Nichoatra: The Love He Could Not Keep

Nichoatra: The Love He Could Not Keep

by Mackeline Wilson
Nichoatra: The Love He Could Not Keep

Nichoatra: The Love He Could Not Keep

by Mackeline Wilson

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Overview

When Nichoatra Williams, a middle age single woman meets a man she thinks could be a possible life partner, she’s ecstatic. But soon after she finds out that he is married. Since he was recommended by her best friend, she agreed to a platonic friendship with him. After four months of his generosity toward her, he manages to penetrate the walls of her heart. Dispite his warmth and kindness, she is unable to move beyond the guilt of being with another woman’s husband. That is when his affection turned deadly.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781468595161
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 05/14/2012
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 176
File size: 209 KB

Read an Excerpt

Nichoatra

The Love He Could Not Keep
By Mackeline Wilson

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Mackeline Wilson
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4685-9518-5


Chapter One

Roderick (The Meeting)

I did not have any reason for visiting the bank that day except to see her. As I entered the building, my heart began to race, and my palms became sweaty. But then I saw her, and my fears instantly disappeared. She looked like an African goddess.

She was attending to another customer, so I sat in the lobby, waiting for my turn to sit by her, daydreaming about how wonderful it would be to call her mine. Although I had been watching her now for about two years, I had never gotten the courage to ask her out. I knew her name, and I often dreamed of her smile, which made me feel so warm inside. But that was all I knew of her. A woman this beautiful must be married, I thought, although I hadn't seen a ring on her finger. She must at least have a lover.

That day, for some reason, I felt confident enough to strike up a conversation that I hoped would lead to finding out more about her. I watched her close her conversation with the other customer, shake his hand, and then turn in my direction. Oh my God, I thought. Here she comes! This girl is truly beautiful. She was about five-foot-eight, with just enough curves, and had a natural beauty: almond-shaped eyes, smooth skin the color of milk chocolate, and full lips that begged to be kissed. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. As I stood up to meet her, she stretched out a hand and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Nichoatra Williams. You can call me Nicky. How can I help you today?"

I felt at a loss for words, but somehow I managed to pull out a few. "Hello, I'm Roderick Sanders ... you can call me Rod," I said, fighting not to appear nervous. "I need to ask a question about my check card. I tried to use it at the grocery store, but the cashier would not accept it—she said it's missing some kind of logo on the back. Can you help me with that?"

Nicky smiled. "I know exactly what the cashier is talking about. It's called Interlink, and it allows you to use your debit card at any participating store. We will have to order you a new card with the logo, but it will only take a few days for you to receive it."

"Okay, great," I said.

"May I see your ID, please?"

I handed her my ID and the check card. I was disappointed that she did not remember me; I had hoped she would, because I had found a way to see her any time I had a legitimate reason to visit the bank. "I've sat in this seat about a dozen times staring into those beautiful eyes of yours, and you don't remember me?" I asked shamelessly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You do look a little familiar. But it is the bank's policy that we ask to see every customer's ID."

"Well, my feelings are hurt," I said with a smile. "You're the one who opened my bank account two years ago!"

She laughed. "I promise I'll remember you now," she said.

It was just a brief conversation, but now I wanted her more than ever. It didn't matter if she had a husband or a boyfriend; I wanted to be in her life, even if just as a friend. As I sat in my car in the bank parking lot, wondering how I could let her know my feelings for her, I remembered a conversation I'd had about her with my best friend, Kenneth Jomo, who had told me that he knew a friend of hers.

I called Kenneth immediately. I knew I could count on him to connect me with this beautiful stranger who had captured my heart the moment I laid eyes on her. She could not simply slip away; I had to have her.

Kenneth promised to contact Nicky's friend right away. A few minutes later, Kenneth called me to say it was okay to go back into the bank and talk to Nicky. I didn't know what had been said; I'm not sure I wanted to know. All I knew was that she had agreed to listen to me, and that was enough.

I took a few minutes to pull myself together and gather my thoughts. I wanted to say the right things to her ... I wanted her to like me. As I reentered the bank, she was on her way out to lunch. As luck would have it, I was able to persuade her to eat with me.

Chapter Two

Nicky (The Meeting Part 2)

I was exhausted, and as I got ready for bed that day, I hoped the next one would be better. My day had started out with an international phone call to Liberia, and it had ended up in a business communications class that seemed never-ending. The instructor was long-winded, as usual, and it was hard to concentrate on school because my thoughts kept drifting back to the phone call. I was elated when the three-hour class finally ended.

For the past five years, I had been trying to purchase a piece of property—about three hundred acres of forestland—in Liberia, my home country. When my father first told me about the land deal in 2006, I thought it sounded like a great opportunity. I sent him two thousand dollars, which I felt would be more than enough, since he had told me it would cost only five hundred dollars to purchase and survey the property. In 2007 I traveled to Liberia to see the property for myself. To my surprise, there was no property to see—my father had invested my money in some scam and lost it all. And he never told me he had lost the money. I found out the hard way.

Ultimately I ended up spending more than five thousand dollars for a piece of forestland that should have cost a tenth of that—and still I owned nothing! Worse yet, I was scammed by the person I trusted most, my own father. Needless to say, I was angry and hurt. Still, I wanted to own property in Liberia and build a farm there. A farm would provide food and employment for people in the surrounding towns, and it also would provide a steady income for my parents.

Before I returned to the US from Liberia in 2007, my father had sworn to me that he had paid six hundred dollars to the town's chief, who owned the property and had agreed to sell it. My father told me that he still owed a balance of five hundred dollars. Because he is my father, and because I sympathized with the fact that he and my mother were still living in Liberia after its long civil war, I took him at his word and left Liberia with the intention of sending the remaining five hundred dollars. This time, however, I would send the money to my mother, who would handle my affairs there moving forward.

My parents had been divorced for more than thirty years and lived in separate towns in Liberia. When we were children, my siblings and I were brought to the United States by our paternal grandmother. Over the years, we provided as much financial support as we could to our parents in Liberia. But my goal was to help my parents become financially independent. The farm would give them that independence and alleviate some of our financial burden in the long term.

When I returned to the United States, some of my confidence was restored, because I had turned all business over to my mother, and I had no reason to believe that she would waste my money as my father had done. But I must say that doing business in Liberia is like dealing with the mob. Everyone wants money from you—and in the end, even if you pay them, they will still screw you over. You know the system is corrupt when you cannot even trust your own parents. What a mess! I believe fourteen years of civil war destroyed more than just the infrastructure of Liberia; it also destroyed the integrity of the Liberian people.

My phone conversation this morning was with the land commissioner of Margibi County, which is where I was told the property is located. Margibi is a suburb of Monrovia, the capital of Liberia. After my father's deceptive behavior, I had instructed my mother to take a trip to Margibi in order to verify that the property did, in fact, exist. When my mother returned from Margibi, she reported back to me that she had not seen the land but had met the commissioner, who had asked to speak with me in person. As I was unable to make another trip to Liberia, I arranged to talk to her by phone instead.

When I placed the call, I was surprised to hear the soft voice on the other end of the phone. "Hello, this is Mrs. Jennairi, commissioner for Margibi." A woman—thank God, I thought. I felt I could trust a woman far more than I could any man, especially after my trust had been destroyed by my own father. (Liberia also had a female president—a first for the country and the entire African continent. Mrs. Ellen Jonson Sirleaf had been elected in 2005, after one of the worst civil conflicts Liberia had ever endured. From what I'd seen during my visit, I can say that Mrs. Sirleaf was doing a superb job rebuilding her war-torn country.)

"Yes, hello," I said. "This is Nichoatra Williams. My mother spoke with you about the land in Margibi?"

"Yes," she replied. "It's Nicky, right?"

"Right."

"Your mother spoke very highly of you, Nicky. How are you?" As I listened to the feminine voice on the other end of the line, I recalled my 2007 trip to Liberia, when I visited the commissioner's office in Caldwell, a small town just outside of Monrovia. A couple of friends and I had started a nonprofit organization, and one of our projects was to build a clinic there, so I met with the commissioner of Caldwell to finalize some documents.

When I entered the building where our meeting was to take place, what I saw brought tears to my eyes. The dim little structure had no electricity and was more like an abandoned shack than a government building. The narrow, dark hallway that led to the commissioner's office smelled of mildew and must. At the end of the hallway was an open room which I assumed was the waiting area. Two small lanterns sitting on an old wooden table appeared to be all the lighting available to illuminate the room at night. Now, in the middle of the afternoon, the bright sun peeking through one tiny square window was enough to light the entire room. There were four wooden benches in the waiting area to accommodate visitors; to the right was the door to the commissioner's office.

On the other side of that door was where the commissioner and I met, surrounded by broken furniture that had been arranged to give the appearance of an office. A dilapidated desk chair was propped under a wooden table. The table had three legs intact, with the fourth held in place by a stack of stones. This was where the commissioner conducted business.

Sitting in the commissioner's office that day made me appreciate my life in America. Most of all, I appreciated my paternal grandmother even more for sending me to America when she did; I was one of the fortunate ones who had escaped the war. But I also felt admiration for the commissioner of Caldwell—a dark-skinned, neatly groomed, middle-aged woman who obviously cared deeply about her work and her community. She was proud of what little they had, although she did express gratitude for my organization's generosity and the interest we had taken in her town.

A vivid image of that good woman, sitting in her make-do office in Caldwell, came into my mind when I heard Mrs. Jennairi's voice on the other end of the line. Now I pulled myself back to the conversation at hand. "I'm fine—thank you for asking, Mrs. Jennairi." Just hearing her voice gave me a sense of relief and hope that I would finally get somewhere with my farm project.

"Nicky, I'm sorry, but I thought that Mr. Sumo, the surveyor, would be back in the office today," she said. "That's why I wanted you to call me. But he's not here yet. When he gets back, I will find out from him what happened with the land your father was supposed to get. The surveyor knows more about that town than I do. Can you call back next week?"

"Oh, okay," I replied. "No problem. I'll call back next week." I was disappointed, but I still felt hopeful until she spoke again.

"Nicky, I really want to help you, so what I can do for you is to send word to Mr. Sumo asking him to make arrangements to find another piece of property in a nearby town. The place your father described is way out in the forest. It takes hours to get there on foot, according to Mr. Sumo. There is no road that goes directly there. But there is a town nearby that is right off the main road. What I need you to do is to send the money directly to me this time. Once I get all the documents signed by Mr. Sumo, the town chief, and myself, I will call your ma."

I sat for a moment, confused, and then said, "What money?"

"The money to pay for land in the nearby town," she said. "I told you I want to help you."

"You just told me that you would find out about the land my father was working on. Why are you talking about buying new property now?"

"Nicky, I am the land commissioner, and my office is the only one that prepares documents for the sale of land in this county. If your pa had bought land from anyone in Margibi, I would have known about it. I didn't want to make you feel bad about your pa. That's why I want you to leave that whole thing alone and just work with me to get the new land. I know how busy you people in the States are, so I don't want to waste any more of your time. I want to help you get your land. Just send the money to me, and I will make sure that everything is taken care of, okay Ma?"

For a moment, I felt she might be right. "Okay," I said. "How much should I send?"

"Well, you just need to send the balance—twenty-six hundred dollars."

"What?" I shouted into the receiver. I could not believe what I was hearing. "What do you mean, twenty-six hundred dollars? How much does the property cost?"

Unmoved by my obvious objection to her proposal, Mrs. Jennairi politely said, "The whole thing is three thousand dollars. Your ma gave me the four hundred you sent; that leaves a balance of twenty-six hundred dollars."

Perhaps I should just cut my losses and send her the money, I thought. After all, she is the commissioner. But that just was too much money, and I had already wasted two thousand dollars on my father's scams. I was in no mood to waste more. I sat for a moment, fighting back tears, unsure how to respond.

Again my mind went back to the image of the comissioner's office in Caldwell. I felt pity for the Liberian people. The civil war had been a terrible tragedy. The beautiful, peaceful country where I had lived and played as a child, the place that I had held in my memory for thirty years, the place that I dreamed of returning to one day to retire and live out the rest of my life—that place was now destroyed, and its people had turned into criminals, all of them. While I empathized with their struggle, I was tired of being robbed. I had been betrayed again, this time by my own mother. And now the woman on the other end of the phone was trying to steal more money from me.

I had sent my mother eight hundred dollars: one hundred for her personal use, two hundred for transportation, and the five-hundred-dollar balance that my father said he owed the chief. Now Mrs. Jennairi was telling me that my mother had given her only four hundred dollars and that I owed her twenty-six hundred more. Where was I going to get that kind of money? Sending it would mean depleting my savings, which I was not prepared to do.

I was inflamed and hurt.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Nichoatra by Mackeline Wilson Copyright © 2012 by Mackeline Wilson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Acknowledgements....................xi
Chapter 1 Roderick (The Meeting)....................1
Chapter 2 Nicky (The Meeting Part 2)....................4
Chapter 3 Roderick (The Lion's Club)....................18
Chapter 4 Nicky (Nicky's Tires)....................21
Chapter 5 Nicky (The Scoop on Roderick's Wife)....................25
Chapter 6 Nicky (The First Date)....................29
Chapter 7 Roderick (Fufu, Soup, and a Few Drinks)....................33
Chapter 8 Nicky (Nicky's Clash with Fashion Designer)....................36
Chapter 9 Nicky (Valentine's Day Play)....................38
Chapter 10 Roderick (Giving up on Nicky)....................44
Chapter 11 Nicky (Another Chance for Roderick)....................47
Chapter 12 Nicky (Nicky Confronts Feelings for Roderick)....................53
Chapter 13 Nicky (Nicky's Childhood)....................58
Chapter 14 Nicky (Roderick Shares His Past with Nicky)....................71
Chapter 15 Nicky (Nicky Plans Romantic Weekend)....................77
Chapter 16 Nicky (The Trips and Dinners)....................84
Chapter 17 Nicky (The Night at Blue Stone Restaurant)....................92
Chapter 18 Nicky (The Night to See "J-Kelley")....................95
Chapter 19 Nicky (Vacation in Los Vegas)....................104
Chapter 20 Nicky (Nicky Lost Her Job)....................112
Chapter 21 Nicky (Roderick's Birthday)....................115
Chapter 22 Nicky (The Fight with Roderick)....................122
Chapter 23 Nicky (Reflections of Failed Relationships)....................129
Chapter 24 Nicky (Nicky Finds Inner Peace)....................136
Chapter 25 Nicky (Another Chance for Love)....................143
Chapter 26 Nicky (The Generosity of Friends)....................146
Chapter 27 Nicky (Alonzo)....................149
Chapter 28 Roderick (Defeat)....................159
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