by Kennedy Ryan
Chapter Twenty
Kimba
“So this might be bold,” Barry says, “but could I have your number? Maybe we could get together while you’re in town?”
I should.
For one, I haven’t had sex in a very long time, and I’m tired of doing all the heavy lifting to keep myself satisfied. Also, if I do decide to have a baby in the next year and a half, I haven’t exactly been out there fostering relationships. I’m infamous for the no-strings, hot-and-dirty package. Last but not least, why not? I’m here a few weeks and some companionship wouldn’t be awful. He does have that really lean biker body that I’m afraid if I straddle, I might break, but he’s attractive in a very kale greens kind of way. He’s smart and funny. Seems kind. Focusing on a date with an available man makes more sense than fixating on someone who is taken and has a family. It doesn’t matter that I felt more alive, more seen talking with Ezra than I have in years. I can’t let it matter. I need to do the right thing, and avoiding time alone with Ezra is the right thing.
“Kimba?” Barry frowns, his voice uncertain. I’ve left him hanging.
“Oh, sure. Sorry.” I fish my phone from the pocket of my skirt and we exchange numbers.
“I gotta go.” He grins. “But I’ll call you this week.”
“Great,” I force myself to reply with a smile.
He isn’t gone for two seconds before Mona takes his place by my side, grinning hard. “Did I see you and Barry with phones out?”
“You’re worse than Facebook. I just clicked on him, and you’re already flooding my timeline with ads for wedding dresses.”
“I know. I know.” She giggles and pulls her locs back from her face, knotting them at the crown of her head. “I’m just excited to see you connecting with someone.” Her smile falters and she licks her lips. “Someone available, I mean.”
“All right. Now you’re vague-booking me.” I give her a wry look. “You weren’t this passive-aggressive in eighth grade. Say what you have to say, Janet.”
She glances around the living room where some people are still talking, but most are packing up and making their way to the door. She tips her head to the kitchen. “Come help me for a sec.”
We walk into the kitchen, which is miraculously empty. She starts putting away covered dishes.
“I know you and Ezra used to have a very special friendship,” she says after a few moments. She leans against the counter and gives me a level look. “But you have to be careful.”
“Careful?” I ask, propping my hip on her island. “How so?”
“You know how so, Kimba. Ezra grew up to be pretty impressive.”
He always impressed me.
“I mean,” she continues, “fine as hell now, obviously. Tall, handsome. The whole thing, and smart as all get-out. And he has a huge heart. Lots of people at school get caught up in how kind he is to them, and I tell them what I’m about to tell you.”
“Which is?”
“He’s not available,” she says flatly, firmly. “Aiko is my friend, and I know they love each other very much. They have a son together. Please be careful. You don’t want to destroy that.”
“It’s been a long time since you and I knew each other, Mona, but I assure you, I didn’t grow up to be a homewrecker.”
“I know,” she says, her eyes wide. “But he has a wife—”
“They’re not married.” I have no idea what prompted me to say that, but I instantly know I shouldn’t have.
Mona’s expression hardens, her glace sharpens. “They may as well be. They’ve been together nearly a decade. Noah’s the center of Ezra’s world. You shouldn’t jeopardize that and you for damn sure should not be holding his hand.”
She’s right. You rarely see a car wreck coming. It happens suddenly, unexpectedly, before you can avoid it.
She’s telling me if I continue down this road, I’ll crash. She’s telling me to slow down. To pull off to the shoulder and let the storm pass.
I could lie to myself and pretend it’s just me, that I’m the only one wrestling with this temptation, but that’s a lie. Ezra has been watching me all night. I feel his eyes on me every time he’s near, and I just want to look back. If I’m not careful, I’ll set us on a collision course that could ruin everything.
I’m here for a few weeks and then onto the next mayor, governor, congressman. I could destroy his relationship, damage his family and be back on the campaign trail, leaving him to deal with the fallout.
“Kimba!” Noah bounds into the kitchen. There’s a small stain on his T-shirt that looks suspiciously like banana pudding. “You’re still here. I thought you’d already left.”
Ezra enters behind him. He leans against the counter and pulls out his phone, fixing his attention there instead of on what’s happening in here. Instead of on me.
“I’m still here,” I say, unable to stop the smile that plays on my lips when this kid is around.
“Good,” Noah says. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party on Sunday.”
Ezra’s head swings around and I feel his eyes on my profile. I also sense Mona holding her breath, willing me not to accept.
“Oh, Noah. Happy birthday,” I say. “Thank you for inviting me. That’s so sweet.”
“Will you come?” Noah presses his palms together, pleading dramatically. “I’ll be nine. You’re only nine once.”
Mona and I laugh. The unyielding line of Ezra’s full lips pulls into a smile. His eyes soften on his son.
“I don’t know, Noah.” I lick my lips and push my hair back. “I—”
“My mom’s not here,” he says, lowering his head, his smile disappearing. “She’s on safari, but at least I could have all my friends around. That might make up for it some.”
This kid’s good.
I glance at Mona’s neutral expression, which somehow still manages to appear disapproving. I look over at Ezra, and his eyes are that near-violet color that deepens with his most intense emotions. I feel him willing me to accept.
“Please.” Noah looks up at me, his eyes identical to his father’s.
“Okay. I’ll come.”
Noah breaks out into some dance that causes him to wobble his legs and point his fingers in the air. I’m sure I’ve seen it when football players make touchdowns. I can’t help but laugh, as do Mona and Ezra.
“You know you just got played, right?” Ezra asks, but his smile is pleased.
“I’m aware, yeah.”
Our eyes hold despite Mona’s watchful stare. Did I get played, or did I get exactly what I wanted?
Chapter Twenty-One
Kimba
In the Allen house, Saturday mornings are for cleaning.
At least, they used to be. Mama would be up by seven cooking breakfast. Pancakes and sausages. As soon as the meal was done, she’d assign Kayla, Keith and me chores, and we couldn’t go out and play or do anything until the house sparkled. We griped, but once the music was blasting and we were singing and dancing, we had that house clean in no time. My rendition of Whitney Houston’s “Dance With Somebody” into a dust mop microphone? Classic.
Saturday morning in my mother’s house is much different now. It’s not the starter home my parents purchased to be close to Emory while Daddy was in law school. The Sterns don’t live across the street, subdued until sunset on the weekends, observing Shabbat.
Daddy’s gone, God rest his soul.
Kayla’s married with her husband and five kids, God bless her soul.
Keith is a father and husband, too. Hmm-hmm.
When I come home, it’s just Mama and me. A sweet woman named Esmerelda hums as she cleans the house, top to bottom. Our family home is now at an elite Buckhead address, tucked among some of Atlanta’s most expensive properties. It’s eleven o’clock and Mama still hasn’t stirred.
In the breakfast nook, I sip the herbal tea the homeopath recommended to help with hormonal balance and to possibly alleviate some of the weight gain. I squint against the
bright sunlight, angling my phone to eliminate the glare. A text message from Piers.
Piers: Got a second?
I don’t bother to reply but dial him right away.
“Talk to me,” I say, taking a bite of the cantaloupe I sliced for breakfast.
“Good morning,” Piers says. “Hope I’m not disturbing time with your family.”
I glance around the empty room and listen to Esmerelda’s vacuum running in the living room. “You’re fine. Tell me what you got.”
“It’s interesting doing opposition research for a candidate who hasn’t hired us yet on a man who hasn’t even declared that he’s running against our not-client.”
“Ah. But I don’t just read the tea leaves,” I say, laughing and leaning back in my seat. “I grow them. Some of us wait for the future to unfold, and others bend it to our will. Knowing our probable opposition’s dirt at this stage may prove useful in securing the position itself. So Burton Colson. Dirt in the streets? Dirt in the sheets? What ya got?”
“Definitely in the sheets.”
“Balance sheets or bedsheets?”
“Both.”
“Send me a full report, including pics if you have them. And dirt in the streets? What’d you find?”
“Some business practices that, while not illegal, wouldn’t make him look good to certain key voting demographics.”
I rub my hands together, cantaloupe abandoned in favor of dirt. “Ooooh, my favorite. What is it?”
“Let me dig a little more to see what I can find and then I’ll share.”
“Okay. I’m gonna trust you, but next week, reveal all.”
“Promise.”
“Oh, and Piers?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Take some time off. I highly recommend it.”
We hang up just as Madame Mother enters the room clad in a simple silk robe with her hair brushed into curls. Mama’s still relaxing her hair, and probably will kneel at the chemical altar until the day she dies. She’s never had work done on her face. Why would she? Her skin is nearly as smooth and taut as it was when I was a kid.
“Morning, Mama.” I sip my tea. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She sets her coffee on the table along with a plate of eggs and toast. “What is it the kids say? Black don’t crack? That black girl magic?”
Hearing her parrot things “the kids” say makes my lips twitch.
“Who was that on the phone?” she asks.
“Piers, one of my staff. We’re gearing up for the gubernatorial race.”
“Which one?” She pauses in buttering a slice of toast.
“Georgia.” I wink and flash her a smile. “I’m hoping Congressman Ruiz will hire us.”
“Did Keith talk to you about his campaign?”
My smile slips. “Briefly.”
“And?” Mama cocks an imperious brow.
“We’ll see.”
“We’ll see?” Mama drops her toast and any pretense of casual interest. “Kimba Truth Allen, are you telling me you’ll get that white boy elected president, make this Mateo man a governor, but can’t be bothered to help your own brother?”
My chin auto-lifts, defiant before I have time to catch it. “I’m telling you I’m not sure Keith should be running at all.”
“And who made you the expert?”
“I did, Mama. I literally made myself the expert by doing this and doing it well the last fifteen years of my life.”
“Don’t forget what your father used to say.” Mama resumes buttering her toast. “Family is most important. Don’t get too big for your britches.”
“My britches are sized just right, thank you very much,” I say, caressing the gold ring on my thumb. “Daddy also said never take on a problem that has no solution. If Keith isn’t cut out for this, he’ll spend his entire political career going from one fire to the next frying pan. I, for one, will not babysit his ass through that, and I won’t mislead the people of this district into that disappointment.”
“If you won’t help him, we’ll find someone who will.”
“You are completely missing the point,” I say, dropping my volume to mutter. “As usual.”
“What’d you say? Don’t be talking under your breath to me, young lady. Say what you have to say if you’re gonna say it.”
“I said, you’re missing the point. This isn’t about me not wanting to help Keith. This is a question of him being fit for office and ready to serve. I pressed on some very basic issues, and he wasn’t prepared to discuss them. He’s got a long way to go before he’s ready to run.” I set down my tea and look her in the eyes. “And do you know he cheats on Delaney?”
She doesn’t reply, but bites into her toast and smiles over my shoulder. “Esmerelda, all done?”
“Yes,” the soft reply comes from behind me.
“Thank you. Then let me grab my checkbook.” Mama stands and shoots me a look loaded with reproach and warning. “I’ll be back.”
When I was growing up, that look paired with that tone would have me stewing in dread and trepidation. Instead, I can’t wait until she comes back. I’m right and I want this fight.
“As I was saying,” Mama starts when she sits down again.
“Actually, I was asking if you know your son cheats on his wife, and I was waiting for your answer.”
“I’m aware they’ve had some challenges, yes, as all young couples do. That doesn’t make him unfit for office. Surely many of your candidates had those kinds of…challenges.”
“Of course, but they wouldn’t be dragging the Allen name through the mud with their weak character and incompetence. Daddy’s legacy is attached to Keith, and—”
“Ha!” Her scoffing laugh cuts over my point.
“Excuse me? But did you have something to say? If so, say it, Mama.”
“Your father’s legacy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Girl, is that tea or Kool-Aid you’re drinking? Your daddy wasn’t perfect.”
“He was a great man,” I fire back, ice stiffening my spine.
“I’m not saying he wasn’t. Of course he was, but the women married to great men know they fart in their sleep and leave the toilet seat up. They are human. Your brother is human, imperfect, the same way your father was imperfect.”
“My father was no cheat.”
“How do you know what goes on between a man and a woman behind closed doors?”
“Are you saying—”
“I’m saying Keith and Delaney’s problems shouldn’t keep him from serving this state. You hold him to an impossible standard, which is your father. He always did spoil you.”
“Spoiled? Me? Keith is the one you both spoiled, allowing him privileges neither Kayla or I ever had simply because he was a boy. Letting him run wild so now he’s an entitled, underachieving, underperforming brat who assumes he can ride my father’s name and legacy into office. Well, not on my watch and not until I’m satisfied he will serve the people of this district well.”
Mama sighs with a despairing shake of her head. “You’re just like your father.”
“Thank you.”
Mama whips a glance at me, rolls her eyes and relinquishes a tiny smile. Against my will and better judgment, my lips quirk, too. Our clashes of will usually end in mutual respect.
“Look,” Mama says, “I know Keith has some growing to do, but no one’s perfect. Your daddy certainly wasn’t when we first got married.”
“I repeat. Are you saying Daddy cheated on you?”
Mama’s expression closes. She pulls her lashes down and tightens her lips at the corners. “Your father was faithful our entire marriage, as far as I know, and he was the kind of man who couldn’t have lived with that lie. So…no, he didn’t cheat.”
Relief releases the breath I was holding. “I don’t expect Keith to be perfect, but I do expect him to do better and to be prepared.”
“His heart is in the right place. He’s not corrupt like some of these folks running for office. If you’
ll be in Georgia anyway, helping Congressman Ruiz run for governor, it’ll be easier to advise Keith, too.”
My shoulders, held battle-tense, relax a bit. “We’ll see. Ruiz has to choose me first. There are a few firms he’s considering.”
“Considering?” Mamas brows snap together. “Did he not see what you did for Maxim Cade?”
“Well, Maxim is a once-in-a-lifetime candidate. Charlie Brown probably could have managed that campaign and won.”
“Don’t do that, Tru,” Mama says, eyes narrowed, voice dropped. “They diminish us enough without you making yourself small. You descend from queens. And I’m not talking about going all the way back to Africa. I’m talking about your grandmother who put her life on the line as a freedom rider. Your aunt who was a pastor when they said women couldn’t be and led one of the largest congregations in the South. Your great-great grandmother, who, with a sixth-grade education, opened her own restaurant and became one of the wealthiest women in this city.”
“I know, Mama.” I chuckle at her shaking the branches of the family tree to make her point. “You’ve told us a million times.”
“Well don’t you forget it. Congressman Ruiz would be lucky to have you manage his campaign, and better hope you’re still available and interested by the time he realizes it.”
“That part,” I agree, feeling some of my usual confidence surfacing. I reach across and touch her hand. “Thank you, Mama.”
She squeezes my hand briefly before pulling away to eat her breakfast.
“And I’ll see what I can do for Keith,” I say grudgingly. “At least sit down with him and hear where his head is at.”
Mama nods. “Thank you. I’m the first to admit he’s not always…responsible, but he has potential. If your father were still around…”
She’s right. Daddy would have whipped Keith into campaign shape by now and had him on someone else’s ballot years ago with his own run as the end game. I should have seen that. Should have done that. Kayla runs our family foundation, but I inherited Daddy’s strategic mind. Who will I have to pass it on to?