by Camryn King
Just before nine, Kennedy was buzzed into what she hoped for the next foreseeable future would become her home away from home. Voices wafted toward her as she got off the elevator. The door was open. Kennedy felt uncomfortable about that, and the fact that the door was kept unlocked. She reminded herself that she’d just begun working here, that she’d told no one except her mom about the new job, and that there was no way she could be tracked down. The self-talk didn’t remove her discomfort. So she told herself to stop being silly, to pull her shoulders back and get to work.
She opened the door and entered the sparse but nicely appointed living room, smelling of sugar and coffee. The room was part-office, part-living room, as evidenced by the reception’s desk by the front door where a young woman who’d not been there last Thursday smiled up from her cellphone.
“Hi! How are you doing?”
“Good.” Kennedy held out her hand. “I’m KW.”
“Our art director, yay! I’m Fennel.” Kennedy’s brow raised. “New age parents,” the slim, long-haired girl explained with a wave of her hand. “I used to hate it growing up. But it grew on me.”
“Nice to meet you, Fennel.”
Monica came around the hall. “KW! Good morning.”
“Hi, Monica. How are you?”
“I’m good. Want some coffee?”
Kennedy held up her latte. “I’m good.”
“Good. Come on back to your corner of the office.” Kennedy laughed at Monica’s reference that one of the bedrooms was essentially the office for her, Monica and Jeff, the rarely-there owner.
“Jeff’s here,” Monica threw over her shoulder. “He can’t wait to meet you.”
Kennedy stepped into “her office.” A White guy with a bushy afro, seated at one of two desks, turned around. He was wearing wire-rimmed glasses, plaid shorts, Birkenstocks and a “Black Lives Matter” t-shirt.
“Kennedy Wade,” he said standing up. “Good morning! Welcome aboard.”
Kennedy shook his outstretched hand. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here. And please, call me KW.”
Jeff frowned. “I heard that. KW, huh? I looked you up online and all I saw was Kennedy.”
“That’s strictly photography. In this capacity, I’d like to create a separate brand, if you will, one that will be recognized with the region’s fastest, most successful lifestyle magazine on the market.”
“Alright then, KW. I like how you talk!” He sat down and took in her outfit. “Monica didn’t tell you that this is a casual office?”
“She did. First impressions, first day on the job . . .” Kennedy shrugged and smiled, a bit embarrassed at how even in this sporty linen she was grossly overdressed. “I’ll come more laid back tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself, but when working your ass off you should at least be comfortable, right? You are ready to put in a ten, twelve, fourteen-hour day, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Jeff left halfway into her first day and was gone the rest of the week. Fine by Kennedy. He asked too many questions and seemed to live online. From what he told her about her past work, information that wasn’t included on her resume, she deduced that the search engine was one of his best friends. The last thing Kennedy needed right now was a nosy Nelson. Other than that, Chicago Sightings was exactly what Kennedy needed to get her life back on track. Layout, photography, writing, editing were all areas of magazine publishing where she excelled, and were what she loved. While appreciating the freedom and flexibility of working from home she’d come into the office every day, enjoying the camaraderie and interaction working with the team. At twenty-eight, she was one of the elders in the room. The sales force consisted of preppy college grads—progressive, idealistic and hungry. Days were long but they went fast. Before she knew it, the holiday weekend arrived.
The Fourth was on a Friday this year, so early Thursday morning, just after five a.m., Kennedy placed her luggage, computer bag, small cooler, and CD case into the Honda she’d named Harriet. She’d never named a car before, but her uncle Ernie did. She’d thought it weird until her life went bonkers. After more than a week of trying to erase herself from the face of the world, calling her Honda Harriet seemed perfectly normal. After filling up her tank she hit the road, glad she’d gotten a jump on the Loop’s rush hour traffic. She’d just placed a 2000s R&B compilation CD into the slot when her phone rang. Knowing she’d be on the road for eight hours, she’d left messages with a few people who’d been neglected the past couple weeks. She didn’t expect anyone to call so early.
“Logan?”
“You remember my name?”
“Shut up,” Kennedy said with a laugh. “I must have called you last night with my new number. Where were you? And why are you up so early?”
“I’m just getting out of the studio. What are you doing up?”
“Headed home for the Fourth.”
“You’re driving?”
“Yep.”
“What, they stop booking flights to that Podunk town?”
“I wanted to drive, take some time to clear my head.”
“Are you sure you’re not running from somebody? You sub-leased your condo, went off social media . . .”
“How’d you know about my condo?” Kennedy already knew the answer. Gwen.
“Was that supposed to be a secret?”
“What else did Gwen tell you?”
“Just that you moved. And that you’d changed your phone number, which she wouldn’t give me by the way. What’s going on Ken? Does this have to do with the burglaries and what not?”
Kennedy took a deep breath and released her grip from the wheel. She couldn’t be mad at Gwen. Technically she’d only asked her to keep the truth of the pictures a secret. As for Logan, he’d been there from the beginning, and had been a lifesaver when she returned from the Bahamas.
“The break-in was part of it. It was never the same in the condo after the burglary. Not just about feeling safe, but about feeling violated. Knowing someone had been in those rooms, in my drawers, maybe in my bed. A few other things have come up, personal situations that I’m dealing with. I just needed a change of scenery, something new.”
“Where’d you move?”
“Just a temporary spot for now, until I decide if I want to actually sell the unit or keep on leasing.”
“I hear you. Just keep in touch with your friends, okay? Gwen is worried about you.”
“Sounds like you and Gwen are getting rather chummy.”
“You jealous?”
“Hardly.” A beep announced another call coming in. “Hey, Low. There’s another call coming in. I need to run.”
“As long as it’s not your boyfriend.”
“Bye.”
Kennedy smiled as she tapped the steering wheel to switch calls. Logan was such a tease. She’d liked him and missed him. When she answered, there was a smile in her voice.
“Good morning!”
“Wow, sounds like a really good morning for you!”
“Tamara, hi! Wow, another early morning riser. I’m not usually a morning person, so that people actually function at this hour, conduct business and have conversations, I find quite amazing.”
“We do. In fact, I’m often up even earlier than this. Several of my clients are international so I adjust my schedule to meet theirs. What about you? I was so excited to get your text last night, saying today would be a good time to talk. It’s been a while.”
The two spent the first part of the conversation catching up on shared connections—their families, different classmates and teachers, boyfriends or the lack thereof. Kennedy was thrilled to learn that Tamara was engaged.
“I didn’t think there were any good ones left. Congratulations!”
“Ha! There’s a few. Thank you.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Believe it or not when he took a vacation here with his girlfriend.”
“Stop it!”
“I was having dinner with a client w
hen he and his girlfriend got into it. She stormed off and about that same time my business meeting was over. We ended up in the parking lot at the same time with me offering a sympathetic ear as he went on and on about the ungrateful woman he’d dated for four years.”
“Sounds like he was grateful to you for listening.”
“He seemed appreciative, but I didn’t think much of it. Forgot about the incident, went on with my business and then about seven months ago he walked into my office, back to enjoy Grand Cayman without Ms. Ungrateful. Three months later, we were engaged.”
“That sounds so romantic, like a movie! What’s he do? Where’s he from?”
“He’s a stock broker, Wall Street, New York born and bred.”
“Does that mean you’ll be returning to the States?”
“With the current climate swirling around and fringe media turning mainstream? No, thank you.”
“I get it. Van Dijk’s a sore spot.”
“I probably shouldn’t still hate him after all these years, but the experience in his company scarred me for a very long time.”
Kennedy listened carefully, a plan unfolding in her mind as smooth and effortlessly as a peacock’s feathers.
“I’ve got an incredible story to tell you. But I’ll have to swear you to secrecy, to share it.”
“Is it about Van Dijk?”
“It is.”
“Then I swear it, Kennedy. You have my word.”
13
A little after three in the afternoon, Kennedy entered the town she’d fled when just shy of her eighteenth birthday. Back home she’d lived under a cloud of paranoia but here, exiting the interstate onto Sixth Avenue, which cut through the town from east to west, she truly relaxed for the first time since meeting with Toby. All during the travel process, until well out of Chicago’s city limits, she’d paid extremely close attention to everyone around her, and was sure that no one had followed her movements. For the moment, the fear squeezing her brain and heart had dissipated. She’d be able to actually think. She was also looking forward to seeing her family. This wasn’t always the case. She and her brother Karl were as different as rum and whiskey and she’d outgrown her mother a long time ago. Karolyn had always encouraged her children to spread their wings but in the process forgot she could fly. But you only got one mama, and home was home. For whatever it was worth, Kennedy was glad to be there.
She reached Kiowa Street. It hadn’t changed much in the ten years she’d been gone. The widow Mrs. Skinner was still perched on the corner, sitting in her swing watching everybody and catching everything. She had to be in her late seventies, early eighties, Kennedy mused, but the lady still had eagle eyes. How did she know? Because when she rolled down the window and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Skinner,” the lady leaned forward and said, “Kennedy? It’s about time you came home. Tell your mama I want some of that homemade ice cream.”
The driveway was full, so Kennedy pulled behind an unfamiliar truck and popped her trunk. By the time she’d grabbed her purse and her computer bag from the back seat, her brother had reached the car.
“My word, Kennedy. Where’d you get this rental? Hooptie.com?”
“Haha, very funny. Keep your day job because your comedic skills are lacking.”
He pulled her luggage out of the trunk and gave her a hug. They started toward the house. “I’m serious. What are you doing in that thing? Where’s your car?”
“I got rid of it.”
“Quit lying.”
The innocent response was like a soft arrow into her heart. No doubt she’d be doing quite a bit of creative conversing this weekend.
“I’m not. I’m downsizing debt, big brother.”
“Are you in financial trouble?” he asked sincerely, before she was saved from answering by reaching and going through the front door.
“Hey, everybody!”
The first inquisition was over. Kennedy was able to settle into the comfortable zone of fun, friends, and family. She passed on Mrs. Skinner’s request to her mother, who promptly set about making the first of several batches the crew would consume before the last firecracker had popped. She thought she’d handled the evening quite well, until helping her mom clean up later that night.
“What’s going on with you, Ken?”
Kennedy took the moment to finish placing the container of tomorrow’s potato salad into the refrigerator to embrace her inner nonchalant.
“I’m good, Mom.”
Karolyn gave her a side-eye. “You can try that with Ray, Karl or some of the neighbors, but I’m your mama.”
“Are you talking about me trading cars?”
“I never was a fan of cars that cost half as much as houses so, no, I don’t have a problem with what you’re driving.”
“What then?”
Karolyn used a dish towel to wipe off the counter. “That’s what I’m asking you. There’s something going on. I see it on your face when you think no one’s looking.” She passed her on the way out of the kitchen. “And you’ve lost weight.”
Kennedy followed behind her and assured her that everything was fine. And when it came to her vacation in Peyton, it was. Until they arrived at the quaint Main Street parade and for a split second, she thought she saw a face she recognized.
Jack Sutton.
Her family, along with a couple neighbor families, had found space and seating near the start of the parade’s route on Main Street in the town square. Her mom and Ray sat in lawn chairs. Karl and his girlfriend stood just behind them, along with Ray’s brother, some cousins and a couple of Karl’s friends. She’d just accepted a small flag from her brother as the band cranked out a respectable version of “Sir Duke.” She waved her red, white and blue as they passed her and had just turned to view the mayor standing and waving from a horse-drawn wagon when she saw a face etched in her memory. Even beneath a cap and behind glasses. Jack. She knew it was him. They didn’t make them like that in Kansas, and “that” didn’t come to her town for a parade. Before she could think, she reacted, headed straight through the procession and across the street, narrowly missing a pile of horse poop and a float’s large, protruding papier-mâché nose. She could vaguely hear her name in the distance, as though being shouted down a tunnel. Shouts and stares bounced off her armored focus. She searched the faces and the space where he’d just been, looked up and down the street, and beyond, began a quick turn around the center. He couldn’t have gone far. The town was small, the square even smaller. But the man she saw was nowhere in sight. He was gone. Poof. Like the wind. The adrenaline rush receded. Kennedy slowed, then stopped, leaning against a building to catch her breath. She looked across the way. Only now was she aware of the people watching her, the question on their faces. Had she really darted across the street and almost gotten crushed by the Peyton Bear? She could only imagine what her family thought. On the way back to the group she formulated a story. Time for more creative conversing in Peyton.
All eyes were on her as she returned to the family. Her mother loudly asked the question all of them wondered.
“Girl, what in the world is wrong with you?”
“Sorry! I’m sorry everyone,” she said to those around her, then back to Karolyn. “I thought I saw Tinisha!”
“Girl, please. Tinisha comes home even less than you do, and that’s saying something.”
Kennedy gave her mother a playful bump.
“You know she married a preacher,” Karl said, turning to join the conversation.
Karolyn reached into a large straw tote and pulled out a fan. “She don’t need a man,” she said, furiously fanning the heat or a hot flash, Kennedy didn’t know which. “She needs Jesus.”
Those around who heard Karolyn laughed. Tinisha was a celebrity, a major one by Peyton’s standards. Once well-known for dating a record producer, Tinisha found herself on reality TV. Her storyline was juicy, messy and popular, just like the Tinisha Kennedy remembered. Her star fell as quickly as it rose, though, and she ran
into the arms of the Lord.
Once the parade was over, family and friends returned to Karolyn’s house, ready to grub on a feast. Someone pulled out photo albums and amid barbeque, salads and a fountain of drinks, they all went down memory lane. The noise levels rose over Scrabble and spades, and once the squirt guns and badminton net came out, the festivities moved outside. Kennedy saw several people she hadn’t seen in years, and took a container of food to Mrs. Skinner. She ate too much, laughed to tears, and felt the happiness that lately had been rare. By the time she joined her brother outside on the patio, she’d convinced herself that the man she saw earlier could not have been Jack.
She took a chair across from Karl, who was smoking a cigar. “When did you start doing that?” she asked with a scrunched-up nose, while waving away the smoke.
“It’s an acquired taste, for sophisticated, upwardly mobile folk.” Karl blew smoke rings that floated into the night.
“In that case, put it out.” They laughed for a minute, then enjoyed a companionable silence. Kennedy and Karl hadn’t always gotten along. He was quite a bit older than her and polar opposite in many ways. But today they’d gotten along, a refreshing change. So much so, that for a minute, a split second really, she thought about sharing a version of what had happened to her to get his opinion.
But he spoke first. “Did Mom tell you I’m running for the city council?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. You like to argue and tell people what to do so . . .” Kennedy was rewarded with a soft bop to her head. “Seriously, I think you’ll make a good representative. Didn’t you minor in political science?”
“I sure did.”
“What party are you representing?”
“The only one that makes sense right now.”
“Oh, the party for all the people. Good to hear.” She looked over to see him giving her the eye. “Please don’t tell me you’re still leaning conservative, and still binge-watching and listening to TBC networks. Not after all that’s happened the past two years.” True Broadcast Corporation was an international media powerhouse offering the most “alternative” views on current events.
