by Sandra Kitt
He chortled. “I’m not going to respond to that. I will say, Jean, that you’re different. You know you are. I like that you don’t come across with a show. You’re not trying to prove anything to anyone. You’re quiet. You’re confident. You get noticed because you don’t realize that’s what’s happening. And…you’re so damned attractive.”
There was a certain intimate inflection in Brian’s voice that sent a shiver down Jean’s spine, even in the sultry heat of the day. She looked ahead and was relieved to see that they were very close to the finish line. She abruptly stopped rolling her bike. Brian stopped beside her.
“I have a translation for that. I’m exotic, and you’re curious. You’re not the first man who’s come on to me for reasons other than my charm and personality,” she said sarcastically. “Certainly not the first Black man who’s made assumptions about me. My looks are the result of family heritage. They’re not magic or special, and I had nothing to do with it. Why are my looks the first thing that drew you to me?” Brian placed a hand over his heart, about to speak. She forestalled him. “I’m going to end this conversation, once and for all. I’m not interested in you in the way you want, Brian. Frankly, your interest is obvious and suspect.
“I know you’re betting that I won’t say anything to Patrick about this. You’re right. There’s no need to. You and Patrick are good friends. I believe that. I think you should remember that. I’m going to put this conversation between us under ‘bad move,’ okay?”
Brian stood staring at her silently. She could not see his expression, his eyes, behind the black lens of his glasses. He shook his head. “If I thought I could change your mind…”
“You can’t. Period. The end. Please stop.”
“You know, you’re wrong about my interest in you. I’m sincere.”
“Maybe. Like I said, the most important thing is that I have no interest in you.”
Jean proceeded to roll her bike forward again, anxious to have the discussion and the ride over with.
Brian’s name was suddenly called, and they both turned to a group of four bikers trying to get his attention. One adult and three young teens.
Brian waved. “You made it. I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Jean.
His ego was so large, so intact, that he didn’t seem put off by her words. He gave her a slow smile, using charm.
“I had to try. But you’ve made yourself clear.”
“Yes, but will that stop you from trying to pursue me?”
He once again straddled his racing bike and pushed off. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
Patrick checked the time on his cell, took a deep breath, preparing to execute his plan. He pivoted and nearly crashed into a small African American woman who was standing in his path, staring at him.
“Sorry,” he mumbled automatically, trying to walk around her.
“Are you Patrick?” she asked.
He stopped and turned to her, frowning. “Yes, I am.”
A quick, bright smile changed her face from watchful and serious to suddenly open and friendly. It was transformative, giving her brown features, her deep-brown eyes, a youthful appearance. She had the kind of smile that quite literally lit up her face. It was her eyes and her full mouth that finally connected with Patrick. They were familiar.
“I’m Jean’s mother. Diana Chambers. Remember me?”
“Yes! Of course.” He knew he was staring foolishly, studying her. She looked almost exactly as he’d last seen her…when she’d refused to give permission for him to take her daughter to his senior prom. “Wow! This is amazing. It’s been a long—”
“Where’s Jean?” she interrupted.
He saw the worry in her eyes.
Good question.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said honestly, watching the frown reappear on her brow. “She should have gotten here by now. I don’t think I missed her. But I’m not getting through to her on her cell. You’re here to congratulate her, too, I suppose?”
“She’s not expecting me. I wanted to surprise her. It took forever to get here. I had to come by city streets because—”
“Yeah, the parkway was closed for the bikers.”
“That’s right.”
Patrick took hold of her arms. As soon as he did, she seemed to become more composed. She gazed up at him for all the world like she expected him to make everything right.
Diana Chambers was not as tall as Jean, and he realized that if he were to see the two women side by side, he would not take them as mother and daughter. Diana Chambers was slight, dressed in print capri pants with a shell top. She wore a short-brim straw hat that shaded her small face. She looked too young to be Jean’s mother.
“There are still a lot of riders out there. Jean is fine. She’ll show up soon, I’m sure.”
He looked around. There was really no place to sit.
“I’m okay,” she said, seeing that he was trying to find a way to make her comfortable. “You don’t have to fuss over me.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me,” Patrick said. “Otherwise I’ll have to answer to your daughter.”
She laughed lightly, patting his arm affectionately. “I should have let her know I was coming.”
“Probably. She’s a little weird about being surprised.”
“Even as a child. It’s nice to see you again. I hope you don’t still use that nickname. Trick?” She made a face.
“It was a great handle in school. My mom was very happy when I gave it up.”
“Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks,” he said simply, knowing what she referred to.
As subtly as he could, Patrick kept glancing down the path from which bikers were arriving, still hoping to see Jean. His sunglasses hid his distraction from her mother.
“Did you ever forgive me? You know, for not letting you take Jean to your prom?”
“I was disappointed. But I tried to understand. I don’t think I can speak for Jean.”
“She only found out what happened recently. I thought you’d already asked her, but I caught her by surprise when it came up. I think it’s fair to say she wasn’t happy with my decision. Things were different back then.”
He didn’t respond. Was she talking about her time, or his and Jean’s?
“It was amazing running into her again—” His thought cut off abruptly.
Patrick could see Jean was finally on the path, maybe a hundred yards away. There was a male rider giving her a brief goodbye wave as he pedaled away. Patrick blinked, following the rider until he met up with several other bikers and blended into the crowd. The rider was Brian. He turned his attention back to Jean. She was walking her bike. Had she blown a tire? Had the brakes failed? Her safety helmet was hung around the handlebar. She had a cloth event knapsack hanging by the strings from one shoulder. Her hair was disheveled, her ponytail a little cockeyed and loose.
Is she limping?
That was all Patrick had to see. He called her name. He released Diana Chambers and hurried into the oncoming participants, dodging bikes, riders, and walkers. He stopped in front of Jean, grabbing the handlebars of the bike, finally drawing her attention.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes filled with relief…and, he thought, a rush of happiness at seeing him.
“Patrick…” she said in weak surprise, with a tired smile.
He spontaneously pulled Jean briefly against his chest and then let her go.
“Are you okay? What happened? I was about to come look for you…”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt?”
She looked bemused. “I…don’t know. I fell. I think maybe I hit my knee.” Jean released the bike to his support and looked at her hands and arms. There was a small raw abrasion on her arm and the heel of
her palm. A dirt smudge on her chin.
Patrick muttered an oath under his breath, examining her injuries. “Come on. I want someone in the first aid tent to have a look at you.”
Jean didn’t object. Patrick took control of rolling the bike with one hand, while his other was planted in the middle of her back in support. He kept his pace to match hers, and they finally crossed together over the finish line.
“You made it! Good job.” Several of the officials applauded, as had been done for every biker.
There were only a dozen or so well-wishers remaining, all strangers. Jean smiled gratefully at them.
“Jean!”
She glanced sharply at the sound of her name and found the woman waving at her from a crowded field of end-of-event men, women, and children.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you your mom is here.”
“And my dad!” Jean added, turning in another direction.
Patrick had no choice but to follow with the bike. He spotted Diana Chambers, who was now standing next to a handsome, middle-aged man. He was white, with short, salt-and-pepper hair that had a tendency to self-part over his forehead. The man spread his arms and enveloped Jean, hugging her close for a long moment before letting her go. Jean turned to her mother, as Diana Chambers also wrapped her arms around her daughter, murmuring concern…as only a mother would do.
Patrick slowed to a full stop some feet away, mesmerized by what was clearly an unexpected reunion between Jean and her parents. It was all the more astonishing as he got to see exactly who Jean was, where she came from. She was not an other, but the combination of these two people who provided lineage, history, background, love, and beauty. That’s what Patrick had always seen, what he’d known first of all. Jean was beautiful.
Her father separated himself from the cooing women and approached Patrick, hand outstretched.
“Seth Travis. And you’re Patrick.”
“Yes, sir. I’m glad to meet you.”
“Same here. She overdid it,” Seth said, motioning to the two women.
“I agree. I’ve seen Jean in action. She puts her whole self, her whole spirit into everything she does.”
“Good observation.” He turned back to Patrick. “You didn’t ride with her?”
“Couldn’t. I wanted to but…my contract with the network prohibits it.”
“I see.”
“I told her I’d meet her here, at the finish line. I was going to take her for a celebration and…and…”
“Sure. Of course. She didn’t know I was coming into the city this week. I wanted to be here to root for her.”
“How did you know about this?”
“Di told me. I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”
Patrick merely nodded. His mind was suddenly abuzz with dots and dashes he was trying to decipher about who knew what when, and from whom. TMI for now, but he was sure he’d work it all out.
“Look, I’m going to interrupt this lovefest and get Jean in to see one of the first aid staff. I think she should be checked out.”
“Good idea.”
Patrick trailed after Seth Travis and watched as he put an arm around his daughter, rubbing her shoulder, and steering her to him. Seth then stood next to Diana, and they both watched him lead Jean into the tent. Patrick signaled another volunteer and handed off the bike.
“The rider is with the team from the mayor’s office. Think you can figure out what to do with the bike and helmet?”
“No problem, sir. I’ll take care of it.”
Patrick joined Jean inside. It was cool, and she was immediately handed a frosty bottle of water and ordered to sit on a makeshift examining table. She handed Patrick her knapsack and a pretty damaged smartphone. She would have to replace it. The doctor was a young African American woman from one of the local hospitals, volunteering for the day. She asked Jean a few questions while taking vitals, examining her bruises, and manipulating her knee to check for injuries or swelling. Other than some tenderness from the impact of her fall, Jean was, mercifully, okay. At the end of the examination, the young doctor leaned against the side of the table next to Jean to offer her assessment. She had the right bedside manner to be comfortable and friendly with her patient, while at the same time speaking authoritatively about Jean’s condition.
“Just a few bumps and bruises. I suggest an ice pack tonight for your knee, and keep it elevated. That will prevent any swelling later. You’re a little dehydrated, so plenty of fluids. Preferably not wine…”
Jean smiled weakly, exchanging looks with Patrick.
“If the knee still bothers you by Monday, you might check with your doctor about getting an X-ray. Overall, I’d say you’re just overheated, a little banged up, and pretty tired. Go home and go to bed. You’ll feel better tomorrow, but you’re probably going to be sore. How long since you’ve been on a bike?”
“A very long time,” Jean admitted. “I guess I’m lucky I only fell once and didn’t do serious damage.”
“Next time I suggest doing only half of one of these events. You want to be supportive of the cause, but not at the risk to your health and body.”
“Hear, hear,” Patrick murmured, high-fiving the doctor.
She stared at him.
“Are you Patrick Bennett?”
“You watch REPLAY?” he asked.
She shook her head, grimacing. “My boyfriend does. But I remember you. I pretend to be interested. You know.”
Patrick grinned at her. “I know.”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, helping Jean down from the table.
They left the tent and stopped outside the entrance as they caught sight of Jean’s parents. Seth and Diana were standing very close together, deep in a whispering conversation and not particularly aware of anyone else around them. But Patrick couldn’t help but make note of what an attractive couple they were. Whatever had made it difficult—impossible—for them to consider marriage when they were young had perhaps become a non-issue with the years.
Seth was leaning a little over Diana, and she gazed up at him, smiling in her bright, open way. Patrick watched Jean for a reaction but he couldn’t tell anything from her silence or her expression. He was also coming to full awareness that Jean was the product of these two people from different backgrounds who’d loved each other enough to have her. And Jean was someone he’d come to care for long before that reunion at city hall more than a month ago. Knowing as well that what he felt for Jean was significantly more advanced now than his high school fascination.
He touched her arm to get her attention. “Should I offer to take us all to dinner…or would you prefer bagging it tonight and going home?”
She hesitated, thinking.
“Or I can keep you with me, keep an eye on you tonight, and you can send your folks to wherever it is they have in mind. Your call.”
Jean watched her parents in conversation before turning again to him.
“I should spend a little time with them. They both went to a lot of trouble to be here to support me today. You did, too, so…”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw them together…”
Patrick didn’t touch her. He didn’t want to do anything to influence Jean’s answer. In her amber eyes, he saw her ambivalence and a desire to try to please them all.
“I want to go home, Patrick,” she finally said in a small, weary tone.
He placed a hand on her waist and gently squeezed. “Okay. Then it’s settled.”
She gave a barely discernible smile and nod of her head. Her hair was messy, with tendrils feathering around her flushed face. Her forehead and the back of her neck were damp, trapping strands on her skin. He wanted nothing more just then than to gather her close and say, I’m g
oing to take care of you. Instead, Patrick spontaneously brushed hair from her face and fleetingly massaged his fingers through to her scalp. Jean’s eyelids fluttered at his tenderness.
Jean turned to face her parents to address them, but her father, hugging her loosely, spoke first.
“Honey, your mom and I just had a conversation, and we’ve decided that the best thing for you right now is to get home and get some rest. As much as we’d love to have dinner with you…and Patrick, and catch up, I don’t think you’re up to it.”
“Your dad’s right, Jean. You’re about to drop where you stand from exhaustion. Dinner can wait for another time, okay?”
Jean smiled. Slowly Patrick rubbed a hand up and down her back.
“Please don’t be too disappointed. You both went to a lot of trouble to get here today.”
“No sacrifice. You did all the hard work.”
“They sure need to give you a raise, or something,” Diana suggested. “Was this sort of thing in your job description?”
“Don’t answer that,” Seth advised his daughter. “Sometimes you do what you gotta do for the brownie points. Right, Patrick?”
“Absolutely. That’s a very good lead-in to letting you know I’ll take Jean home.”
“That’s sweet of you.” Diana smiled.
“Not at all. My pleasure.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Call tomorrow, Mom. What are you going to do now?” Jean asked her parents.
“I’m going to take Di out for drinks and dinner.”
“How long will you be in the city?” Jean asked, as her mother gave her a hug and admonished her to take care of herself. “Will I see you before you leave? What hotel are you staying at?”
Her father cupped her face and kissed her cheek. “I’m here until Tuesday. Maybe we can get together. I’ll let you know. Your mom is putting me up tonight.”
There was a quick, awkward choreographed dance of goodbye, more kisses and hugs and shaking of hands.
