Chapter 19
IF SHE SQUINTED hard enough, Kenya could see the light at the end of this terribly annoying physical therapy tunnel. Or maybe a sliver of a door. Or a glimmer? At the very least, a sparkle. She desperately needed that sparkle. Ankle therapy three times a week wasn’t for the faint of heart.
“Thank you again, Jermaine.”
She scooted to the edge of the exercise bench, thankful to feel the strength coming back into her ankle, outweighing the ache bit by bit.
“Always a pleasure, Kenya.” He helped her off the padded surface. “Solomon told me he gave you some bouncy balls to practice with. How are those exercises going?”
“Gripping.” She grinned.
He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. Remember to keep doing those at home.” He walked her around the corner of the open therapy room, through the door of the waiting area. “Now, your doctor is waiting.”
He winked at her. She couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across her face if she wanted to.
Yes, there was definitely a sparkle lighting up her days more than the September sun.
She never thought physical therapy would be bearable, much less enjoyable.
But somehow her dread had transformed into expectation because after every session, she had him to look forward to.
And she couldn’t wait to share her ideas with Solomon about his parents’ renewal party. The botanical gardens would be the perfect fit for them, and with her cousin’s connections at the facility and her impeccable design ideas, it would be the garden-party renewal of the year.
Everything was slowly falling back into place.
Once she had confirmation of a meeting with Blue Horizon, she would finish her presentation and get back to business.
She even asked Evelyn for a few more days beyond the fifteenth to work remotely and get all the details together. She hoped that would buy her more time.
Solomon stood to the side of the front door, holding a phone to his ear.
Warmth bloomed from her chest and seeped into her veins. How did he effortlessly exude such elegant strength? Instead of his usual office wear of scrubs, he wore a button-down and jeans.
She lifted her hand to wave. He noticed her, then frowned and dropped his phone hand to the side.
“Everything okay, Doctor?” She shifted the tote bag that carried her tablet and folder to the side and reignited her smile, hoping to ease some of the tension etched in his forehead. “Am I interrupting an important call? I can wait.”
His face was apologetic, almost ashamed. “I’m sorry, I was actually trying to call you.”
“It was an important call, then.”
She saw the sparkle then, just a bit, but his eyes soon clouded over with regret.
“I was hoping to catch you before you came out, but I need to leave now. Things ran late at the hospital, and now I have a meeting in just a few minutes that I can’t miss. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her mouth said the words, but disappointment diffused the burst of warmth that had come at the sight of him.
She’d had so much to tell him about her ideas.
The late night of putting together a design board had been therapeutic and energizing.
But maybe it didn’t all have to wait for the next time.
“If you still have a few minutes, do you want to take a peek at my final renewal plan?”
His face brightened. She smiled back in relief.
He motioned for her to follow him outside and led her to one of the benches lining the entrance.
As she attempted to step toward it, he cupped her elbow.
It was unnecessary, really, but she relished his touch, his hands strong and deliberate, capable as a surgeon’s and gentle as an artist’s.
He didn’t let go until she was safely seated.
When he sat next to her, she secretly hoped that he would continue the closeness, but he eased a few inches away, giving her space probably to show him what she held.
She handed him the folder and pulled out her tablet, swiped up, and paused. “Should I set a timer?”
He laughed. “You don’t have to do all that, Kenya.”
She smirked and moved her fingers over to the timer. “How about I set one anyway? It will be fun.”
“Let me guess, you’re going to race yourself.”
“You may know my ankle and my mind a bit too well, Doctor.”
“Not as well as I like.” His words came out softer than usual. Kenya looked up but quickly glanced away, not wanting to acknowledge what she may not have heard correctly. No need to assume.
“Well, let’s see how good I am at making a pitch to an interested party. I need the practice anyway, and yes, I do like a little competition. Even if it’s with myself.”
She set the timer to five minutes, pulled up the file she’d worked on, and leaned forward. It wasn’t until she felt the tensing of his muscles that she realized the space between them wasn’t so empty anymore.
“Oh, sorry.” Her outward launch into her pitch had set off her subtle movement toward him. Her traitorous subconscious seemed to have trouble staying away from Dr. Solomon.
He smiled and stretched his arm over the back of the bench. “Please continue.”
Instead of leaning back into that inviting posture, she bent over her tablet, positioning it so that Solomon could see it well.
“I looked over the venues we researched, and I think the botanical gardens would be a fantastic place for your parents’ vow renewal.
So much of what you mentioned that they love is already there.
We can bring in a few extra elements to make it a lusher setting, including”—she swiped to the next page—“this copper arch that we can weave with flowers and greenery. I am not talking about your run-of-the-mill florals but beautiful flowers that represent their years of marriage and . . .”
“Home,” Solomon breathed. “I recognize some of those plants from my time in Nigeria.”
Kenya grinned, pleased that he saw the intention. “Yes. Now, no more interruptions. I’m being timed, right?”
“A timer that you set for yourself.”
Kenya cleared her throat.
Solomon chuckled. “Sorry.” He raised his hands in surrender.
“I’m actually doing this for you, remember, Mr. I-Need-To-Cancel-Our-Time-Together-For-An-Important-Meeting.”
He flinched. Kenya instantly regretted her teasing words and the way they seemed to dim his jovial mood.
“You’re right, please continue. I will remain silent.”
Oh, but she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to laugh and to speak the words that set off colors in her head, to continue to sit next to her. Rehab and meetings, meh, what did they compare to raw connection?
“Yes, okay, so the gardens have an excellent caterer, but we can also get quotes from several others, including Plantain and Pies. I suggest forming a specific menu so that those food items stay consistent and on theme. Additionally, we can make this more of an experience by having tables strategically placed in different areas of the garden so that the guests can take in the surroundings as well as different foods. So, there you have it. I know that this is a simplified example, but I created this.” She handed him the portfolio.
“You can look through it and see all of the colors and themes. Once you confirm everything, I can hit the ground running—”
He grunted, looking pointedly at her ankle.
“You know what I mean!” She clicked off her tablet. “Your parents will have the most beautiful renewal party, and you will be the most loved and treasured eldest son of them all.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Well, I am sure. You’re an incredible man and, I’m confident, a treasured son.” Kenya moved to stand.
He stood too and once again placed his hand on her arm. But before she could take another step, he remained next to her, his grip loosening, moving as if to hold her arm, her hand. He stopped himself before he reached her fingers and released her. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Thank you, Kenya. Your words . . .” He lifted the folder. “And this . . . mean a lot.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward his car. Her five-minute timer went off, the soundtrack to the racing of her ridiculous heart.
SOLOMON STEPPED into the doors of the bistro, chiding himself for the nervousness he felt.
He glanced around the room, too distracted to take in the elements of the restaurant that usually set him at ease. He found his brother on the far side of the first dining room sitting at a high-top table in the corner, his laptop open, face determined.
“Table for one?” A young woman at the front approached him, tablet in hand.
Solomon shook his head and pointed toward the end of the room. “I’m here to meet my brother. He’s there in the corner.”
Her smile was pleasant. “Perfect, sir. What drink can I get started for you?”
Kenya’s face drifted before his thoughts then. Her grin, sunshine piercing through the ominous clouds he sensed, somehow easing his tension, giving him boldness that he didn’t know he needed.
“Do you guys serve ginger ale?”
The hostess nodded. “We sure do. I will have your waiter send one your way.”
“Thank you.”
He walked toward the high-top. “Simon, hey.”
His brother looked up, his mild expression masking the glint Solomon noticed in his eyes. Simon closed his laptop and tucked it into the leather messenger bag hanging on a rack beside him. “Thank you for coming, Solomon.”
“Of course.”
“Hope you didn’t have to move too many things around.”
Solomon sat down. He shifted the cloth napkin and opened the menu.
“Just one.” He didn’t need to go into how much he looked forward to his time with Kenya. But the way Simon sounded, he probably didn’t think what Solomon did was significant anyway.
Solomon cleared his throat and looked up. “What’s this about?”
Simon exhaled. “I don’t plan for this to take long. I’ve got another meeting in an hour.” He paused as a waiter set the soda down on the table.
“Are you both ready to order?”
Solomon glanced at his brother. “If it’s not going to take long, do we need to eat anything?”
Simon turned to the waiter. “Let’s just have all three of your happy hour appetizer specials and that’ll be it.”
The waiter took up the menu. “Sounds great. Those will be out soon.”
Solomon waited until the man was out of earshot to speak. “What’s going on?”
“That is exactly what I want to hear from you, big brother. It’s been seven years—”
“The number of completion.” Solomon’s smile was tight, but he couldn’t stretch it any further. The relaxing jazzy music in the background seemed an odd match for the tension in their words.
“It’s time for you to step back into the role that I’ve been helping cover for you. Because in those conversations at Mom and Dad’s, it didn’t seem like I’m going to get my brother back. Instead, it feels like I’m going to be stuck.”
Solomon wanted to say something that would reassure him, but he really didn’t know what to say because he really didn’t know what he was going to do either. “I told you all to give me time for this board test. Just let me finish this all the way, and we will go from there.”
“You said that when you graduated. Our main office in New York needs you.”
Simon looked to the side, clasping his hands together. When he turned back, Solomon saw his brother, the one that always looked up to him, the one that depended on him. The one that had the most to lose when Solomon went off to boarding school.
“I need you.”
“I know, but things change.”
“Our plans aren’t supposed to.” Simon raised his voice. “Not in this family. You know that it’s been my plan to move to our Los Angeles branch.”
“Because you wanna be out there where the action is.”
“And why not? I hate the cold.”
“Then move down here.”
“I’m not built for this town either.” Simon huffed. “It’s always held a special place in Mom’s heart, but the only reason why I’m here is because of Cousin Chike’s wedding and Pops wanting us to do all our work from here while we’re together. And because the time is coming to pass the baton.”
Solomon fiddled with the seasoning near the centerpiece. “What if I don’t want to take it?”
Simon pressed his hand flat against the table. “It doesn’t work that way. You are the big brother. You’re the one that’s supposed to do what’s expected, and I’m the one that should get to—”
He stopped as the food arrived. Thank God for that timing.
The waiter set out the platters of turkey-sausage mini-quiches, bacon-wrapped asparagus with honey drizzle, and seasoned Ritz crackers topped with jerk chicken bites.
On cue, they bowed their heads. “Thank you, Lord, for this food. Amen,” Solomon said, his heart in opposition to his efforts to remain calm.
Breathe.
“So, what you’re telling me, Simon, is that as the oldest, I have to follow the path, and you and Nneka can be free to do whatever you want.”
“Yes, because that’s what we’ve been doing with Mom and Dad while you go out and pursue this silly sidestep of .
. . physical therapy? At the very least, you could’ve done the full doctor thing.
Become a respected surgeon. Worked as the company MD.
Make this time worth it. But what place do we have for a physical therapist? ”
His words almost sounded like curse words.
“Everything changed after you came back from boarding school, why?”
Solomon watched the steam lift from their food, praying none was rising from his head.
None of them understood how much pain he’d been in.
How alone he’d felt after his high school injury.
“I don’t need to get into all that right now.
Yes, I shifted my plans, but I said that after I passed this test”—he glanced at his Apple Watch—“coming up in a few weeks, we would talk about it. But what I do shouldn’t impact what you do.
Just move if it means that much to you.”
Simon scoffed. “You know our parents don’t trust most of the staff in the New York office to take on what they trust us to do.”
“Is it because they know we’ll do exactly what they say? Maybe they shouldn’t have acquired those other companies, including the ones in New York. Now there are these mini-chiefs running around that we have to manage.”
No, not we. This wasn’t his responsibility, right? Plans could change.
“Sol, you know our parents are better than that. It’s because of the name. We can’t let our legacy be held by anyone else but our family.”
He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
Simon picked up a plate and set it before Solomon and then another in front of himself.
“I want you to follow through with what you said you would do. Once that test is done, I want you to keep your promises to us, to me. Girlfriend or not.” He raised an eyebrow and reached for the chicken. “Come to New York, so I can be free.”