7. Kennedy
Kennedy
CHAPTER SEVEN
"What are you doing here?" I ask upon waking up, still groggy, not quite understanding where I am but seeing Hades watching me. However, I quickly snap awake when I remember everything that happened. "King! Where is my son?"
The Greek stares at me for so long without speaking that I feel a chill inside as I remember the suspicion Ernest brought up which I had also noticed.
Has Hades noticed how he and King are identical?
"Shhh . . . calm down. He's fine. Sleeping," he says, pointing to the hospital room's couch.
I sit up to confirm he's telling the truth, and only manage to breathe normally again when I see my son sleeping peacefully.
"You didn't know you were allergic to bees?"
"I did, but I've never had such a violent reaction before."
"And if I hadn't been there? How would you have made it to the hospital in the state you were in and still brought King with you?"
"Don't you dare criticize me as a mother. You know nothing about me. What happened was an accident."
"It wasn't a criticism; it was a question. I didn't realize you were so sensitive." He says this almost gently, as if, just like me, he had momentarily forgotten who we are. But soon enough, his gaze hardens.
"I'm not sensitive about anything else. Only when it comes to my role as a mother. I only had a chance to be a mother for a month before falling into a coma, and now that I'm back, I want to do everything right."
As soon as I finish speaking, I remember that what I want and what this man wants for me are opposites.
I dream of being free and becoming the best mother in the world to my boy. Hades wants me trapped, forever if possible,.
"Did you call Ernest? If you haven't, can you please ask them to?"
"I did what you asked."
"Thank you. Did the doctors say if my reaction to the bee venom has passed?"
"Yes."
The monosyllabic answers are getting on my nerves, especially because, against my will, I feel my pulse quickening at the way he's looking at me.
"Again, I appreciate what you did for me. If you could stay until Ernest arrives?—”
"I'll stay," he says. "For King."
"I never had the illusion that it was for my sake, sir. And neither would I desire your presence if I weren't afraid they would take my son while I'm hospitalized."
Hades
If someone had told me that today I would be in a hospital room, watching Kennedy sleep, with her son's head in my lap, after spending the last few years hating her for making me hate her, I wouldn't believe it, but like an obsessed person, I watch every breath she takes to make sure the venom has been neutralized.
I tell myself that she needs to live to be punished for the crime she committed, but the moment an image of a dead Kennedy crosses my mind, a kind of crazy fervor takes over my blood. I know she hates me as much as I detest her, but that doesn't stop me from feeling desperate at the mere thought.
I force myself to look away from the sleeping figure and focus on the little head of brown hair in my lap. King fell asleep holding my finger, and I can't move my hand.
He stirs and turns to his side, and again, a vaguely familiar sensation washes over me when I look at his sleeping face.
Overwhelmed by the madness that was my day, I don't realize that I'm joining them in their state of unconsciousness.
Kennedy
I enter a kind of trance as I prepare to bring my King into the world.
My body is invaded by a strange mix of pain, fear, and excitement.
I feel strong. It's me and my son against the world.
Every contraction is torture, but I know it's my body's way of saying it's ready, that the little being I've carried for nine months wants to come into the crazy universe we live in.
Suddenly, amidst the spasms of pain, I see the face of the Greek who hates me. He stands there, next to the stretcher, as I prepare to give birth to King.
I look at the Greek, my enemy, the man who wants to see me locked up forever, and I wish I had the strength to send him away, but I don't.
Anxiety overwhelms me every time the doctor asks me to push, and the baby doesn't come.
With every deep breath I take, I feel that my son and I are connected, but even though I give my all, he still doesn't come, and I start to get nervous.
"Is everything okay?" I ask the doctor.
"Yes, it is. He's just a very big boy. Come on, dear, one more time."
I try to turn the pain into strength. A determination that seems to emanate from every cell in my body takes over me, and when I finally hear his cry, I start to cry too.
Hades averts his eyes from mine and watches the baby. I want to tell him to leave, not to direct his hatred towards my son who is innocent, but when his chocolate-colored eyes meet mine, it's not anger I see in them, it's surprise.
He walks over to where my son is and asks the doctor if he can hold the child.
"No," I say, knowing he'll take him away.
No one seems to hear me, and the doctor fulfills Hades' request, handing him the baby.
"Don't take him, please!"
"Kennedy, wake up, you were in the middle of a nightmare," I hear my enemy's voice say.
Hades
The anguish on her face hits me in an unexpected way.
Kennedy afraid is not something I have witnessed before. She has never been one to easily show emotions.
Her movements and protests when I try to wake her up awaken King, who starts crying, and only upon hearing her son does she wake up.
I go to the couch and pick him up. When I come back to the bed, her eyes are already open, a clear plea for me to give her the child.
As soon as I place him in her arms, to my surprise, while King stops crying, Kennedy starts.
She hugs the little boy and kisses his head dozens of times. "I love you, my love. Mommy's here with you."
I approach the bed where Kennedy holds the boy as if expecting him to disappear at any moment.
The scene is too much for me, and after muttering something about Ernest arriving, I leave the room and go to the hallway.
"Thank you for bringing them," I hear someone say behind me, and when I turn around, I see it's Ernest Wich. "Although I don't understand what you were doing in our house."
"I found out she had left Massachusetts," I say, without revealing that discovering she had a son is what brought me.
"Ah, of course. And your anger brought you to a young woman just out of a coma, a mother who hasn't seen her son in two years, to disturb her peace, demonstrating your discontent."
"It wasn't that. It was finding out she had a boy," I admit.
"And why does that matter to you?" He runs his hand over his bald head. "Kennedy needs peace. She doesn't sleep well for fear of someone coming in . . . of you coming in and taking the child just to hurt her."
"And how would I do that? I have no right to King. I'm not the . . .” A bitter taste spreads inside my mouth. "Did Kennedy say who the father is?"
He gives me a scornful smile. "She has no memory of the past, Mr. Kostanidis. When will you convince yourself of that?"
"Perhaps never."
"Go away. Kennedy managed, through legal procedures, to be released on bail. If you're unhappy with the decision, go complain to the judge who granted her that right."
"I'm not going anywhere, not now and not anytime soon," I say because suddenly, pieces of a puzzle that seems to have emerged from a parallel reality begin to come together.
The shock I felt when I entered his room earlier today.
My almost instant connection with the boy and vice versa.
Ares' question if I was sure I wasn't the father of the child Kennedy gave birth to.
All of this could be a coincidence, but there's something, a detail, that is consolidating a certainty within me.
I fed King. While Kennedy slept, I went out to buy baby food and diapers.
I gave him lunch, then changed him, and...
"What are you saying? What do you mean, you're not going anywhere anytime soon? You don't have the right to bother Kennedy."
"With regards to her, I have no rights, but concerning my son, I do."
"What?" He seems truly shocked but not surprised. His reaction is that of someone afraid. Did Ernest already suspect this too?
And what about Kennedy?
"Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Wich?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I changed King's diaper and saw the mark. At the time, I didn't pay attention, perhaps because it didn't seem possible, but I'm sure now that this child is mine, although I don't understand how . . .” I don't finish the sentence. It's none of his damn business.
"Mark?"
"King has the birthmark, resembling a map of South America, on his right buttock. All Kostanidis descendants have it."
His astonishment turns into anger. "King, a Kostanidis? How? Didn't they claim Kennedy slept with that Ryan guy?" he scoffs.
I observe him for several seconds. The man truly loves her.
"In the casino, on the first day I met her, one of the owners told me she slept with many men."
"Excuse me, Mr. Kostanidis," he says, walking past me. But he doesn't enter, just holds the doorknob of Kennedy's room.
"That wasn't true, then?"
"I'll answer your question with another: aren't you a wealthy man? Go after the truth about who Kennedy is. I lived next to that girl from the time she was fourteen, from the moment I found her."
"Found her?"
"Figure of speech. Anyway, I can assure you she's a survivor. She grew up being beaten by that wretch Riny Marcotte, may the devil take her." I can see from his expression that he's angry but he's also telling the truth. "Your housekeeper's daughter was an abusive bitch, and Kennedy had the misfortune of falling into her hands. She supported the household from the age of fourteen, doing cleaning in private residences and then at the casino. I'm sorry for the loss of your ward. It's a pity that someone so young died like that, but I guarantee it wasn't at the hands of my girl."
"You can't assert that when she herself doesn't remember," I say, but I can't deny that the conviction with which he defends her shakes me.
"I can because I know Kennedy, and if you can't see her character, you don't deserve to be King's father, sir. In fact, I hope the mark you saw—and I'm sure Kennedy will hope so too—is just a mere coincidence, a mistake."