanda ambled softly into the bathroom and climbed into the shower with her husband.

Steven smiled, invitingly, when he saw her climb in. The water was hot, as Steven washed her back she could feel her body relaxing. She would miss this, she thought.

After they finished their shower, Steven led her to bed and made love to her slowly, touching every part of her body. Three years and he still wanted only to fill himself with the taste of her. He kissed her over and over again. The melodious tone of Wanda’s voice as she moaned and whispered his name, feeling her warm body tighten around his, made him want more.

Steven was always ravenous when making love to Wanda. She had that effect on him. The other women he slept with were “only a roll in the hay,” or “a quick piece of ass,” as Steven so often put it. But Wanda was more. They made love to each other, knew what each wanted and needed from the other.

After three years, she still felt the tingling of every nerve in her body when they made love. Even with their busy schedules, they somehow managed to make love countless times a week, either at night or in the mornings.

It was late in the day after Wanda and Steven lay breathing deeply and had talked for hours. Night had fallen by the time Steven fell asleep.

Wanda got out of bed and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Having so much on her mind she couldn’t sleep. As soon as this assignment was over, she would talk to Steven about having a child; their child. She smiled in the darkness and the quiet around her.

Wanda got back in bed and snuggled close to her husband. They usually slept spooned together. Sleep was long in coming, but at dawn she was wide-awake again. She got up and went back downstairs into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Maybe she could get some sleep on the plane, she thought as she sat at the table and looked at the clock on the wall. It was only five o’clock and pleasantly quiet in the apartment.

Steven and Wanda lived in a three-bedroom townhouse in Woodland Hills. Wanda had bought it six months before she met Steven. She loved living in the valley, even though the oppressive heat during the summer months could border on unbearable. The townhouse was a two-story combination of East and West Coast architectures—red brick and stucco with wood trim. Its roomy interior provided enough space to accommodate her sister or mother when they came to visit.

Wanda went into the bathroom downstairs, and washed her face as the coffee was perking in the kitchen. She looked at the reflection of her face in the mirror, her round eyes were red from lack of sleep. She pushed her dark brown hair back, splashed warm water against her face. She stopped for a moment to take stock of her facial features, looking for any sign of aging. She had a delicate mouth, a straight nose, both to her liking. She wore very little make-up, her flawless skin was honey brown and buttery smooth. Wanda was petite with breasts that leaned toward large for her small build, and a pair of absolutely sensational legs that most women would kill for.

At 6 A.M. the phone rang. Wanda ran into the living room to answer before it woke Steven up.

“Did I wake you?” It was Marie Wilson, her closest friend, came from the same neighborhood in Chicago. She got married and moved to Los Angeles four years before Wanda. But her marriage had only lasted two years. Still, Marie and Wanda were as close as they had been when they were teenagers.

“Wake me? No, I couldn’t sleep and got up to make some coffee. But Steven is still asleep.”

“Are you all packed and ready to go?” Marie asked.

“Packed, but not so ready. Steven is giving me a hard time. I feel so guilty, Marie,” she said, flopping down on the sofa. “I don’t think he really thought that I would go.”

“Look, Wanda. He’ll get over it. It’s only three weeks. And it’s your job. This is something you’ve wanted for a long time. I used to do everything that ex-husband of mine wanted and look where it got me. So, I say, go on and do what pleases you. Besides, if it were Steven he wouldn’t care about leaving you alone for three weeks.”

Wanda frowned as she listened to the bitter tone in Marie’s voice. “Gee, you sound so pessimistic, Marie.”

“When it comes to men, honey, I am pessimistic. They’re all selfish . . . want everything their way. Besides, how do you know what he’ll be doing while you’re away?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Wanda asked with an edge to her voice. Marie was beginning to get on her nerves. She sighed, and rolled her eyes up in her head. Sometimes she felt sorry for Marie. She had turned bitter after her divorce, and lately, was getting difficult to get along with. But at least she’d stop drinking as much as she used to. Her consuming too much alcohol was beginning to be a problem and only brought out the worst in her. It made her moody, rude and disagreeable.

But, in spite of their differences, Wanda loved Marie.

“It means you’re too trusting, Wanda. Anyway, Steven can take care of himself while you are away. After all, he did before you married him, didn’t he?”

“I know, Marie. ” Wanda looked at the clock again. “I better get off this phone and get ready. My plane leaves at ten and I still have a few things to do before I go.”

“Okay, girl. And remember what I said. Steven can take care of himself.”

“Oh, how can I forget what you said. You just take care of yourself.” They hung up, and Wanda went back to the kitchen. Talking to Marie only made her feel worse. Steven had always told Wanda that Marie was too pessimistic about life. She was a leech, not a friend. Misery loves company, Steven always said. That was his description of Marie. One would think that he disliked her. But Marie was still and would always be Wanda’s friend.

The later it got, the more depressed she felt about leaving Steven. As they dressed, lingering in the enormous marble bathroom they shared, having just made love again, she could barely speak, thinking of how hard it would be to say good-bye to Steven.

Steven saw the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Wanda . . .” He was beyond pressing the issue with her anymore. But, he was sad, too.

“I know this assignment means a lot to you, Wanda, and I feel so selfish.” He held her in his arms. “I’ll tell you what, baby. In three weeks we have a date. I’ll be waiting at the airport with flowers in my hand. Date?” he asked, watching the frown in her face relax into a smile.

“Three weeks. You’ve got a date. It’ll be wonderful, Steven.”

Steven had finished putting the luggage in the back seat of his 1999 green Volvo. Wanda came downstairs, wearing jeans, a navy blazer, and boots. She wanted to dress comfortably for her long flight. She stood in the living room looking around and making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

Suddenly she had a nagging feeling that she was leaving something behind that she needed, but she couldn’t think of it.

“Well, I guess I’m ready, baby.” She looked up at him and forced a smile.

“Let’s go then,” Steven said, pulling the keys from his pocket and locking the door behind them.

Once they arrived at the airport, Steven waited at the gate with her until it was time to board the plane.

“Take care of yourself, baby.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t forget our date.”

“Three weeks, love,” she said.

As she walked away, she turned around and blew him a kiss. “I’ll be back.”

After the plane took off, Wanda did some work on her laptop computer, writing a list of things to do on her first day in Kenya. Finally, she finished and pulled a novel from her purse and read, then took a nap.

Wanda was happy to board her second flight in London because it meant half her journey was over. She read on the plane from Los Angeles, but now she was getting sleepy and no one was sitting beside her to keep her awake. The flight was small with two rows of seats on each side. It was half-filled compared to the plane coming from LA to London.

When the flight attendant asked Wanda if she wanted anything to drink, she ordered tea. After she finished, her empty cup was taken away, she adjusted her seat and lay her head back, closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Wanda vaulted into what she thought was a dream. First, it felt as though Steven was trying to awaken her and she couldn’t wake up fast enough. Suddenly, managing to snap her eyes open, she realized it was only a dream and she remembered that she was in a plane, not at home in her bed. Heavy turbulence had awakened her, but being a seasoned traveler, Wanda gave little thought to the very bumpy flight and closed her eyes in an attempt to relax herself back to sleep.

A moment later, Wanda sat up with a lurch when the tall, blonde flight attendant touched her firmly on the shoulder and told her, just as firmly, “Miss, fasten your seat belt please.” She hurriedly left Wanda to make the same request of the other passengers.

The worried expression on the flight attendant’s face convinced Wanda that the flight was even rougher than the flight attendant expected. She glanced at the window by her seat and saw raindrops beating intensely against the thick plastic pane.

Wanda’s heart clutched, her stomach quaked. She looked around the cabin only to see all of the other passengers’ faces frozen in quiet, terrified, pleading stares at the adept flight attendant moving quickly through the cabin.

The rain pelted harder against her window. She heard a child cry out from the row behind her and felt the plane begin to dip, as if preparing to land. The angle of the dip caused her to feel slightly nauseated. Wanda glanced behind her when she heard the old couple in the seats directly behind her, praying. The rougher the flight became, the louder they prayed.

“Help us, Lord! Keep us safe as only you can. We need you, Lord!”

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow, I shall fear no evil,” another woman prayed.

“Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death,” someone else intoned.

“Attendant, please help us!” a woman yelled to the flight attendant, but got no answer. The flight attendant had locked herself into her seat, her hands covering her face, trying to hide the fear already evident in her eyes.

A young British couple held hands, as tears welled in their eyes. “I love you,” they said to each other, kissing, crying and softly whispering prayers to God.

Wanda felt hot tears spring from her own eyes and began a prayer of her own. The angle of the descent seemed to be even greater than only a moment before. The plane seemed to be turning to one side, spiraling. In her heart she knew the plane was out of control. She heard a loud cracking noise, clanging metal and screams all around her.

Suddenly she felt a hard wind blowing, then the rain hitting her face, blinding her, and her world had turned into a slow motion blur of confusing sights and sounds. She knew the end was coming soon, but she prayed for her safety in hopes that there was still a chance to land—to live.

Objects flew through the air, falling, bouncing noiselessly against the airplane bulkheads and onto the floor. Her heart pounded faster, harder against her chest, and the yelling and crying around her grew louder and more intense. The child cried out again. Wanda looked around to see who it was. The child’s mother was holding her in her arms and praying to God to please spare her child.

Men and women screamed out their prayers, as the plane seemed to be falling lower. The interior lights disappeared into a wall of total blackness. The prayers and the screams around her increased as the plane slowly rolled onto its back in mid air.

Knowing she was about to die, Wanda quietly whispered, “Steven, I . . . love you . . .” She touched the gold necklace around her neck that Steven had given her on her last birthday.

There was scarcely a sound, just the fast downward plunge, the sharp, clean impact, the quick shifting of direction, more falling as the inverted plane came crashing down into the rain-soaked highlands of Mount Kenya.

Los Angeles

Steven Gray was in the Valley End Bar in Burbank near the office of the accounting firm. Some of the employees from his office met there every Friday evening before going home. It was a way to start their weekend. The bar was large and vigorous, people drinking and releasing the stress of a long workweek.

It was Friday evening, and Steven didn’t want to go home to a quiet and lonely apartment. His wife had left the day before. All Steven wanted to do was have a few drinks with his friend, Chuck, and two other guys that he worked with, get drunk, and go home so he could get some sleep.

He was getting a pretty good start when one of the guys told them to be quiet and listen to the news on the big screen television sitting high above the bar. The news rivaled the music blaring from the jukebox at the same time. The camera cut over to the footages of an airplane crash. Just watching the newscaster’s face as she stopped and shook her head in disbelief, he knew it was bad news. But, before he paid really close attention he ordered another drink. He didn’t want to hear any bad news about anything. He wasn’t going to let anything spoil his evening.

“Hey, did she say Africa?” Steven heard the voice from the end of the bar. He absently placed his glass on the bar and focused his attention on the television. His ears perked up; his skin rained needles and his heart jerked fast inside his chest. He and Chuck looked at each other and back at the television.

The wide picture, obviously being recorded from a great distance, showed what appeared to be bodies strewn carelessly on the ground around the scattered remains of the destroyed plane.

“Turn that up,” Steven yelled at, Joe, the bartender. “Where did they say the plane crashed? Did I hear someone say Africa?” he asked nervously.

“Kenya, Mount Kenya, flight number 32,” Joe said.

Steven felt as if his heart had stopped. He shook his head as though he were trying to clear it. Had he heard right? “Did he say flight 32?” But, as he asked the question out loud, the men he worked with stopped talking and looked in his direction. He jumped away from the bar, knocking his drink to the floor. Chuck followed Steven to the phone booth that was in the corner, stood outside of it while Steven talked.

After a few moments Steven began yelling into the phone, trying to get answers about the plane that went down in Africa. He dropped the phone and held his face in his hands. Chuck opened the door and Steven fell into his arms.

“My wife was on that plane. I didn’t want her to go.”

Chuck led him back to his seat at the bar. Unable to stand any longer, Steven fell into it. “I’ve got to get home and call her mother and sister.” He was frantic and talking fast. “God, what do I do? What do I do, now?” he asked as if someone there would answer, but everyone just stood and watched, shocked to hear the news. No one was talking in the bar, even the people that didn’t know Steven felt sorry for him. They stopped talking, looking from Steven and back to the television, grasping all the information they could hear about the crash. An airplane had crashed in Kenya and the man’s wife was in it.

“Come on, Steven. Let me drive you home,” Chuck was saying. “You don’t need to be behind the wheel of a car right now.” Chuck had worked in the accounting firm with Steven for five years and had gone to his wedding when he had married Wanda. “She was such a sweet woman. We can come back for your car later or tomorrow, Steven.”

“Chuck, I can’t believe this,” Steven said, wiping tears from his eyes. Chuck helped him into his blue mustang. Steven never stopped talking as Chuck drove him home.

“Maybe Wanda wasn’t on that plane. You know, sometimes things happen, and they put you on a different plane.”

But Chuck didn’t answer. He felt so sorry for the poor guy. He was so out of it. Fighting to believe there was still hope for Wanda to be alive. But what could he say to his friend? Chuck continued to listen to Steven talking randomly, not realizing what he was saying, and he silently prayed that maybe there was hope, if only a little, that Wanda had not been on that doomed flight.

“If my wife was on the plane, maybe there were some survivors that haven’t been found yet. Just because she was on the plane doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“Yes, that could be true, Steven. When we get to your place we can call the airlines and get some answers.”

Once Chuck parked the car, Steven jumped out and ran to the door, unlocked it and ran inside with Chuck walking fast behind him. Steven turned on the television as soon as he stepped inside. He rushed to the phone and started to dial, instead he hung up and decided to listen to the messages on the answering machine. Maybe it was Wanda or the airlines.

“Wouldn’t it be something if Wanda’s voice came through and said, “Steven, I’m all right so don’t worry about me.” But the first voice was Karen’s, Wanda’s sister.

“Steven, where are you? Steven, by now I’m sure you’ve heard. There were no survivors on the plane. My sister is dead. . . .” She burst into tears and hung up. The next message was from Marie.

“Steven, oh Steven. Please call me as soon as you get this message.” She wasn’t crying but she was shouting so loud and talking so fast he could barely understand what she was saying. Steven cringed inwardly as he listened to Marie’s voice. He wouldn’t return her call, and he didn’t want her to come over. All he wanted was his wife to be alive.

“Are you all right, man?” Chuck asked.

Steven had flopped down in the large chair in the living room. Chuck was sitting opposite him on the sofa. For a while they were silent.

“Are you all right, man?” Chuck asked. He wondered if he should leave Steven alone.

As though he was in a trance, Steven murmured something under his breath. He, then, started talking —mainly to himself.

“I guess you know it wasn’t Wanda speaking on the phone. I don’t understand how a thing like this could have happened, man. She’s here yesterday, gone today. I wonder if she was in any pain. God, I hope it was quick,” he said, tears flowing down his cheeks.

He excused himself and went into the bathroom. Once he was in there he bent over the toilet and vomited. A few minutes later, he stepped out rubbing a wet cloth over his face. Chuck was pouring two glasses of brandy and handed one to Steven.

“I can’t return any phone calls tonight, man. I can’t even think straight, yet.”

Chuck down his brandy and sat next to Steven. “I’m going to leave you alone, man. But you can call me if you need me to come back. Maybe it’s better if I take you back to your car tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man. Tomorrow is soon enough. Right now I need to be alone. I need to call the airlines and get some answers. I need . . . I need . . . my wife . . .” Unable to say another word, Steven burst into tears.

Two days later Steven waited outside American Airlines for Karen and Betty, Wanda’s sister and mother. He felt as though he had just done the same thing with Wanda. Waiting and hating every minute of it. But this time the waiting was different. Waiting with Wanda meant she was going to return to him, but waiting for Karen and Betty was all so different, so sad. He was sure that he would wake up any moment from a bad dream. It was inconceivable that his sweet Wanda was dead, and what haunted him the most was the pain she may have suffered. Was she awake and knew that she was going to die, waiting for that final moment? He couldn’t bear to think of it.

When Betty, Karen, and her son, Jeffrey, walked through the gate, they saw Steven. He looked hung over, and needed to shave. Karen was sure that he’d lost weight, his face was gaunt and hardly recognizable until he called out Karen’s name. He’d had it hard since he’d heard the bad news of her sister, Karen thought, as he got closer.

Steven held his mother-in-law by her arm and led her to a seat.

Betty watched Steven through tears forming in her eyes. Seeing him made Wanda’s death so real. She remembered how she cried when she lost her husband, and when Wanda accepted the job as a journalist in LA. She didn’t want her daughter to leave Chicago. Now, she’s gone forever and will never return home again. Saying very little to each other, they rushed out of the airport.

As Steven pulled his ca. . .