All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

  “It’s about letting go, son. Before you told me that you planned to marry and adopt a child I prayed that you would be a donor match, but now…” Her words trailed off.

  “Why have you changed your mind?”

  She unclenched a fist and placed her cool palm against Kennedy’s cheek. “You’ve given him enough. You’ve given all of us more than enough. It’s time you secure your own happiness.”

  Kennedy covered the small hand with his much larger one. “Everything I’ve given has been given to me—material things. I’d always thought it absurd that I’d be paid millions for running down a field with a football under my arm, while teachers and cops have to picket and demonstrate for a lousy three-percent-a-year raise.” He remembered his mother walking the picket line in the rain when she and the other teachers at her school had worked two years without a new contract.

  “Yes, Mama, I’ve given away a lot of money because I felt if I couldn’t be happy, at least I could make someone else happy.”

  “Are you happy now?”

  His expression softened. “Delirious.” Pulling Diane’s hand from his face, he pressed a kiss to her fingers.

  Her eyes filled again. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “There is always a lot at risk whenever someone undergoes major surgery.”

  “I faced risk every time I suited up and took the field. One hit, one wrong fall, and within seconds I could’ve either lost my life or been crippled for life.”

  “But you got out before that happened,” Diane argued softly.

  “You know why I got out, Mama, and it had nothing to do with the risks of the game. After I give Marvin what he needs, then we’re even. He gave me life, and now I’m returning the favor. He’s never going to contact you again.”

  Diane shook her head and closed her eyes. “You know that’s never going to happen.”

  Kennedy’s expression hardened, becoming a mask of stone. “It has.”

  “What did you do, Kennedy?” The look in his eyes frightened Diane.

  “Don’t worry about what I did. Just know that he’ll never call you again. The disrespect he’s shown you, my father, and your marriage ended today.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you go inside and change into something pretty? As soon as Dad gets home we’re going out to your favorite restaurant.”

  “I’d taken out some meat because Philip said he felt like grilling.”

  “Dad can grill tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of cooking, when am I going to meet my future daughter-in-law?”

  Kennedy had told his mother about Lydia and her incredible cooking talent. He had also told her about Mustafa. Lydia had given him the telephone number of the lawyer who’d handled her niece’s and nephews’ adoption, and he’d placed a call to Caroline Bennington, who had agreed to accept the case, but warned him not to tell Mustafa about the ongoing process.

  “After the surgery.”

  “When are you going to see her?”

  “After the surgery,” he repeated.

  Diane, totally bewildered by Kennedy’s response, asked, “Why?”

  Kennedy met her questioning stare. “I don’t like goodbyes.” He knew if he went to Maryland to see Lydia he would never return to Alabama. “I’m going inside to change before Dad gets home.”

  He went inside the house that had been renovated to include a second floor with large bedrooms, a wraparound porch, a gourmet kitchen, an all-weather patio, and a library/office. Philip had refused his offer to buy them a house in an upscale community in Mobile because he liked the small-town ambience of Smoky Junction. In the end, the man who had become his father the year he turned four agreed to let him underwrite the costs for renovating and expanding the small white frame house he’d bought for his wife and stepson.

  Kennedy climbed the steps to the second-floor bedroom he occupied whenever he stayed in Smoky Junction. The expansive sun-filled bedroom, with a sitting room, private bath, and antique furnishings beckoned one to come and stay awhile.

  Reaching for the cell phone on his waist, he punched in Lydia’s programmed number. It rang several times before he heard her voice mail message. “Hi, Lydia. This is Kennedy. I’m calling to let you know that I’ll be here for a while longer. I miss you and… I love you.”

  He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. He shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on an armchair. As he undressed he thought about the conversation he’d had with Marvin earlier that afternoon in his attorney’s office. He’d agreed to give him a kidney, but on one condition. The older man would have to sign an affidavit that he would never contact Diane Anderson or her husband, Philip Anderson, again, or he would be subject to arrest for harassment.

  Marvin had glared at him across the table for a full minute, then picked up a pen and signed the document. It was witnessed and notarized by the firm’s paralegal before the parties involved got up and shook hands.

  His mother spoke of letting go. He had let go of Nila. Lydia had let go of her past, and now Diane would be given the opportunity to let go of Marvin and give Philip what she’d withheld from him for more than thirty years—a marriage free of the encumbrances from her past.

  Kennedy walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, mentally counting the weeks until he would be reunited with the woman who had filled the space the other women he’d known couldn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kennedy closed his eyes, shutting out the blinding light overhead. He’d been prepped for surgery, and the drug they’d given him before he was rolled out of his room and into the operating room made him feel light-headed, weightless. He heard voices, male and female, and felt someone extend his left arm in an outward position.

  He had spoken to Lydia the night before but did not tell her he was to undergo surgery the following morning for the removal of one of his kidneys. He’d heard the frustration in her voice when she asked if she was ever going to see him again. His words of reassurance that they would be reunited sounded weak until he asked her, “Why do you tug so hard at my heart—that space that other women couldn’t fill?” Lydia was unable to reply because she’d begun crying. The last thing he remembered before he ended the call was her crying.

  The anesthesiologist leaned over him. “Kennedy.” His eyes crinkled above his mask when his patient opened his eyes. “You’re going to feel a slight prick, and then I want you to start counting backward from a hundred.”

  Sighing heavily, he nodded. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…” He reached eighty-nine, and then his world went dark.

  * * *

  “What’s up with your daughter?” Charles Lord asked his wife.

  Etta Mae shot her spouse of more than fifty years a look that spoke volumes. “Why is it whenever one of your children has an attitude it’s always my son or my daughter? When is it ever ours, Charles?”

  “It’s your daughter because you understand them better than I do. Remember, we had six boys before I had to deal with the girls and their mood swings.”

  Andrea, cradling Sharon’s infant daughter in the crook of one arm, walked into the kitchen in time to overhear her father. “Daddy! Oh no, you didn’t go there.”

  Charles sucked his teeth. “Yes, I did.”

  “We all know how disappointed Lydia is because the owner of that new office building turned down her restaurant proposal.”

  “That was months ago, Andrea. It’s now the end of November, and she should’ve gotten over it by now.”

  “Daddy, you know how sensitive she is,” Andrea said in defense of her baby sister. She smiled at the baby in her arms. “Sharon is going to throw a fit if she sees me standing here holding Jessica instead of putting her in her crib. She complains that Orlando picks her up as soon as he gets home, and now she doesn’t want to be put down.”

  Etta Mae stood up and held out her arms. “I’ll take her upstai
rs.” An upstairs bedroom had been turned into a nursery with the birth of her grandchild. The large room was outfitted with three cribs, two youth beds, and a set of bunk beds.

  A loud roar went up from the enclosed back porch where most of the male family members had gathered to watch the televised Thanksgiving Day football games. Their spouses had congregated in the family room to watch their favorite movies. The sound of the front doorbell reverberated throughout the house.

  “I wonder who that could be,” Charles said. Whenever the family gathered together, the door was never locked.

  Andrea motioned to her father. “Don’t get up, Daddy. I’ll see who it is.”

  She made her way out of the kitchen, down a hall, through an expansive entryway, and to the front door. She opened it, then went completely still. She recognized the tall man standing on her parents’ porch. Her stunned gaze shifted to the young boy at his side, believing he had come to the wrong house.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to have come unannounced, but I’d like you to let Lydia know that Kennedy Fletcher and Mustafa Johnson are here to see her.”

  Andrea’s mouth opened and closed several times before she was able to say, “Please come in, Mr. Fletcher.” Kennedy and Mustafa walked into the entryway as Andrea disappeared into another part of the house.

  Andrea walked into the family room. Everyone held their sides while laughing at the antics of the Wayans brothers’ comedy hit White Chicks.

  “Lydia, there’s someone here for you.”

  She glanced away from the wall-mounted television screen. The last time someone had come to her parents’ house to see her it had been Justin. Although she hadn’t heard from him since his e-mail, she still expected him to pop up unexpectedly.

  “Whoever it is, I don’t want to see them.”

  “I think you’d better come and tell him that yourself.”

  A frown creased Lydia’s forehead. She was missing the actors’ witty dialogue. “Who is he?” she snapped angrily.

  “You’ll know him when you see him. He has someone named Mustafa with him.”

  Lydia jumped as if she’d been jolted by a bolt of electricity. “Kennedy?”

  Andrea smiled. “Yes. He said he was Kennedy Fletcher.”

  Heads turned and all gazes were fixed on Lydia instead of the television screen.

  “How do you know him?” Sharon asked.

  Lydia rose slowly from a love seat, her knees shaking. “We met at camp.”

  Someone hit the Pause button on the remote, and everyone followed Lydia as she walked out of the family room.

  * * *

  Lydia saw him and Mustafa, the tears blurring her eyes making it difficult to see their faces clearly. She hadn’t heard from Kennedy in almost a month, and she’d imagined every conceivable scenario: accident, another woman, or possible death. When he didn’t call her for their regular Sunday night chat, she called him. After hearing his voice mail message three times, she’d given up and stopped calling.

  Kennedy had lost weight, a lot of it. But he still was as handsome and virile as she’d remembered him. A smile trembled over her lips as she extended her arms.

  Kennedy took two long strides and gathered Lydia to his chest. Smiling, he lowered his head and nuzzled her neck. “I told you I’d come, baby,” he whispered against her moist, parted lips.

  She placed tiny kisses all over his face. “You had me worried to death because I thought something had happened to you.”

  The sound of someone clearing their voice shattered the spell, and Lydia turned to find her father and brothers staring at her and Kennedy.

  Mustafa peered shyly at the crowd of people staring at Mr. K and Miss Lydia.

  Lydia moved between Kennedy and Mustafa, grasping their hands. “Daddy, I want you to meet two people who are very special to me. Kennedy Fletcher and Mustafa Johnson. Kennedy, Mustafa, my father, Charles Lord.”

  Kennedy offered his right hand to Charles. “I’m honored, Mr. Lord. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Charles took the proffered hand, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Same to you, son. Have you eaten?”

  Kennedy glanced over at Mustafa. “No, sir. We haven’t.”

  “Well, come on in and sit down. We’ll talk later.”

  The tense moment over, the crowd parted like the Red Sea and watched Kennedy and Mustafa as they followed Lydia and Charles into the kitchen.

  “Yo, Juggernaut, what’s up, man?”

  Turning to his left, Kennedy stared at Orlando Gibson. “Hey, O.G. What are you doing here?” The two men shook hands, then hugged each other.

  “I’m family. I’m married to Sharon Lord. What brings you here?”

  Kennedy smiled at his fraternity brother. He’d first met Orlando at an Atlanta Greek Fest during his junior year in college. “Lydia and I are engaged.”

  Dwayne and Quintin exchanged knowing glances. “Lydia, why don’t you fix your fiancé and Mustafa a plate, while we get acquainted with Kennedy?” Dwayne drawled softly.

  Lydia glared at Dwayne, knowing what her brother was up to. They planned to execute Intimidation 101. “Okay. Mustafa, please come with me.”

  Kennedy followed Lydia’s brothers to the rear of the house and into an enclosed back porch. She’d told him what he would encounter, and he was hard-pressed not to keep a straight face.

  Dozens of eyes were trained on him as the men circled him. His gaze swept over those ranging in age from midfifties to late teens.

  Slowly, methodically he removed his jacket and let it fall to the carpeted floor. Not taking his eyes off Dwayne, he motioned to him. “You first.”

  Dwayne’s jaw dropped. “Say what?”

  Kennedy assumed a fighting stance. “I learned a long time ago to take out the big one first. And after I drop you, then I’ll take you, then you,” he drawled, pointing at Lucien and Quintin.

  “Who the hell are you to call me the big one!” Dwayne shouted.

  Everyone laughed, some collapsing to the sofa, love seats, and chairs. They laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

  Dwayne’s youngest son threw an arm over his father’s shoulders. “I’ve told you you need to lose that belly, Dad.”

  It was Kennedy’s turn to laugh. Dwayne, still smarting, glared at him. “I can’t believe you’d come up in my folks’ place and roll up in my face like that.”

  Kennedy sobered quickly. “I told Lydia that if you don’t start none, there won’t be none. I came here to meet the family of the woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with, not get into a confrontation with her menfolk. Lydia doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval to marry, but it would make things a lot easier if we all got along.”

  Quintin stepped forward, extending his hand. It was apparent the man Lydia planned to marry could not be intimidated. “Welcome to the family, brother.”

  One by one all of the men lined up and shook Kennedy’s hand. Dwayne was last, smiling and pounding his back. Kennedy stiffened and clamped a hand over his right side.

  “What’s the matter?” Dwayne asked.

  “I’m still recovering from a surgical procedure,” he said between clenched teeth. Not only was he still in pain, but he also experienced recurring bouts of fatigue.

  “Now, ain’t you nothin’? How can you talk about kicking my ass when you’re in no shape to take a punch, my brother?”

  Quintin curved an arm around his brother’s neck. “Let it go, Dwayne. What you need to do is come with me when I go to the gym.”

  “Hey, Ken, come sit down and watch this conversion play,” Lucien Lord called out as he positioned himself in front the television.

  Someone made space for him on a sofa. He sat down, slapping his knee and groaning with the others when the quarterback’s snap was intercepted.

  Kennedy was so caught up in the game and the camaraderie of the men in the room that he waved Lydia away, telling her he would eat later. She mumbled something about “football junkie,” before she stalked
back to the kitchen.

  Her mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law, who wanted to know the 411 on her and Kennedy Fletcher, surrounded her.

  * * *

  Lydia lay beside Kennedy, her head resting on his shoulder. The light from a bedside lamp fired the flawless cushion-cut diamond set in a pavé band on her left hand. She wiggled her fingers, smiling.

  “You can exchange it if you don’t like it.”

  “No, Kennedy. It’s exquisite. You have wonderful taste in jewelry.”

  He chuckled softly. “I have a confession to make. My mother picked it out for me.”

  “I’ll make certain to thank her when I meet her.”

  Smiling, she recalled the events that followed Kennedy’s surprise visit to her parents’ house earlier that evening. He never made it to the kitchen to eat his Thanksgiving dinner. He’d become so engrossed in the football game that he wound up eating in front of the television.

  Mustafa made friends easily with the younger children. Micah had appointed himself as Mustafa’s mentor, and when Kennedy told him he was taking him back to Friendly Heights, he balked. Kennedy and Quintin conferred with each other, and after a lengthy discussion Mustafa went home with Quintin, Victoria, and their children for a sleepover.

  Kennedy and Charles had gone for a walk together. After they returned to the Lord house, Kennedy had asked to see Lydia alone. He’d proposed marriage again, slipped the ring on her finger, and sealed his promise to love her always with a breathtaking kiss.

  “I love you, my ring, and this house,” she whispered near his ear.

  The Regency-style house was built on a quiet tree-lined street in a suburb near the D.C.–Maryland line known as Friendship Heights. Kennedy had taken her on a tour of the six-bedroom, five-bath residence, surprising her because most of the rooms were empty.

  “The house is yours to decorate any way you want.” Shifting on his side, Kennedy faced Lydia. “When do you want to get married?”

  She held his steady gaze. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Fletcher, before I set a wedding date.”

  He ran a finger down her nose. “What do you want to know?”