Chapter 19
Nineteen
Text from Colby: Kenny, please. PLEASE call me. I need to talk to you. I need to apologize. I need to explain what happened. I need to know you’re OK. LYMIB.
Kenny stared at her phone and didn’t know whether to pick it up to her ear and call Colby or throw it into one of the decorative landscaping ponds that weaved throughout Pelican Pointe.
While she contemplated the best course of action for handling the phone, she burst into tears.
A lot of tears. Angry tears and sad tears.
She still felt betrayed and indignant, but she was deeply missing her best friend.
A full week of not talking to Colby seemed like an eternity.
So much had happened in the past seven days that she felt like she was leading a whole new life.
But this text message with all the “I’s” infuriated her.
She knew at some point she’d have to, would want to, talk to Colby again, and she thought it was better to get the first conversation out of the way while she was still partly mad and not completely hurt.
Kenny aggressively punched Colby’s number on the screen and before she had time to think about hanging up, he answered.
“Kenny?” Colby asked sheepishly in a tone she had never heard.
She remained silent on the other end.
“Kenny, are you there?” Colby quietly asked again after a few seconds.
Kenny allowed another long pause and replied, “I’m here. Make this fast.”
“I am so sorry. Please hear me out before you hang up,” he pleaded.
“I’m listening. But if this phone call is all about what you want and you need, I’m not sticking around,” she asserted.
“Of course!” Colby interjected. “I never meant to hurt you, Kenny, and I didn’t mean to lie to you either.
I was charged with leading the review team for Armchair Detective and did know for a few weeks that it wasn’t going to be signed by Border, but I was trying to find the right time to tell you.
I planned to break the news to you last Wednesday, but you were so upset about the Clinton White interview that I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
That was selfish of me. You’re a big girl, and I know you would’ve been able to handle it.
But I wasn’t sure I would be able to handle seeing you more upset than you already were.
Which shows how immature I am. Then Muffin told me she was going on vacation and holding rejection letters until she got back so I thought I had a few more days.
You’re always on me about procrastinating. Once again, you were right.”
Kenny blew her nose and wiped her eyes as the tears streamed down her face.
She knew he wasn’t allowed to disclose the names of authors or manuscripts that were under his review until a decision about publication was made and the author was alerted.
She also knew it wasn’t his sole decision not to publish Armchair Detective.
He read the manuscript nearly as many times as she had before she submitted it to Border.
She wondered if she was being unfair to him.
Maybe she exaggerated her anger toward him.
He continued to ramble and apologize on the other end of the line and Kenny could hear him become more hysterical with each second that she remained silent.
“Fine! Colby, stop. I forgive you,” she tried to stay stern and not fall to pieces.
“I was heartbroken when I got the rejection email from Muffin. But the most hurtful part of the whole thing was the cavalier attitude you had all last Wednesday. I know you can’t talk about the projects you are working on, and I know you aren’t the sole decision maker.
But when I was down and out because of the Clinton White interview, you downplayed it and told me I was being dramatic.
You should’ve let me vent. And then you talked me into meeting you for a drink I didn’t want and proceeded to list the areas of life where I’m lacking.
You should’ve left me alone. All of this while harboring a secret that you knew was going to really upset me!
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair,” Kenny lashed, feeling weight lifted with each word coming out of her mouth.
“I treated you like a straight man would treat a woman!” he shrieked. “I’ve tried my whole life to not be one of those guys, and now I’ve gone and acted just like them to the person who means more to me than anything,” he wept.
Her sobs morphed into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“Wait, now you’re laughing? I can’t keep up! The silent treatment, the mixed emotions, and reactions. The anger, the sadness, the underserved forgiveness. It’s too much. I am so sorry. Please forgive me for causing you to be this way,” Colby dramatically carried on.
“Colby,” Kenny caught her breath, “I’m fine. We’re fine. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Never. Never again, Queen,” he said as he regained his composure. “Can you tell me where you are? Are you away for work? Or did you just tell me that, so I’d leave you alone?”
“I really am in South Carolina for the next few weeks,” she answered, contemplating how much of the truth she should share, “but I can’t get into the details now.”
“Of course, I understand. Be careful doing whatever it is that you’re doing. And, um, if you get any free time Muffin is interested in you writing a book,” Colby cautiously mumbled.
“What? What did you just say!” Kenny cut him off.
“She emailed me from Bora Bora. She thinks you would make a brilliant rom-com writer. The Manuscript Eater decided the women’s fiction space needs a fresh author and believes you’re capable of churning out best-selling beach reads,” he said in his best faux-cheery voice.
“You have got to be kidding me! Did she even read Armchair Detective? Does she know I won an Emmy for a miniseries about mass shootings and a Peabody for an expose on police brutality? Romance and chick-flicks aren’t exactly in my repertoire.” She chuckled out of both amusement and offense.
“I know, I know. At least give it some thought. If Muffin Evans wants to publish a new writer in this genre, she will. Why shouldn’t it be you?” he rhetorically asked, although he assumed the proposal fell on deaf ears.
“Yea, probably not. I’m hanging up now,” Kenny said in a way that relayed to Colby things between them were okay again.
“Thanks for forgiving me, Kenny. Love you, mean it, bi-yee!”
Kenny had a habit of walking around aimlessly while she talked on the phone and when she hung up with Colby, she found herself leaning against the His and Hers sinks in the tranquil bathroom.
She turned and looked at herself in the mirror and was surprised by what she saw.
She hadn’t honestly looked at herself in a long time; and when she did, it was usually only for a quick second to pluck a stray eyebrow or curl her eyelashes.
Although her eyes were still glassy and red from crying, the person staring back at her had a healthy look of relief.
The stress Kenny went to great lengths to internalize always crept out on her face, in the forms of lines on her forehand and bags under her eyes.
Even the expensive Christian Dior Airflash spray foundation couldn’t conceal the anxiety.
Today she didn’t need that foundation, her complexion had a sun-kissed glow, and the lines and bags weren’t visible.
Kenny turned on the spigot, splashed water on her face and massaged a soothing foam wash into her nose, cheeks, forehead, and chin.
She worked up more of a sweat than she anticipated while riding her bike and was thoroughly enjoying the few moments of pampering when she was startled by a pound at the back of the house.
She patted her skin dry and slowly made her way out of the bedroom.
She didn’t know anyone on the island and wasn’t expecting any deliveries, so presumed the knocker was at the wrong villa and wasn’t in a hurry to answer the door.
Thud. Thud. Thud. After the third bang she dropped the towel on the counter and made her way through the bedroom to the door with more urgency.
A short man with olive skin and jet-black hair wearing white painter’s pants, work boots, and a blue and white tie-dyed T-shirt stood on the other side of the sliding glass door, holding a duffel bag the size of a toolbox.
The man raised his fist and he was about to take another swift rap at the door when he saw Kenny and unclenched his fingers, giving an energetic wave in her direction.
“Hi, how are you?” Kenny asked as she slid open the door.
She never answered the door for unexpected visitors in New York but noticed herself letting her guard down over the last few days, for better or worse.
She hoped that if this man did come knocking with the worst of intentions, someone from the pickleball court or pool deck would be able to identify him in a lineup.
“Hello, miss. I’m Jose. I’m with Low Country Hospitality’s grounds crew and wanted to let you know that I’ll be servicing the pool here at Pelican Pointe.
I’ll stop by a few times a week for maintenance but if you notice anything needs tending to between visits, let me know,” he said slipping her a business card.
She knew her eyes were red and agitated the day she bumped into J.P. and Cliff at beach yoga but didn’t think they made an impression that warranted a house call from the property manager’s pool boy.
“Nice to meet you, Jose. Thank you for keeping the pool in pristine condition,” she smiled, although she found the gesture a bit odd and couldn’t help but wonder if the chipper cabana boy knocked on the patio doors of all the guests to hand-deliver his business card.
“It’s my pleasure, miss.” Jose beamed.
Jose’s smile was infectious, and Kenny could tell he genuinely loved his job.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said as he balanced the duffel bag on a bent knee. “This is for you, enjoy,” Jose said as he pulled a small brown lunch bag from the front pocket of the duffel and handed it to Kenny before spinning on his heels and hopping down the steps.
Kenny peered into the brown bag and pulled out a plastic flip-top sandwich bag that was secured with a blue twist tie.
Inside were four perfectly shaped sand-colored cookies topped with drizzled frosting and graham cracker crumbs.
The presentation reminded her of a snack she would have bought at a grade school bake sale during Catholic School’s Week twenty years ago.
There was also a handwritten note, another thing Kenny hadn’t seen much of since her grade school days. The writer in her admired the perfect penmanship that was complimented by dark black ink from an expensive ballpoint pen.
Kenny,
These are Miss Luana’s famous Key Lime Pie cookies, an island delicacy. I got her last bag at the market today and thought I should share them with the new girl in town.
J.P.
She almost burst. This island hottie sending her cookies by way of an unsuspecting pool boy was almost too much for her jaded heart to handle.
She hadn’t felt this level of giddiness because of a boy since third grade when Greg Loftus taped a heart-shaped Reese’s cup to the back of a cardboard Space Jam valentine when he gave the rest of the class bags of Skittles.
She fumbled with the twisty tie and took a small bite out of the zesty, airy cake-like cookie. It tasted like heaven and the gesture made her feel like she was walking on a cloud. She closed her eyes and finished the cookie, savoring each delicate bite.
Text to Hailey: These key lime cookies might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted (Emoji: smiley face with heart eyes) Thx for the recco!
The cookie was delicious, but the emoji was more reflective of how Kenny was feeling about the cookie sender.
Text from Hailey: Yippee!!! (Emoji smiley face: licking lips)