Guilty By Association

by Pat Simmons

  Kidd’s mother would be ashamed, but he was seconds away from throwing the first hook. “Let’s cut our losses. You wanted to get to know me. Done. I thought it was a good idea at the time. It didn’t work out, and now I’m out of here. Done.”

  His next move was to head upstairs and pack his bags. He was streetwise when it came to a matter of survival. Or he could be a charmer when the situation called for a subtle approach. Either way, he was getting out of there.

  Kidd wasn’t accustomed to taking orders. That was a task for fast-food workers. When the mood hit him, he lined his pockets without working the traditional nine-to-five gig. Whether he made petty bets with strangers at the bars or played poker and slot machines at the casinos, he won more often than he lost.

  “It’s not time to fold up, Kidd. We’re family. We have your back. If one of us does well, we all look good,” Malcolm’s wife pleaded softly, taking on the role as a peacemaker. With her next breath, her voice strengthened. “But it can also go the other way too. If one member is a bad apple …”

  Kidd grunted. “I guess I’m spoiling the whole bunch. Excuse me, ladies.” He tried to walk past them.

  “No.” Kami signaled with her hand for him to stop. “You have to listen to Auntee Hali. She’s good with kids—I mean children, because kids are goats.”

  Kidd inwardly groaned as Hallison winked at her niece. Could these women cut him down any more? Cheney cleared her throat as Parke shot daggers. With his arms folded, Malcolm held an unreadable expression.

  “Kidd … Kevin,” Cheney corrected, “we’re a family who believes in sharing the wealth and knowledge. Being a manager for the phone company, I handpicked a position for you as a U-verse technician. Good pay and benefits. You had it wrapped up with your engaging personality and Jamieson good looks. But you turned down the offer because you didn’t want the excessive overtime the position required. The extra work was unacceptable to you because it would interfere with your weekend plans.”

  Cheney glanced at her sister-in-law and continued talking. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know how much money you could’ve made in a year? Then, Hali, a human resources director”—Cheney glanced at her sister-in-law—“secured you a position in her bank’s call center. What do you do? Refuse to take the mandatory number of calls a day. In four weeks time, you’ve destroyed some good job opportunities.”

  Imani tsked.

  Kidd shot Imani a final warning. Like a feline cat moving around the room, glancing at him every few seconds, she was beginning to grate on his nerves. “One customer had a list of complaints,” he offered. “I put her on hold—”

  Suddenly Paden, Cheney’s toddler, yelled for her from upstairs. Kami took off for the steps. Cheney was right behind her, dismissing Kidd and giving Kami instructions. “After I check on your brother, I want you to stay upstairs and play with Paden until the adults finish.”

  Out of three children, Paden was Parke and Cheney’s youngest. Pace was the oldest, and Kami—their only daughter—was in the middle. At least the girl’s name doesn’t start with a “P,” thought Kidd. It was already confusing enough.

  Kami nodded. “Don’t let our cousin bully you because he’s big, Mommy.”

  Even a child thinks I’m terrible. Kidd groaned inside.

  He regretted thinking that this change of scenery could give him a fresh start in life. He should have stayed in Boston and stuck it out. Eventually, he could’ve made things work. Although it was ultimately his own choice, Kidd blamed Cameron for his present predicament. It would have been better for him if his cousin hadn’t called in the cavalry of Jamiesons from St. Louis.

  The phone rang and nobody seemed to make a move to answer it, as the standoff continued. Finally, it stopped ringing. Cheney must have answered it upstairs or it went to voice mail.

  Almost immediately, the likelihood of a fist fight was put on hold when Cheney raced down the steps, crying and ranting hysterically. “Grandma BB … Silent Killer …”

  Uh-oh, here we go, again. Who did the woman whip this time? Kidd had yet to meet her.

  Imani didn’t seem alarmed, as she folded her arms. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Not again. I told her to put up that dog before he attacks someone else,” she fussed. “Silent Killer’s just as dangerous now as when he was a trained police mutt. Even though he was shot in the vocal cords, bark or no bark, that dog still has fangs.”

  “No, it’s not the dog this time! It’s Grandma BB! She’s had a stroke—the silent killer!” Cheney clarified.

  Pandemonium exploded at the severity of the situation. Kidd’s employment status was shelved. He was trying to figure out how a dog and a disease were related when he was shoved into a makeshift circle. Malcolm gripped one hand and Parke squeezed his other. The next thing he knew, everybody was praying—except him. As the prayers lingered, calmness washed over Kidd seconds before his cousins loosened their holds.

  As the “Amens” faded and sniffles ceased, the women gathered their purses and jackets to leave. Parke nudged Kidd aside. “This isn’t over, cuz.”

  Wrong. Kidd was returning to Boston. He’d made up his mind. There was nothing for him here—nothing. He could pack in record time.

  “We’ve got to get to the hospital. Do you mind staying with the children?” Parke asked.

  What? Shock must have registered on Kidd’s face. Reconciliation? Where was the fight in Parke now, if he was going to back down like that—crisis or not? Plus, Kidd was definitely not a babysitter.

  “No matter what, we’re family,” Parke added. “I can beat you down later. Right now, I need to make sure my little Jamiesons are okay while we go to the hospital.”

  There is a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. God spoke Ecclesiastes 3:8 to Kidd.

  Huh? Kidd sucked in his breath, a little shaken. There was no mistake; he’d heard the same words from his mother’s lips when she broke up fights between her sons. Now it was God who took the time to intervene? There was no memory of that ever happening to him before. Blinking, he refocused and eyed his cousin. Kidd was speechless, as his opinion of Parke moved up a notch.

  “Thanks.” Parke took his silence as a given. Holding up his fist, he telepathically forced a fist-bump. After Kidd succumbed, Parke ushered everyone out the door before his abandoned protest resurfaced.

  Chapter Three

  The door had barely closed when Kami snuck up behind Kidd. He didn’t even remember her coming down the stairs. “My Grandma BB is going to be all right because I prayed for her.” Kami’s lips trembled, as tears hung in her eyes. This frightened little girl didn’t resemble the fierce warrior of minutes earlier.

  “Right,” said Kidd, appeasing the child.

  Whether she believed him or not, she headed back upstairs with her shoulders slumped amidst sounds of sniffles.

  Evidently Kidd didn’t do a good job of convincing her. His maternal grandmother had died from a stroke many years ago. He knew that wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

  “I’ve lost my mind. What did I just volunteer for?” His head was spinning when he collapsed on the sofa. He was still reflecting on what he had indirectly agreed to do—be the “on-call nanny.” Not only that, he was very much perplexed over what he had heard—a Scripture Kidd knew he couldn’t quote. Vaguely he recalled a saying about the sheep hearing or knowing God’s voice, but Kidd didn’t consider himself a sheep.

  Closing his eyes, he was drained and hungry. First, his day began at a factory where he’d walked off the job after the first morning break. Assembling devices for dry-ice blasting didn’t seem like the path to an exciting and challenging career. Second, a pack of angry women—okay, three—plus, a threatening little one, chewed him out. Third, he squared off with his cousin in his cousin’s home. Now he was stuck babysitting while a lady’s life was in question. “A busy day for an idle, unemployed man,” he mumbled.

  Rubbing his hand over his face, he was reminded of the stubble he�
��d missed while shaving that morning. The pendulum of the grandfather clock sitting in a corner of the room caught his attention and began to hypnotize him. Kidd’s lids were drifting closed when Kami reappeared.

  Her older brother, Pace, scrambled down the steps, but the toddler beat him to the landing by sliding on his belly. Kami was ready to grab Paden, but he had a mind of his own. At full speed, he raced away from her, giggling.

  Reluctantly, Kidd got up, and the children led the procession to the kitchen. The room had a wow effect. It was a showcase for the latest in cooking artillery and a library of the newest cookbooks for every occasion known to man. Pace sat first, then anchored his elbows on the table and stared at what probably seemed like to the child, his giant of a cousin.

  Independent, the toddler climbed into a high chair and Kami secured the tray and strap around him. Turning to Kidd, she placed their orders. “We want hot dogs, and pork and beans, please. You have to chop up Paden’s hot dogs because he’ll choke. You do know the Heimlich maneuver and CPR, right? And we keep ipecac syrup in the cabinet in case of poisoning, but you should still call the poison control hotline. Can we have juice instead of milk, please?”

  The young girl had his head spinning. One moment, she was reciting a version of Wikipedia’s medical diagnosis and treatment plan. The next, she was asking for juice. And for the record, he was certified in CPR and first aid. His mother made sure of it.

  She must be trying to get one over on me. Kidd didn’t answer right away, as he stared from her angelic face to the two young boys. Their handsome, manly features would break through at the appropriate time after the stroke of a razor. Both of them were a tinge browner than their parents’ fair skin. Only the girl was a carbon copy of her father.

  He had to give Cheney and Parke their kudos. At least the Jamieson rug rats were well behaved—so far—except for Kami. Something told him he had to keep an eye on her. At least Parke was married before he replenished the earth, unlike Kidd’s father. Ace wasn’t a single father yet, but there were too many close calls for Kidd’s comfort. In actuality, Ace was the one who needed to be away from Boston, if anyone.

  Without asking, Kami took charge of placing the plates on the table. Pace got up and retrieved the hot dogs and buns from the refrigerator, as the toddler waited patiently. How could he deny such dutiful children their requests? Caving in, Kidd served them juice.

  Before the hot dogs were nearly burned and rescued from the skillet, Kidd put a serving of pork and beans on each child’s plate. Then he listened, as they recited a children’s prayer to bless their food. They were so innocent.

  With everyone eating contently, Kidd shut them out to evaluate his plight. Pride kept him from wholeheartedly accepting the Jamiesons’ help. From the first day, he and his cousin had bumped heads on whether he would stay in a hotel or not. Kidd wasn’t penniless, and he was only considering a permanent move. It wasn’t written in stone yet.

  Parke had tried to argue his case. “I’m not a sensitive man, but don’t hurt my feelings and insult me at the same time. My house is opened to you for as long as you need it. Like I said before—four months tops—or whichever comes first. You better believe the next time I go to Boston, I’m bunking in your bed, and you can have the couch.” Parke wasn’t smiling when he said it.

  The jobs that the Jamiesons had paraded in front of him were good paying, even if they held little interest to him. More than that, Kidd wanted to dislike his cousins simply because they were Jamiesons. And up until last year, Jamieson was a bad word in his book. He had found himself resisting them and their help. It was as if they were trying to make good the Jamieson name that his father had tarnished so badly.

  Kidd gnawed on his lip, contemplating. Maybe he should stay and work out their differences. He loved Boston, but he did need to make a change in his lifestyle and some of the people with whom he associated. Crime was up in certain Boston-area neighborhoods; nearby Mattapan was fast becoming known as “Murderpan.” Then there was the death of Black Eye. Plus, the opportunities for a Black male were stagnant.

  He chided himself. Maybe he needed to realign his attitude. If another position came his way, Kidd would accept it gracefully and give St. Louis an honest try. It’s not as if they were insulting him with minimum-wage pay.

  Glancing at the children’s plates, he forced his mind to stop drifting. “How old are you?” he asked Kami, knowing he would forget as soon as she told him.

  “Almost seven.” She smiled and sat up straight at the sound of it.

  “I’m eight.” Pace didn’t wait to be asked, as mustard lingered on his top lip. He tilted his head. “Paden’s two.”

  If he ever got married—if—and if he ever fathered children—a bigger if—maybe God would bless him. Then again, God hadn’t really blessed him when he had to grow up without a father. As far as he was concerned, God let too many questions go unanswered. Like, why had his father deserted them?

  After their makeshift nutritious meal, the siblings began to argue over which cartoons to watch or games to play. Rather quickly, their perfect manners were thrown to the wind. Finally, Kidd assumed control and designated their duties until the kitchen was restored.

  When the work was done, the children led him into what Cheney described as “Parke’s cave”—the sun porch—where virtually every new electronic gadget on the market was housed. An enormous flat-screen TV was the main attraction.

  “We can’t come in here unless we’re with an adult,” Kami advised. Jumping on an overstuffed chair, crossing her ankles, and then her arms, she appeared triumphant. Paden protested, wanting the seat for himself. When his sister didn’t relent, he was possessed with a tantrum and hurried over to his big brother. Pace picked him up and patted his back until the toddler quieted.

  Good. He couldn’t stand tears on a boy, or a man. Lounging in Parke’s cave, Kidd wished for a beer.

  Kami asked, “Can we call you uncle? You’re too big to be our cousin.”

  “All our cousins are small like us,” Pace explained.

  Picking up the remote, Kidd chuckled at their curiosity. He aimed it at the screen and replied, “I don’t care.”

  A basketball game between the Dallas Mavericks and the Chicago Bulls was in the second quarter. Kidd was immediately drawn in and the boys settled near him. Seconds later, out of the corner of his eye, he snuck glances at Pace. The boy had begun to scoot closer to him until his bony elbow dug into Kidd’s muscular thigh.

  Ouch. To relieve the discomfort, Kidd was about to stretch his legs and rest them on a coffee table, but the two older children stopped him in unison.

  “You’d better not.”

  “Bossy Jamiesons make me sick,” he muttered.

  Pace stared. “Don’t you like being a Jamieson? Are you adopted too?”

  Adopted? What is he talking about? Adoption would have been too good of a fate in Kidd’s life. There was no way these children weren’t Parke’s flesh and blood. Stunned, he felt as if he had just learned the truth about Santa Claus. That didn’t make sense. They were a carbon copy of their parents.

  He frowned, noting the child’s curious expression. “I wish.” Kidd returned his attention to the game to dismiss the tale they were spinning. Before long, his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you adopted?”

  “Yeah.” Pace’s neutral tone indicated it didn’t matter. “I’m a Jamieson, because he’s my real daddy.” Pace stated that with pride.

  “I was adopted before you!” Kami protested.

  “Umm-hmm,” he responded in confusion. They were trying to run a game on him. A father didn’t have to adopt his own son, did he? Kidd stared at Pace. And he would like to analyze Kami’s DNA too.

  “I’ve got a nickname like you. I’m really Parke K. Jamieson VIII, eleventh generation descendant of Prince Paki Jaja of Côte d’Ivoire, Africa. That’s what my dad taught me.”

  What was it with this family’s fascination with Africa? Who cares? Kidd was darker than all
of them. I don’t even know some of my immediate family members. I’m definitely not concerned with African dynasties.

  “I’m older and smarter than her.” Pace pointed at Kami.

  “Uh-uh. You got a C on your homework. I got a A … I mean an A!” she boasted. The two seemed poised for battle. If Pace studied martial arts like Kami, the pair could tear up the house.

  “Okay. Okay,” Kidd said sternly. He scrutinized them again, looking for any sign that what Pace said wasn’t true. Nah. The resemblance was too uncanny. Then he realized the boy was off a number. “You mean, you’re the seventh,” Kidd corrected.

  Pace shook his head. “Nope. He died.”

  What? Their tales were getting more colorful. Died? Right. Before Kidd could catch them in a lie, the security alarm beeped, alerting them someone was coming through the front door. Kami jumped up and raced off yelling, “Mommy, Daddy!” Her brothers scrambled behind her.

  A few minutes later, Parke strolled into the room. He looked beat. Kidd got on his feet, not sure where things stood between them. “How is she?”

  “Grandma BB had a partial stroke.” He swallowed hard and explained. “Her German Shepherd, despite the inability to bark, knocked a phone off the table and kept scratching the numbers until 9-1-1 was hit. Thank God, the police came to check out the situation with Imani, her next door neighbor, who had a key. One of the officers who responded to the call recognized the dog as a former canine from his unit. He commanded Silent Killer to sit and the dog followed his order. The officers called for an ambulance and paramedics rushed Grandma BB to the hospital.”

  It was the oddest story Kidd had ever heard.

  “They’re going to keep her for a few days and run some tests, but she definitely can’t return home and live alone. And she refuses to come to our house—stubborn.”

  Anticipating Kidd’s thoughts, Parke held up his hand. “Before you use that as an excuse to leave, we have plenty of room. Since Cheney and I are considered her next of kin, we’ll look into a place where she can get rehab care. That won’t be until in the morning, though.” He paused. “Kidd, you haven’t met her yet because she’s been busy traveling with the Red Hat Society ladies. Then she came back and started setting up her Rent-a-Grandma local franchise.”