by Kim Shaw
“Goldfish, huh?”
“Yeah, my neighbor, Victoria, is feeding them while I’m here. I might tell her to keep them if…”
Kennedy’s voiced trailed off.
Malik crouched down beside Kennedy’s chair and plucked a delicate white flower from the bush in front of them. He moved the fragrant blossom up, stopping just beneath her nose. When the scent reached her, she smiled, reaching out to touch it. Her hand brushed against Malik’s and a warm flush coursed through his veins.
“The corydalis is one of the longest blooming flowers in the world. People look at its ferny foliage and graceful flowers and doubt its fortitude. But this is a plant that will find a home in cracks in rocks, on slopes in woodlands and along paths. After that, the corydalis self-sows wherever it can and regenerates for years. In essence, no matter what you do to this little guy, he keeps going, kind of like a certain little lady I know,” he said, releasing the flower to her outstretched hand.
Kennedy accepted the flower and raised her other hand to capture Malik’s fingers. As she laced slender fingers around his large hand, a slow smile formed on her mouth.
“Marci, the visual therapist, keeps telling me that there are so many other ways to see other than with your eyes,” Kennedy said. “What do you think I see right now?”
“I don’t know. Tell me,” Malik asked, his heart caught in his throat.
“I see a man whose heart is gold and whose spirit is benevolent. I see…a very dear friend.”
They sat in the garden for a while longer, each lost in a moment that was profoundly peaceful and nourishing to each of them, for very different reasons.
The days morphed quickly into weeks and without even being aware of a change in her mood and perception, Kennedy began to look forward to waking up in the mornings. Even the grueling physical therapy she endured was a welcomed part of her daily routine and she pushed herself to get stronger.
The cast was removed from her leg and replaced with a thinner, more flexible one. To her astonishment, she had extremely limited strength and mobility in that leg. Everything she tried to do hurt, including the stretching exercises that the therapist put her through twice a day for a half an hour at a time. By the time she finished working out, Kennedy was a sweaty, teary-eyed mess, but that did not deter her from coming back for more.
Instead of giving in to the desperation and hopelessness that had nearly crippled her since the accident, Kennedy had now found a dogged determination in getting better. There was no doubt that the change in her mood was partially due to Malik Crawford.
They began to spend a great deal of time together. Malik visited her during his hours on duty, as well as in his leisure time. He brought sandwiches from the deli and shared his lunch break with her, either out on the grounds or, during inclement weather, seated on the floor in her room for an indoor picnic. He knew that the unspoken rules of Stillwater stated that client/staff interactions outside of caregiving should be limited, but he could not help himself. He had seen how depressed and discouraged Kennedy was when she’d first arrived and for some inexplicable reason, he felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to her.
Kennedy was unlike any other client he’d ever worked with or any other woman he’d ever encountered. There was a strength and inner beauty that attracted him, called out to his spirit, and he could not ignore it. Still, he knew that he had to be discreet and without saying anything specific to her, Kennedy understood the same. In the presence of others, they were client and patient. Alone, as they strolled along the winding paths or sat in her room tossing grapes into the air and trying to catch them in their mouths, they laughed and talked, sharing confidences and becoming friends.
With pride she boasted about her family and the accomplishments of her ancestors. Malik learned that Kennedy came from one of the most influential clans in North Carolina, with a staunch reputation dating back to the early abolitionist movement. He was enthralled by the way her face lit up as she shared with him stories of firsts in her family—the first black banker in a town, the first black store-owner in a city and the first black lawyer in the state. Malik couldn’t help but be equally impressed by her family legacy. It also made him uncomfortable. Secretly, he wished that he had the same stories of significant successes to tell about his family tree, but he knew of no such accounts to share. His reservations were shattered, however, in the face of Kennedy’s interested prodding and gentle sweetness, and he felt compelled to share what he did know about his family.
Malik’s parents, Fred and Joyce Crawford, spent their careers as blue-collar workers. The Crawfords raised their family—Malik, an older brother, Malcolm, and an older sister, LaToya—in D.C.’s rough Northwest district. Malik was proud that his parents had managed to stay together for thirty-five years and counting.
While Kennedy talked about summers spent traveling abroad, Malik laughed as he remembered his summer days spent splashing around in front of the fire hydrant on the corner of his block. The more they talked, the more they realized that they had very little in common in terms of their upbringing and lifestyles. Yet they also realized that that fact made them all the more interested in one another.
For Kennedy, spending time with Malik helped her to focus on something other than the devastation the accident had caused to her life. He made her forget to find time to cry each day. He made her remember all the things that she should smile about. She found being with Malik easier than talking to anyone else, quite possibly because he did not know her before the accident. Her parents always talked about when she got better and after her eyesight came back, as if there was no room for any other possibility. They were constantly reminding her of her job at Morgan Stanley, all of her accomplishments and the bright future she had in front of her. To her, their words were an insinuation that she could control her recovery, and that they expected her to bring about a positive outcome. Nothing less would be acceptable to the Daniels.
The Daniels of Charlotte, North Carolina. Pride and familial esteem were their cornerstones. Kennedy loved who she was and where she came from, but often she had found herself questioning if her family’s legacy was as defining of character as her parents had led her to believe. She’d felt like a rebellious adolescent on countless occasions when she’d secretly volunteered at homeless shelters and food banks or spent time at children’s hospitals reading stories and doing crafts. These were acts that her parents, who believed that giving back could be done from afar and with a checkbook, would never approve of.
“You must be careful around whom you position yourself, dear. Certain qualities can rub off, you know, and once they do, they’re hard to be rid of,” Elmira had often warned.
The older Kennedy got, the more confused she grew as she tried to reconcile the beliefs that her parents had instilled in her and the ideas and reasoning taking shape in her mind. Right now, as she dealt with one of the harshest realities she’d ever had to face, the idea of letting them in with their pretentious ways and unrelenting ideals was more than she could handle.
“Sometimes I wondered if I would be a different person if I’d grown up with different parents…a different family. It’s like, I don’t know how much of me is really me, do you know what I mean?” Kennedy asked Malik.
“No, I don’t,” Malik answered honestly. “Tell me.”
And so she unburdened her soul with Malik more than she had with her doctors, the therapist or even Skyy, who called twice a week from her home and then from Italy to check on her. While their conversations were filled with laughter and love, there was still a part of Kennedy that remained guarded. Skyy was her best friend in the whole world and up until the accident, she had felt closer to her than anyone else. Skyy was essentially family, but she was also a part of a time that seemed like it belonged in another life. Kennedy felt as though she had to pretend that things were going to be all right because that’s what her family wanted and needed to believe. She considered that she was being unfair to Skyy, but she couldn
’t help how she felt.
Visits from coworkers and other associates were also taxing for Kennedy. Victoria came once, bringing Kennedy more clothing from her apartment. Trisha Williams, a fellow analyst, stopped in, bringing news and gossip from the office. She appreciated their warm wishes, but could not take their pity and expressions of compassion. It was as if they were writing her off, convinced that the Kennedy that they had known had died in that car accident. While she recognized that she was indeed a changed woman, she could not understand why people looked upon that fact as a negative thing, a reason for sorrow. Slowly, she had with gratitude accepted the fact that her life had been spared in that horrendous accident for a reason. While she had not yet been able to figure out what that reason was, she refused to continue to feel sorry for herself. So she made it very clear to visitors that she did not wish for them to return. She cited the fact that she had much work to do toward her recovery and needed to concentrate on that. She detected a profound sense of relief in her colleagues when she asked that they allow her to get in touch with them once she was released from Stillwater and had gotten back on her feet.
In contrast, her time with Malik held no demands or pressures. For the first time in her life, Kennedy didn’t care what other people had to say or what they would think about her. On days when all she felt like doing was crying, Malik held her hands and let her cry. When those days became few and far between and her smile returned, lingering for longer stretches at a time, he was right there, smiling with her. There was no need to think about what she’d lost or how her life had changed, because with Malik nothing before that moment existed.
Just over a month into her rehabilitation, Kennedy was feeling particularly restless, a sure sign that she was well on the road to recovery.
“Malik, I really need to get out of here. I mean, it’s been raining for two days straight and I’m tired of being cooped up in this building,” Kennedy complained when Malik came to pick her up from physical therapy.
“I feel you Kennedy, but unfortunately, we’re not allowed to take clients outside in bad weather.”
“Come on, Malik. I’ve got a raincoat. Please? Just for a few minutes…a quick roll around the grounds. Look outside…it’s barely drizzling.”
Malik’s sense of responsibility was no match for his need to please Kennedy. She didn’t even need to twist his arm because, like it or not, she had already twisted his heart. He hesitated for only a moment before wheeling her down the hall toward the back elevators. She giggled with delight when she realized that he was going to grant her wish, a sound that made any final resistance he was feeling dissolve instantly.
Outside, Kennedy took several deep breaths, inhaling the fragrant scent of moist air and flowers.
“Do you know why they say that springtime is for lovers?” she asked as Malik pushed her chair along the wet concrete.
“No, why?”
“Because it’s so fresh and new, like the first time two people make love. Before they know what pleases their mate, they’re just testing the waters…trying things out and everything seems like it’s the first time they ever felt it.”
“Spoken like a woman in love,” Malik said.
Kennedy did not respond. They rolled around the back of the complex in silence.
“Have you ever been in love, Malik?” Kennedy asked after several minutes.
“Yes…At least I thought it was love. I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Well, ’cause when things started to go bad, it made me question if I ever really knew her. I mean, if you’re in love with someone, you should know that person inside and out, right? If not, then how can you say you’re in love with them?”
Malik’s tone was as questioning as it was pained.
“I guess. But, you know, people don’t usually let you get to know them. Not completely, anyway. They hold the real stuff back because they’re afraid you won’t like them if you know all about them,” Kennedy said.
“Some people do that, I guess.”
“Are you saying that you don’t? What you see is what you get, Mr. Crawford?”
“Exactly,” Malik answered. “And…I feel like you haven’t held anything back from me. Right?”
“Right, but that’s different. I mean, we’re just friends, right?”
Kennedy’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for his response.
“Right,” Malik answered.
He stopped walking, bringing Kennedy’s chair to a stop. There was more that he wanted to say to her, much more, but the words would not come. How could he explain to her what a genuinely nice person he found her to be and how it was an extreme pleasure to have met someone like her? He didn’t want her to think he was coming on to her. Although she was unquestionably beautiful and sensuous, his attraction to her was much more than flesh and body parts. There was a spiritual magnetism between them that he had never experienced before.
As he tried to find a way to say what was in his heart, the clouds above them grew ominously dark again. Before he could formulate the words, large drops of water began to pelt them.
In seconds, the sky opened up and dumped buckets on them. Kennedy laughed as Malik raced along the winding paths to get her back indoors. By the time they reached the side entrance that would lead them to the back elevator, they were both soaked from head to toe. Kennedy laughed like a kid splashing around in a swimming pool during summer break while Malik cursed beneath his breath.
“You are an extremely bad influence on me, Ms. Daniels,” Malik fumed.
“Oh, so it’s Ms. Daniels again, huh?” Kennedy smirked.
Malik snatched a hand towel from a supply cart that was propped against a wall near the elevator bank. He used a corner of it to wipe the water from Kennedy’s forehead. Her eyes were closed and she opened herself to his gentle touch. He wanted to speak, but his heart had expanded until it blocked his vocal chords. He silently stroked her face and hair, mesmerized by the slight smile on her lips and cursing the fact that he was so gone over a woman who he was supposed to be helping to recover.
Chapter 8
Nona Torres, a gorgeous Latina nurse who worked at the facility, had set her sights on Malik shortly after she began working there. Nona wasn’t looking for a long-term love affair, marriage or two-point-five kids with Malik. She found him incredibly sexy and a perfect candidate for a few good rolls around in the sack. And that was all she wanted.
As a lowly orderly, Malik did not have the qualifications she was looking for in a life partner. Nona had set her fishing rod dangling in deeper waters to snag one of the doctors or administrators she worked with. Or she might try for the rich clients she served, some of whom were not permanently or overly incapacitated.
No, Nona’s interest in Malik was purely physical and she was the type of woman who got anything and everything she wanted sooner or later.
Nona started her seduction of the elusive Malik Crawford with a few innocent comments, a well-placed compliment and random coincidental meetings around the facility. The man who had many of the women there squeezing their thighs together and batting their eyelashes was definitely a hard case to figure. He was polite and courteous, but hardly what could be considered sociable. This made Nona all the more determined and the other staff members were practically taking bets on whether she’d wear him down or not.
Malik was not deaf, dumb or blind, which he’d have to be to miss out on the vibe that Nona was throwing at him. He chuckled to himself, but kept a safe distance. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a coworker, especially one as voluptuous as Nona. Malik could tell that she was trouble from across the room and he had had enough trouble with women to last a lifetime. However, a couple of weeks before Kennedy became a client at Stillwater, when Malik was feeling desperately lonely and dejected, he took Nona up on her offer to go out for a drink. Seated at a table for two at the back of Murphy’s, a little jazz spot that offered mellow music and great booze, N
ona turned up the heat. After five minutes of conversation, he knew that not only did he not desire to be with her, the hard-on he’d been maintaining all night from the moment she’d arrived at Murphy’s wearing a clinging red dress, stilettos and showing enough cleavage to stop traffic, was starting to diminish. He walked her to her car after only two drinks and as she pressed her stacked body up against his, her hot tongue sending electric jolts through his mouth, he fought the urge to take what she was offering him. The driving thought in his brain as he drove home alone was that had he slept with her, ten minutes after climaxing, he’d have wished to be away from her.
For some men, that wouldn’t be that big of a deal. They had no problem bedding a woman who they didn’t like or even know. In his earlier days, he had been one of those men looking for a good time every chance they got. Now, however, he knew that sex with a woman for whom you didn’t have at least a sense of liking, was just sex and would leave him as fulfilled as masturbation did. He was looking for more.
Malik let himself fantasize about Kennedy Daniels being more. She was everything that he wanted in a mate—smart, independent and sincere. Physically, she was without question the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Unlike many women, Nona included, who believed they had to spread their goods for display in order to attract a man, Kennedy was breathtaking in even the most concealing clothing possible. An oversize T-shirt and baggy sweats did nothing to diminish her appeal. Listening to her talk, hearing her laugh and just watching the change of expressions on her beautiful face was a prize for him. Yet Malik did not kid himself. While he allowed fantasies of a relationship with her to enter his brain for a few fleeting moments at a time, he knew that there wasn’t a remote possibility that those fantasies would come true.
