Chapter 8
KENYA HAD NEVER been the patient type. She wished she’d been able to pull more details from Solomon yesterday, but he’d been adamant about her attending physical therapy today first. At least the anticipation was distracting enough to take the edge off of yesterday morning.
Throwing up in front of her coworkers and the Bellon Group reps was one of the worst moments of her life.
To top it off, she’d hurt her ankle more in the process.
But instead of Solomon adding to her embarrassment, his presence in the hospital room had calmed her and stirred her with expectation.
And Dedra’s commentary on the way back from the hospital hadn’t helped.
Yes, Dedra. She was quite aware of how attractive he was, with his close-cropped tight curls and neatly clipped facial hair.
And those expressive eyes, framed by stylish black-rimmed glasses and focused so intently on her, had been unnerving.
Combined with his wide grin, he looked like a younger version of Malcolm-Jamal Warner.
Still, a part of her wished she’d never agreed to meet him today.
Kenya surveyed the pile of slim and fitted slacks on her bed with a sigh.
A sprained ankle definitely put a wrench in her wardrobe plans.
Hobbling over to her closet, she scanned the racks of clothes, some with price tags still on them, looking to see if she had any wide-leg pants that would accommodate her new accessory, otherwise known as her ankle boot.
She sucked in a breath, already worn out from traveling five feet.
Instead of the high-waisted, fitted jeans her soul craved at the moment, she reached for wide-leg linen pants that were better suited for the resort in Jamaica where she’d worn them.
Truthfully, she needed more than regained mobility for her next few events. She had to figure out a way to salvage the debacle of the past few days, if she still had a job after filling the boardroom trash can with the contents of her stomach.
Kenya hobbled back to her bed, tossing the pants next to the loose top she’d already selected.
Hopefully the small chance of rain showers would hold off so she didn’t have to add an umbrella to her ensemble.
Unless it was a walking cane combo. Canes were chic in a way, right?
Kind of like a Mary Poppins vibe. At the very least, a long umbrella would be cuter and more versatile than crutches.
She lowered herself into the plush chair in the corner of her bedroom and eased her hurt leg on top of the stack of style magazines and architecture books near her feet.
She sure did know how to get herself into complicated situations.
Usually, the getting out of dilemmas part was what gave her creative ideas and unique outcomes.
But this situation was unfolding in the most frustrating way.
Her phone buzzed under her. Kenya groaned, pushing herself up to pull it out from under her thigh.
She answered, not bothering to keep the spice from her voice. “I don’t know why you are calling me, Adanne. Do you know where you are?”
“I know, I know, but I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“You should be enjoying your honeymoon, not checking on your cousin, who is absolutely fine.”
“Then why doesn’t it sound like you are?”
Kenya rose to perch on the edge of her bed so she could prop her throbbing ankle on the accent chair.
But not before her foot hit a box on the floor.
She took a few moments of silence before hissing, “It’s nothing you should be concerned about.
I just have a few more weeks than intended for recovery. ”
“Oh no, Kenya, your work.”
“Don’t remind me.” Seriously, don’t, cousin, because I really don’t want to start crying on the phone while you’re on your honeymoon.
“I feel like this is my fault.” Adanne huffed.
“It’s only your fault if you chose to have a wedding in August and I was compelled to wear really skinny, strappy shoes because of the heat.”
“But we did plan a wedding in August.”
“And it was ridiculously hot, by the way.”
“Hence the reason we are honeymooning in Iceland.” John’s voice came through the line. Kenya grinned.
Adanne was not so amused. “So, it is my fault.” Her voice muffled at the end by a probable palm to the mouth.
“Dee, chill. I’m kidding. I made the choice to wear those shoes because I’m a grown woman, and I adored them.”
“You make the choice to wear those types of killer shoes daily.”
“I still think you should’ve worn some kind of heel instead of flats for your wedding.”
“You’ve given me a good reason why I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Ouch, cousin.”
“You know I value comfort, and you seem to value—”
“Yes, I value style and complication. And I’m also the one who attempted to take part in a slide that I didn’t know and had no business dancing in because I was trying to distract myself from a huge work mistake.”
“Wha—”
“Never mind that.” Oops, Adanne didn’t need another worry added to her shoulders when she should be living her best honeymoon life among glaciers and puffins and whatever else people saw when they went to visit Iceland.
“But seriously, I’m so sorry.”
“You are sorry that you had a wedding that was my pleasure not only to plan but to be there for and be in because I am your cousin? And had a big part to play in this whole relationship?”
Adanne chuckled. “Of course you did. Never mind all the other parts between us that had nothing to do with you.”
“Exactly my point. This busted-up ankle has nothing to do with you.”
Adanne released her breath. “Okay. But seriously, how are you?”
Kenya huffed. “If I answer you, will you get off the phone and get back to your handsome Italian hunk of a man?”
“Thank you, Kenya!” she heard John holler from somewhere in the distance.
“Do you have me on speaker?”
Adanne chuckled. “Yes, he’s the one who actually thought it would be good to call you. We’re just waiting for a meal and thought it would be a good time to check on our favorite event planner.”
Kenya sighed. “I may not be the favorite event planner or a working event planner much longer if I don’t get this ankle fixed.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Well, not initially, even though it was painful. But you know me, couldn’t take things sitting down, so I kind of had another accident at work.”
“Don’t tell me. I can somehow see that happening.”
Kenya didn’t know if she liked the sound of that. Those words seemed to identify her with getting things wrong more than right.
“I’m going to be fine. I’m actually on my way to therapy so that I can speed up my healing in the right way.”
“That’s good to hear. Keep us updated.”
“I most definitely will not. Y’all need to focus on doing what newly married people do on their honeymoons.”
“Like eat?” John asked. Adanne laughed, and the lightness and joy in that sound was music to Kenya’s ears. Her cousin deserved all the happiness, and perhaps one day that kind of happiness would be hers too. “Y’all go on now. I’ve got other stuff to do and an ankle to resurrect.”
And a handsome doctor to see.
She hung up with a smile on her face despite the pain. Those two were so stinking cute. Adanne had fought hard against her feelings in the beginning. That seemed to be the way of the Stewart women.
If Kenya hadn’t attempted to ignore her own pain, perhaps she wouldn’t have such a serious injury.
But what choice did she have? She couldn’t just throw out her second chance to give their pitch and redeem her mistake.
The event-management industry didn’t care about injury or delay.
People had parties to put on. Companies had campaigns to move forward with.
She loved all the frenzied chaos of it, and this would not stop her. There was too much at stake.
Kenya carefully pulled the pants over her ankle and up her right leg.
The pain intensified, but she pushed through to finish dressing.
She could do this. This was why she was going for therapy.
It wasn’t fun, but she needed to make this work.
She hobbled out of her bedroom. Using the wall as support, she headed slowly to the kitchen to see if there was something that she would even consider eating right now.
She glanced at the calendar stuck by a magnet to her fridge.
She grimaced again, this time not from the pain.
The red circle over certain dates pierced her, reminding her of the potential loss if she didn’t get herself together.
Her job was on the line, and so much more.
And thanks to that reminder, her appetite was completely gone.
But crazy hope remained. Maybe if she really put effort into whatever Dr. Solomon was thinking, she wouldn’t miss out on any of these future plans.
Lord, I sure don’t have time for this. And I don’t have time not to do this.
Do I? She patted the calendar, grabbed her keys, reluctantly tucked her crutches under each arm, and limped out the door.
You were right, Mama. Thank God for elevators.
That thought brought her a twinge of guilt.
Her mother didn’t know the rest of what happened.
Only her sister Salome, who should be coming to pick her up at any moment.
She would tell Mama later. Sooner than later.
She just couldn’t deal with disappointing another person.
She liked to keep her failure quota to just two a week, maybe three if she was feeling generous.
She’d learned real hard and fast that was par for the course when you grew up with your brain scrambling every word or instruction before your eyes.
She had probably disappointed her mom enough for a lifetime.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kenya. I don’t usually see you around this time.” Gary, the manager of her building, grinned at her in appreciation. He acted like he had a crush on her, but that didn’t keep her from engaging. Didn’t hurt anyone to get a smile back and to know that they were seen.
“Hey, Gary.”
He dipped his head. “What’s going on with that ankle right there? I hate to see what the other person looks like.”
“Don’t even ask.”
He set aside his broom. “Well, looking at you, I’m glad that I’m not mopping right now. That would be a sight to see.”
She groaned. “Please don’t remind me. Or better yet, can you give me a warning when you do mop? I don’t need to reinjure this ankle.”
“Sounds like you’ve been in some trouble. Do you need help getting your car? I can pull it around for you.”
“That’s okay. My sister is picking me up. Over . . .” She stuck out her thumb and pointer finger on both hands. L for the left side. The trick a pastor at church had shown her in Sunday school to help with directions. The hand that formed the correct L was the left hand.
Kenya dropped her right hand and pointed to the left corner of the apartment building. “There.”
“Well, how about I at least use our golf cart to get you a little closer to the front?”
Kenya grinned.
Seemed like a good time to be carted around like a queen.