by Kim Shaw
As promised, Madison returned to D.C., although it was Sunday afternoon when she finally made it back down from her jaunt in New York City. A mere ten minutes in her presence and Skyy shook her head dismally, excusing herself from the room. The next day, with Madison on the road again, headed home to North Carolina, Skyy finally voiced what had been eating away at her brain.
“Kennedy, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your sister is headed for a fall. Now, let me know if I’m overstepping here, and I’ll just shut my mouth.”
“Of course you can say whatever you have to say, Skyy. You know you’re family. And, if I don’t like it, I’ll just curse you out…like family.” Kennedy smiled.
“I just don’t understand why your parents allow that girl to rip and run, not working or going to school…doing whatever the hell she wants. She looks like crap and she dresses like a five-dollar hooker.”
Kennedy winced at Skyy’s words, but every part of her told her that they were true. Skyy was the one person in this world who she could count on unequivocally to tell her the truth, no matter whether she wanted to hear it or not.
“Does she get high?”
Skyy’s question was raised in a tone that suggested that she already had her own beliefs on the matter.
“I think she’s dabbled a little in the past, but I don’t think it’s heavy. I mean, you know that Liza girl she hangs out with and the rest of those spoiled rich kids playing artists up there in New York they associate with.”
“Well, she looks like she’s doing more than dibbing and dabbing. Look, girl, I know you’ve got enough to deal with here, getting yourself healed and whatnot. However, the next time you go home to Carolina, I suggest you sit that girl down and have a talk with her. She needs to get her butt back into school or something constructive and in a hurry. She’s too old to play the rebellious teen role. It isn’t cute anymore.”
Madison had dropped out of Spelman College after her first year. This had been especially shocking since she had begged her parents to allow her to go there, although they had expected her to follow in Kennedy’s footsteps and attend Princeton.
They’d relented, unable to deny the fact that although Spelman was a historically black university—and in their minds accessible to all types of people who were of questionable backgrounds—it had graduated countless successful African-American women of high caliber and social standing. When Madison had returned home after her freshman year, having maintained a low B average, and announced that she wasn’t going back, it was puzzling. It eventually occurred to Kennedy that the only reason she’d wanted to attend Spelman in the first place was to piss her parents off and now that the thrill of that was gone, she was ready to make a fast exit.
Madison had spent the past three years finding herself, whatever that meant. From Kennedy’s standpoint, all she’d managed to find since leaving Spelman was more and more trouble for her parents to bail her out of.
First it was the apartment she begged them to rent for her, and then was summarily kicked out of after breaching the complex’s rules with wild parties and unregistered overnight guests. Then there was the time she was detained in a jail cell in Mexico after getting into a bar fight in Cozumel, Mexico, with the daughter of an elected official. Her father had paid dearly to make that little indiscretion disappear. The girl blew through more money than a category five tornado through Kansas in the height of storm season.
Kennedy agreed with Skyy, promising that as soon as she’d recovered enough to travel, she’d head home to spend some quality time with her baby sister. In the meantime, she had to concentrate on getting herself out of that hospital bed. The sooner she got on her feet, the better off she’d be. When Skyy finally left, planning to make a quick pit stop in North Carolina to see her parents before returning to her work—and the distinguished Italian gentleman she was dating—in Rome, it was a tearful farewell. Each woman realized how much they relied on their friendship and the truth of the matter was that they had come very close to losing that, had Kennedy’s accident been worse than it was. Skyy left with the promise that she’d be back in another couple of months to check on her girl.
Chapter 4
Kennedy spent the days convalescing in solitude. The thought of having visitors, other than her parents, her sister and Skyy, sent her into an unexplainable panic attack. She received a dozen bouquets of flowers from coworkers at Morgan Stanley, from her parents’ bridge partners, the Thompsons, and from her condo neighbor, Victoria, with whom she occasionally shared a cup of morning coffee over their adjoining balconies. The cards, the flowers, the phone calls all wishing her well, were appreciated, but after only a few days, she could not take any more. She wanted to be left alone, to wallow in self-pity at the unfairness of it all. While Kennedy was not the type of person who stayed down for long, she felt like she deserved some quality time in melancholyville. She reasoned that after a good, uninterrupted dose of the why me’s, she could concentrate on the business of getting better and healing her body and mind.
She had the phone, which her parents had turned on in her room, turned off again and asked that visitors be refused by the hospital staff. Anyone who called the nurses’ station to inquire about her recovery was directed to call her parents. In the days that passed after Skyy left, Kennedy replayed the accident over and over in her mind, kicking herself for not having had her brakes checked weeks before when they’d first begun squeaking. She questioned why she had been driving so fast, headed home to an empty apartment and a book. She tried her hardest not to cry, not wanting to soak the bandages that still covered her wounded eyes. Yet the morose thoughts that clouded her mind brought with them a deluge of tears that struggled against her sealed eyelids.
The nurses and doctors checked in on her regularly, poking, prodding, changing bandages and recording her progress. Two weeks to the day after the accident, Dr. Moskowitz, conferring with ophthalmologist Dr. Pitcher, informed her that it was time to remove the bandages that sealed her eyes and to perform a comprehensive examination of her vision.
Both doctors had cautioned that there might be some damage to her vision, although they remained optimistic that the scratches that were observed immediately after the accident were superficial. Kennedy’s excitement and anxiety were at odds within as she prepared herself for the unveiling. Her hopes remained for the best, as she was more than ready to get out of the hospital and get back to her life.
Kennedy sat impatiently in the cushioned chair while Dr. Moskowitz slowly snipped away the bandages round her head. As he unwound the strips of gauze, he talked to her in a soothing voice, explaining what he was doing each step of the way. As the layers of gauze diminished, Kennedy anxiously awaited a glimmer of light or her first sightings. Anything that came into view would be welcomed after residing in darkness for so many agonizing days.
“We taped your eyelids down to help with the healing,” Dr. Moskowitz stated as if in answer to Kennedy’s thoughts.
Finally, when all of the bandages had been removed, Dr. Moskowitz prepared to peel back the thick adhesive that kept Kennedy’s eyes closed.
“Before I take away the tape, I just want you to be prepared for changes in your vision. There may be blurriness or distortion. The corneas may not be completely healed yet. I don’t want you to be alarmed. Just relax and describe to me what you are able to see as things come into focus.”
The tissue around her eye sockets felt sore and Dr. Moskowitz reassured her that this was due to the fact that the lids had been held shut and bandaged for so long. There had been no damage to the bone or tissue surrounding her eyes. Kennedy took a deep breath as Dr. Moskowitz glided a wet piece of gauze across both of her eyelids to moisten the adhesive. Then he quickly pulled away the tape, freeing first the left eye and then the right. Kennedy took another deep breath to steady her racing heartbeat and slowly opened her eyes. The ever-present darkness that had surrounded her for the past two weeks remained.
“Dr. Moskowitz?” she c
alled, her voice a whisper. “Dr. Moskowitz?”
“Yes, Kennedy. I’m right here. What can you see?” he asked.
“Nothing. Dr. Moskowitz, why can’t I see you? Everything is dark and…blurry.”
Kennedy reached both hands outward, her palms slapping against the doctor’s chest. Her breathing became rapid as panic seized her heart. Her fingers groped until she made contact with the doctor’s lab coat. She clutched the fabric harshly, pulling at it.
“Kennedy, Kennedy. Calm down, please. I need to examine you,” Dr. Moskowitz said.
He pulled a small penlight from his breast pocket, shining it into Kennedy’s eyes, first the left and then the right. Her pupils remained wide and unseeing, save for blurred shadows of objects around her. Not one thing was discernable to her eyes and there existed only the most minimal snatches of light.
“Kennedy, it is too early to determine anything concrete about your vision. You have to remain optimistic. These things sometimes take more time and patience than we’d like them to.”
Further examination showed that the deceleration of her brain during the crash had caused Post Trauma Vision Syndrome. The prognosis was mixed and it was uncertain if Kennedy’s sight would ever return.
Tears pooled in Kennedy’s brown eyes instantaneously, engulfing her sockets and sliding down her honey-brown cheeks. Dr. Moskowitz suspended his examination and attempted to comfort her with words that fell upon deaf ears. She could not hear anything nor could her mind register a coherent thought. She had awakened from the singularly most harrowing incident of her life and despite the pain and anguish, had sincerely believed that with time, things would get back to normal. Now, the realization that nothing would ever again be normal for her smacked her in the face and she crumbled from the weight of the blow.
Chapter 5
“Bonjour,” Nurse Crosby beamed as she burst through the door to Kennedy’s private room.
Her shoes squeaked as she crossed the carpeted floor, bustling toward the window. Nurse Crosby snatched the curtains back in one quick motion.
“There. Let’s let a little sunshine in here,” she quipped. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Kennedy did not respond nor did she move. She wanted to ask what difference it made whether the room was sunlit or not. It wasn’t as if she could see it. Curtains open or closed, the room was still a dungeon devoid of color and light. She didn’t say this, however. There was no reason to annihilate Nurse Crosby’s cheery disposition with her sour one. Besides, she’d rather sulk silently in her stew of despondency.
“It’s a beautiful day out there, Ms. Daniels. What do you say I help you get ready for your walk?” Nurse Crosby asked, as she pulled back the blanket that covered Kennedy’s lower body.
Kennedy leaned forward abruptly.
“Walk? I’m not going for a walk,” she replied.
Obviously, Nurse Crosby had had one too many cups of caffeine this morning. Either that or Kennedy surmised that she was as blind as Kennedy was if she couldn’t see that, not only was Kennedy’s leg up in a trapeze with a cast from foot to thigh, but that she could not see her hand in front of her face. There would be no walking today.
“Of course you are, dear. This is a rehabilitation facility, you know, and we certainly can’t get you back up on your feet if we leave you lying on your backside all day. Now, one of the client assistants will be by in just a few moments to take you out to get some fresh air. He’ll escort you all over the grounds. Just wait until you see the place. It’s to die for. Oh, Stillwater spared no expense when it came to landscaping this beautiful property. Just you wait.”
By now Nurse Crosby had removed the hooks that had kept Kennedy’s leg suspended one foot off of the bed. She carefully lowered Kennedy’s leg until it rested on the bed. Kennedy listened to the squeak of her orthopedic footwear as she moved away from the bed toward the bathroom. Kennedy listened as the nurse ran water into a basin, turned off the faucet and squeaked her way back to the bedside.
“I’ve brought you a warm wash towel so that you can wipe your face. Here you go.”
Kennedy reached out, moving her fingers tentatively in front of her until she touched the towel. She grabbed it, bringing it to her face. When she was finished, Nurse Crosby took it away from her.
“Here is your toothbrush. The paste is already on it.”
Kennedy felt in front of her again until she located the toothbrush and clumsily directed it to her mouth. She brushed her teeth for several moments and then took the cup of water offered by Nurse Crosby. She rinsed, gargled, spit into the basin and rinsed again.
“Now, that’s better. Once you’ve had your wheelchair lessons, you’ll be able to do this in the bathroom all by yourself. Won’t that be great?”
Kennedy slumped back against the pillow without responding. It was taking every ounce of reserve that she possessed not to go off on the nurse. Normally, she was not what you would call a combative person. She hated conflict and discord, preferring to find less confrontational ways in which to work out disagreements. Unless she felt backed into a corner with no alternatives—as in the case of the rumble at summer camp back in the day—Kennedy was mild-mannered and diplomatic. Her patience was running low these days, however, and the last thing she was prepared to deal with was an overzealous nurse who’d swallowed one too many happy pills.
“Do you feel like pink or blue today?”
“What?”
“Pink or blue? I’ve taken the liberty of making two selections from your closet—the first is a blue denim dress and the other is a pink skirt and matching sweater. What will it be?”
“I don’t care,” Kennedy responded tersely.
“Well, let’s go with the denim.”
Without another word Nurse Crosby helped Kennedy remove her gown and slip into the denim dress. After her arrival the day before, she’d been left alone pretty much to rest until evening, when another nurse had helped her bathe in a special shower designed for people with casts on their legs. Within the shower stall there stood a metal closet in which Kennedy placed her plastered leg and then the nurse closed it, thereby keeping it sealed and protected from the water.
“All right, dear, I’ve got other clients to tend to,” Nurse Crosby announced as if Kennedy had been keeping her there.
Kennedy listened as the nurse retreated, closing the door behind her. She covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingertips against her useless orbits. She cursed and muttered, allowing herself to release the frustration that she’d held in check while Nurse Crosby was in the room. While Kennedy’s other injuries had begun to heal, her emotional health teetered on the brink of crumbling. Her arm had been freed from the cast and despite a slight loss of muscle tone, it felt as good as new to her.
Outwardly, she had mended sufficiently enough so that the doctors at Annandale were comfortable in signing her out of the hospital and sending her to Stillwater Rehabilitation Center to begin the arduous task of rebuilding her life. However, inwardly her spirit remained fractured and she felt no motivation to even get out of the bed. The fire that had previously driven her to become the lively, energetic woman that everyone who knew her believed her to be, had been extinguished.
She took sharp, deep breaths, feeling as though she were suffocating under the unfairness of it all. She gasped for air where there was none to be had.
“Good morning, Ms. Daniels. I’m Malik Crawford and I work the day shift here at Stillwater. I’ve been assigned to work with you during your stay.”
Kennedy turned toward the door, the direction from which the baritone voice came. Two things struck her at precisely the same moment. One, the voice was vaguely familiar, although she could not place it. Secondly, whoever he was, the brother had the sexiest voice she had ever heard in all of her twenty-eight years. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, momentarily pulled from the cliff of crushing despair on which she had been lingering.
“Mr. Crawford—” Kennedy began.
&nb
sp; “Malik, please. Just call me Malik. As I said, we’ll be working together during your stay. I will take you to all of your therapy sessions, doctor’s appointments and twice-daily trips outdoors. Outside of that, if you need anything else…if you’d like to leave your room, say, to go down to the game room or something, I’m your man. Okay? Just buzz the nurses’ station and ask them to page me. How’s that sound?”
I’m your man sounded interesting, but Kennedy didn’t say that. Had she been in another frame of mind, another place in her life, she would have allowed the heat of attraction to spill over her. Yet other more pressing things were on her mind, like the fact that she was dependent on this person for however long she was at Stillwater. Dependence was not something she did very well. She was used to taking care of herself and coming and going as she pleased. Once again, the realization that she was no longer the woman she’d once been smacked her in the face. Once again, she fought the powerful urge to cry.
Malik watched Kennedy for some reaction. He’d neglected to tell his new client that he had been part of the team who’d helped to unload her transport bed from the ambulance that had brought her to Stillwater early the day before. In part, he’d omitted this fact out of sheer embarrassment. He had been rendered speechless when he’d laid eyes on Kennedy Daniels for the second time in his life. Absent were the bruises and bandages, the intravenous tubes and the heart-monitoring devices. Gone was the poor nameless individual for whom he felt sorry.
Her jacket unzipped to reveal a white camisole that fit her torso like a glove. On her left foot she wore a pair of yellow-and-white Nike cross-trainers, and her hair was pulled back off of her face and held in a ponytail by a large barrette. Her fresh face and fit figure could easily have been that of an eighteen-year-old college freshman, yet something in her carriage even as she was rolled on a gurney out of the transport van told him that she was a mature woman in every sense of the word.
