by Pat Simmons
“Are you my ‘boy-toy,’ ready to whisk me off to therapy?” she asked.
The woman actually made him blush. His reply was stuck in neutral.
“Oh dear, where are our manners?” Mrs. Valentine seemed embarrassed, as she clamored for attention again.
“Humph,” Mrs. Beacon slurred, then recovered, “I left mine at home on Benton Street.”
Mrs. Valentine shook her head, ignoring her roommate’s snide remark. “Please make yourself comfortable on the sofa, dear.”
Kidd eyed the dainty piece of furniture. He frowned. How old was that thing anyway?
“Go on. It’s sturdy enough to hold a Kidd.” Mrs. Valentine giggled.
He followed her directions, as they watched him intensely. Not only was the sofa sturdy, but surprisingly comfortable. “I’ve been the new resident liaison for a few weeks, and I’m still making my rounds and introducing myself. Sorry it’s taken me so long to formally meet you.”
“Is Kidd your birth name?” Mrs. Valentine asked with a smile.
Tilting her head, Mrs. Beacon seemed interested in his answer too.
He grunted. “Might as well have been on my birth certificate because that’s all he called me.”
“Who?” Mrs. Valentine questioned. “The old man.”
“What about your last name?” Mrs. Valentine followed up.
Kidd glanced at Mrs. Beacon, who seemed satisfied to let her roommate conduct the probing. He shook his head. “Don’t like that one either.” Good save. He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back.
“No?” Mrs. Valentine lifted her brow.
“It means nothing to me. Neither does the man who freely donated samples of his DNA, wherever he is. He had the nerve to demand his rightful claim to us in name only, but not in love.”
“Touché,” Mrs. Beacon said, egging him on. “Need a gun?”
Mrs. Valentine frowned at her and leaned forward. “You can’t change your parents like you do cars and husbands—I’ve done that twice, but I still come back to my maiden name of Valentine.”
After two attempts, she stood and wobbled toward the sofa where he sat. Kidd stood and helped make her comfortable. “Thank you, young man. I like your manners and cologne.” She took a deep breath and crossed one bony leg over her bony knee. “Now, many of our ancestors died without their parents having a right to name their children. Plus, many were lumped together with the same last name.”
Kidd hated lectures, and he was about to bring this one to an end. “I know. Enslaved people were forced to take the name of the person who caged them.”
He thought he just checkmated her, when she seemed to take on a faraway expression. Then Mrs. Beacon started to doze. Great. He needed to talk to her in private and see if she had any concerns, but her roommate’s mouth was a well-oiled machine.
“How about having ‘Negro’ as your last name on your birth certificate?”
Negro? That was just like the old man calling him boy. Kidd hadn’t expected to hear terms that should have been buried in the twentieth century.
“Humph,” he grunted. “Don’t like that name either.”
“Can you imagine thousands of people having that name?”
Hmm mmm, truth or fiction? “And how would you know that, Mrs. Valentine?”
“Don’t you know there are books that list all the dead folks,” she said, sounding indignant. “Their county, state, age, date, and what they died from. And it wasn’t always from lynchings.”
“Wait a min—”
“Hush, chile.” Mrs. Valentine gave Kidd a disapproving look. “I’m trying to explain. On some of the entries, the deceased were identified as black or white. On others, no classification was needed. Without having a massa’s name, upon their death, Black folks were listed with the last name of Negro. Annabelle Negro, Esther Negro, Fanny Negro, even Female Negro was a name—first and last.”
Mrs. Valentine was on a roll. “Now what kind of identity is that?” she asked. “I heard one woman was ninety years old with that name. And there are pages, hundreds of them, with the last name Negro—Henry Negro, Pleasant Negro, all the way down the alphabet.” She tsked and shook her head.
Suddenly, Mrs. Beacon came alert. “Ah, Valentine, I don’t believe a word of that stuff. Call me Negro. That’s what I am. I’d rather have that name than some outrageous, thoughtless, idiotic names we had to bear,” she snapped.
“Look, Beacon, you would’ve been among the defiant, enslaved folks who renamed themselves. Papa told me when I was a youngun, it wasn’t unusual for a runaway to call himself something more dignified. I’ve got a great-great cousin somewhere in Arkansas named Major Wilson, but that was his birth name. You couldn’t say his name without giving him some respect. See, us colored folks had pride, even back then.”
Colored? Maybe Eva was right. Maybe he had been too hard on Mr. Johnston. Evidently, these people couldn’t detach themselves from another era. Kidd smirked at the mention of pride—that he didn’t lack. He blinked. His focus was to determine Mrs. Beacon’s mental stability and report back to Parke. Instead, he was entertaining the ramblings of an old woman who had the ammunition to start a brawl with her roommate. Kidd stood to leave.
“Sit back down,” Mrs. Beacon ordered.
Caught off guard, Kidd did as he was told.
“Since you started this whole war on names, let me tell you something. Another way for slaveholders to exercise control was to forbid mamas to name their babies. They called our kinfolks Moses, Hagar, and Ishmael from the Bible. They gave us the names of Greek gods and goddesses, Roman history figures like Caesar, Pompey, Nero … Napoleon—” Her words slurred, as she tried to talk faster.
When Mrs. Beacon took a deep breath, Kidd took that as an intermission for him to leave. He leaned forward to stand, but Mrs. Beacon began twisting her mouth. Kidd didn’t know if she was exercising her muscles or about to make him her spit can, so he eased back in his seat. She grinned. It was a little lopsided, but the teeth seemed to be all hers too.
“When I was little, I knew girls named York, Africa, and Jamaica. Your black skin would have prompted the name Dark or Sable. I believe a lady just died a few years ago named Mississippi. She was one hundred and thirteen years old. I don’t know if I want to get that old, but I’ve been seventy for a couple of years now.”
Kidd looked from one woman to the other. Were they finished? If he was a doctor, he would diagnose both of them as borderline senile.
“Back to your daddy,” Mrs. Valentine said, picking up the original topic. “If he insisted on you having his last name, it means you’re somebody to him.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?” Kidd grunted, and this time he got to his feet defiantly. He eyed Mrs. Beacon to make sure she wasn’t moving her mouth again.
Mrs. Valentine jutted her chin. “With your intelligence, I expect you to look it up in the Mississippi Morbidity book.” She tapped her chin, displaying long, bony fingers with pink nail polish. “It was 1860, or maybe it was 1850. It could be 1840.”
Annoyed, Mrs. Beacon scolded her. “Make up your mind, girl. If you can supposedly remember all that stuff like an encyclopedia, why can’t you remember dates?”
“Never been good with numbers. Plus, my brain power is only charged for so long. Humph.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s there in them books. If I’m lying, I’m dying, and I feel rather good today.” She got up unassisted and dragged her feet back to her rocker. She slumped down and closed her eyes, apparently exhausted from her storytelling.
I guess too much talking exerts energy. Kidd was about to turn around and leave when one of Mrs. Valentine’s eyes popped open. “I’m parched. My pay is one can of brisk iced tea.”
“She’ll need a wheelchair taxi to go get it because she ain’t getting mine,” Mrs. Beacon said. Then she added, “You know, you sure look familiar. Your expressions remind me of somebody. I hope I like them, whoever they are.”
Chapter Nine
Why do tes
ts always come when a person isn’t prepared? Eva asked herself. “Lord, please help me.” Her voice cracked, as tears choked in her throat. She decided to skip lunch, not because she was fasting, although she wished she had started off the day with that commitment. The truth was, Eva needed every minute to concentrate on her upcoming nursing test.
Keeping her eyes on the time, she desperately hoped her anatomy terms would finally begin to stick in her memory. “Lord, open my mind to remember every note and page I’ve read.” The more she prayed, the more overwhelmed she became. Nearing the end of her break, the time came when she realized she had done all she could. Now it was time for her to trust God for the rest. Eva concluded with “Amen.”
Sniffling, Eva took a deep breath at the same time the bench shifted beside her. She froze, too embarrassed to open her eyes and verify that someone had witnessed her frenzied state. That was Eva’s fault. She had taken advantage of the tranquil spring day and traded her usual spot in front of the fountain to another bench. Her hope was that she would go unnoticed and not be disturbed.
“Eva.” Kidd’s voice was low and concerned, almost soothing.
Couldn’t he see this was bad timing? She wanted to be alone.
“I’m not God, but tell me how I can help you,” he continued to coax her.
How could she talk to this man, fearing she looked shipwrecked? Plus, she wasn’t one to publicly exhibit weakness. It was strength she wanted to portray. Her eyes were puffy, and a Kleenex would be her first necessity. How compromising indeed.
“Go away, Kidd. You can’t help me. What do you know about physiology, anatomy, or biology?” Eva mumbled with her head still down. She refused to open her eyes and face him.
“Why? Because I don’t walk around with a stethoscope?” He shoved a napkin in her hand.
Was he an idiot? Couldn’t Kidd see his timing was off for teasing or provoking her? She had hoped their spat was long forgotten. Apparently not. Covering her face with the rough paper and hoping it was unused, Eva inhaled.
Reluctantly, she prepared for the last humiliating act. She blew her nose hard, sniffed, and then blew it again. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her thoughts to deal with the distraction next to her. Unable to prolong the inevitable any longer, she opened her eyes and turned to him.
“I’m only capable of one drama at a time. Your being here right now is not one of those times. When you said you forgave me, I took you at your word.” Why did he have to test their cease-fire and bring bits and pieces of their conversation back to the surface?
Kidd shrugged. “I can deal with your fire. I can’t deal with your tears.”
He paused, so Eva searched his eyes. There was a hint of compassion and vulnerability. His complexity made her heart melt. Kidd was the definition of a man’s man: strong, fierce, and no-nonsense. But she also saw a heart that guarded hurt, pains, and failures. With a blink of his eyes, he shut down his defenselessness and looked away.
“What made you say I didn’t know anything about anatomy? Hmm … if I had a dirty mind …” He chuckled. “I don’t, even though around you that is a possibility. But did you think so little of my intelligence? Is it because, in your eyes, I’m nothing more than—what? A gangster all dressed up?” Before she could speak, he lifted his finger to silence her. “The truth, Eva.”
She panicked. What could she say? Again she had uttered something without thinking. Because of him, she would constantly be on her knees, praying.
“Honestly … can I answer this at another time? I really need to study. That’s why I called myself hiding over here.”
“The truth, Eva,” Kidd pressed, ignoring her plea.
She took a deep breath. “When I said you didn’t know anything about anatomy, it was an assumption based on your lack of interest in the residents and in the medical field. You also made a curious comment about not fitting in.”
Eva withheld saying anything further. One thing she had learned from being friends with Dawn was that whenever someone asked for the truth, they were seldom ready for it or wanted it. Eva was ashamed because that’s exactly what she thought. The subject was already challenging for her. She didn’t expect him to know any better.
“Really?” His smirk was a tease. “Just so you’ll know, I’ve got a little hood in me, among other strengths and weaknesses. But let someone try to mess with you, and we’ll see how much you’d appreciate the hoodlum in me.”
His expression was deadpan, which frightened her, causing mixed emotions. Should she be afraid for herself or someone who would be on the receiving end of his eerie threat?
Her sister’s boyfriend, Lance, made it clear on numerous occasions that he took his role seriously as a protective big brother. However, she doubted Lance’s backup was any match against Kidd’s. Eva would cast a ballot for Kidd any day.
“I believe in you, but you know what folks say. If you mimic the lifestyle of others, you become guilty by association.”
“Sometimes people see one thing in a person, and that person is forever condemned by their perceptions.” He shrugged. “I have nothing to prove to anyone. Besides, I left those days behind me in Boston. But I assure you, I can pull my former ways out of my back pocket if necessary.” His piercing dark eyes backed up the fact that he wasn’t bluffing.
“Boston? You’re a long way from New England.” She had to get away from this man. Grabbing her things to stand, he gently restrained her.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have bits of napkin lint on your lashes.” He took the liberty of disposing of them with a few gentle flicks of his finger.
She shivered under his touch, while momentarily thriving from his personal devotion to her. Her coworkers would be jealous. Dawn would be floored. While everyone was vying for Kidd’s attention, he happened upon her at a spot where she didn’t want to be found. Why was his presence comforting? Lord, I cried out to You for help. Why did he show up?
Kidd angled his body. “Since we’re friends and everything …” He lifted a brow. “I felt I should be honest with you, now that we’ve established this level of trust.”
She held her breath and braced for the unknown.
“You look—what do you ladies call it? A hot mess—when you cry.” Kidd delivered the insult and then had the nerve to snicker. A gray strand on his mustache glistened.
Eva glared, growling like a Rottweiler ready to attack. He right-out laughed, further taunting her.
“Hey, you don’t have a good sense of humor, do you? The truth is, I couldn’t stand to see you cry. I guess in my uncouth way, I picked a fight.” His childish grin was priceless. “Since I didn’t feel like hanging out with the guys, talking about cars, sports, and—”
“And probably women,” she finished.
He shrugged. “Maybe that too. I decided to wander out here and, for some reason, I veered in your direction. Maybe God sent me.”
Yeah, the devil sent a decoy. Locking her poker face in place, she waited to respond. His last remark wasn’t funny. She didn’t play that. When a person prayed for help, God sent the best person, not just anybody.
“I can’t handle tears, Eva—especially my mother’s. Or when I was younger, my baby brother’s. Even my little cousins can get my attention when they’re crying.”
Eva was touched that he would put her on a plateau with his loved ones. Squinting, she tilted her head. He was hard to figure out. There was more to him than she had first thought, or maybe it was her second opinion of him. Kidd Jamieson was something besides his clean-shaven face, trimmed mustache, and bulging biceps. Yes, she noticed and made note. Oh, she forgot his baritone voice and one faint dimple when he smiled.
“Now.” He wiggled a brow mischievously. “If you’re finished with your appraisal of me, which I don’t mind at all … don’t worry about your appearance. You always look cute, even when you wear those ugly yellow and blue uniforms. Of course, you’re flattered by shades of red, or burgundy, like you wore on my first day here.” He
lowered his voice. “Now, tell me what’s wrong, Eva?”
Kidd had skillfully flipped the subject again. Shaking her head, she felt hopeless. “I don’t have time to explain.”
He reached for her textbook, which was as thick as a phone book, and gently pried it out of her hands. “Let’s see. Anatomy and Physiology: The Unity of Form and Function. Hmm.”
“I have class tonight. I was just stressing over the quiz and—”
“Where are your test questions?”
“Why?” Eva sighed. “Parts three and four. What difference does it matter to you?”
Quickly, Kidd scanned the sections. “What makes up the nervous system?”
A no-brainer. That question wasn’t her challenge. The other twenty-nine were. “The central nervous system and the peripheral system.” She looked at him expressionlessly.
“Hmm. Not quite.” Kidd tugged on his mustache.
“What? Kevin, do you wear glasses? Did a contact fall out or something?”
“Actually, I have 20/20 vision. What does the central nervous system do?”
Rolling her eyes and knowing his efforts were useless, she humored him. “Control the brain and spinal cord.”
“And the periph—” Kidd demanded.
“Is the nervous system outside the central nervous system, such as glands and muscles?”
Kidd winked and began drilling the questions out of order. “Very good, Miss Savoy. Name the four stages of pressure ulcers.”
Frustrated, she pinched him—or attempted to. But he didn’t budge if he wasn’t satisfied with her answer. The strong man with the soft heart was like no other man she had ever met. At this moment, what was there about him not to like? Clearing her throat, she refocused. The stages were her stumbling block because she couldn’t visualize the examples. “Stage one is intact skin …” She rambled off the definitions.
