by Pat Simmons
“Hi, Eve. Where’s your Adam?” Mrs. Valentine smiled after her standard greeting.
“God hasn’t made him yet,” Eva always replied. Except this time, she wondered if the woman had seen her earlier with Kidd and was making reference to him. What an odd thought, she silently observed.
Although her name was Eva, people called her Eve more times than not. Of course, that name automatically seemed to be connected with the name Adam, like peanut butter and jelly or milk and cookies. It was simply expected that she would have an Adam. Unfortunately, Eva hadn’t had an Adam, Charles, or Jared in her life in a while. She tried to keep her mind off that void and focus on the task at hand: school, church, and her yearly volunteer projects with Habitat for Humanity.
Mrs. Valentine needed little assistance getting out of bed in the morning. On a good day, she could wash and dress herself independently, but at a slower pace. When she suffered severe bouts of arthritis, any movement was intolerable. Plus, she had weakened after suffering a mild heart attack. But today, she appeared to be in good spirits. Radiant in a pink lounging set, Mrs. Valentine’s only limitation was her struggle to remove a few foam curlers from the back of her hair.
Eva completed the task before moving on to Mrs. Beacon’s bed. A certified nurse’s aide had her already cleaned and freshened up, but the woman was still wrapped in her robe.
“Good morning.”
“Mornin’.” Her response had a tinge of a slur, barely noticeable.
Eva went to the woman’s side of the closet. Her clothing mainly consisted of colorful jogging suits. She pulled out one outfit after another until Mrs. Beacon’s selection was indicated through the sparkle in her eyes, before she ever voiced it.
“Lilac, it is.” Mrs. Beacon’s clothes were made of quality fabrics. She definitely wasn’t destitute or a Medicaid recipient. In compliance with federal law, every facility had to set aside a certain number of beds for patients with little or no means to pay.
“Did you sleep well last night?”
“She talks too much.” Mrs. Beacon appeared frustrated, as she sat with her left fist resting in her lap. As discreetly as possible, she used her right hand to pry the fingers open on her left hand. Eva noticed the woman’s frustration, but didn’t say a word.
A few days earlier, when Eva assessed the new resident, Mrs. Beacon was irritable from a plague of short-term memory lapse and failing hand-and-eye coordination.
“Can’t hear anybody talkin’ in my dreams,” she mumbled.
Eva wanted to smile at Mrs. Beacon’s complaint, but maintained her poker face. It appeared yet another one of Mrs. Valentine’s roommates was ready to change residency. Unfortunately, at the time of Mrs. Beacon’s transfer from the hospital, this was the only space available.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Beacon. I’ll see if we can find you another room.”
“I’m Grandma … Grandma BB,” she scolded, then swallowed. “Let me be. Her constant yip-yakking reminds me to doze with one eye open. All I need is my gun and my dog, and I’ll be fine.”
Right. This woman was going to be a handful. “You’re safe here. The staff is available twenty-four hours a day if you need us.”
Mrs. Beacon’s expression hinted she was doubtful.
At that moment, God reminded Eva of a familiar tune. As she sung the words to “He Lives,” the woman’s eyes danced along with the melody. Maybe Eva should come prepared with a song in her heart every morning to win the new resident over. Even Mrs. Valentine stopped talking and listened.
Eva’s singing ceased by the time she had helped Mrs. Beacon get dressed.
“My hearing is sharp, and you’re off-key. My little god-granddaughter can hold a note and knows the words of any song she sings. I miss that little angel, but I don’t want her to see her granny like this.”
The more Mrs. Beacon talked, her words became less slurred. Still, Eva listened carefully.
“Miss Lena Horne, I’m not.” She attempted to recall a name from Mrs. Beacon’s era; someone she would quickly recognize. Eva chuckled as she brushed the older woman’s glossy silver tresses.
“You got that right—a Beyoncé or a Rihanna, you ain’t either.”
Eva laughed. “See … and I thought I had a slight chance.” Maybe she and the woman with the colorful personality would get along after all.
“Nope. Your cute, little shape will get a man’s attention. But limit your singing career to humming only,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. Almost instantly, the humor was gone. “I’m serious.”
“Good advice, Eve,” Mrs. Valentine chided.
“Okay, I see what’s going to happen here, two against one.” She hoped Mrs. Beacon’s loose tongue wouldn’t corrupt her charming, kind roommate.
The women’s banter continued until Eva had to move on to the next room. “I’ll see you two lovely ladies later. Grandma BB, your speech therapist will be in shortly. From our conversation, you won’t need Hattie’s services long. But you’ll need to see your occupational therapist this afternoon. You’re sure to get a good workout today.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Beacon frowned. “Don’t think they’re not gonna get one too.”
Eva didn’t doubt it a bit. During the next few hours, she caught glimpses of Kidd, entering one room after another. He might as well have been speed walking, hardly spending enough time with any resident to memorize a first and last name.
Midmorning, she eyed Kidd slipping outside where the cooks and custodians took their smoke breaks. Immediately, Eva was disappointed to think he indulged in the unhealthy habit. For her, it wasn’t just the health issue; it was a turnoff. Yet it wasn’t even her business.
There I go again. Eva chastened herself rather than putting the Lord through the trouble of doing it. She was a work in progress, trying to stop judging people for their vices. “Prayer covers a multitude of sins,” was her mantra. Walking past the thin storm door that led to the patio, Eva slowed to eavesdrop, careful to stay out of view.
“Whatz up, Kidd? I’m Matt. I like your threads, man. They got a brotha up in here in a suit and tie. Cool. Don’t forget us, man.” Matt offered Kidd his pack of cigarettes.
“We’re in this together. Don’t smoke, but I ain’t turning down a drink when I want one. And I do believe in having a good time. Plus, my momma drilled into my head not to forget where I came from.”
Bumping fists, the group nodded. “You’re all right. You play cards or go clubbing?”
“You know it. It’s second nature. Can’t have a good time without those pastimes. I wouldn’t be a Black man, if I didn’t.”
“All right, dawg,” somebody said. A few laughed; one or two used profanity in a joking manner.
Why was she relieved when he confessed he didn’t smoke, but had no comment about his other vices? If he hadn’t been dressed in a shirt and tie earlier when she met him, from his demeanor alone, she would be convinced he was a gangbanger. His speech had easily slipped into their casual lingo.
Two of the men he spoke with were recent high school dropouts. Brad Lewis bragged that he had skipped the first day of high school, and it was downhill from there. At least the other young man had just passed his GED. Eva was proud of him for not settling and for striving to get an education. Hopefully, Brad would keep trying as well.
Bored with snooping, Eva walked away and almost collided with Dawn as they rounded the corner.
Eva did a double take. Her coworker was decked out in blue eye shadow, long lashes, and bright red lipstick. Dawn’s hair was swept up in a do that she probably couldn’t duplicate the next day. There were no pearls or heels, but the overbearing scent of body spray was gagging. For a fact, Eva knew that Dawn wasn’t dolled up when she came to work this morning.
“Girl, when did you do all this?” Eva swept her hand in front of her friend.
Dawn shifted her hips. “I took an early lunch and kinda upgraded my appearance.” She leaned closer. “Is it a bit much?”
Eva swallowed. She
wasn’t about to tell her friend that her appearance was over-the-top. Despite their difference of opinions in almost everything, she and Dawn Wright, an RN, became fast friends on Eva’s first day on the job a little more than a year ago. “Well, considering old Mr. Whitman has a crush of you, you might have to fight him off.”
When Dawn laughed, she had the prettiest smile. “Girl, he had to go to the hospital last night, so I’m okay. I’m talking about Kidd. He is one gorgeous man.” She exhaled.
“You changed like this for him?” Eva wasn’t about to let on that she had already predicted Dawn’s actions.
“Girl, you know me. I don’t miss great opportunities.”
Eva wanted a special someone in her life like any other woman since biblical times, but she made a silent pact that even her older sister wasn’t aware of. She refused to compromise her looks, personality, or lifestyle to lure a man. Now a distant memory, she recalled the time when she was in the seventh grade. As a young girl with a crush, Eva begged her mother for heels. Along with her struggle to conquer them, she wore her hair in curls to impress a boy named Harold Cunningham. But none of that counted.
Whatever a man saw in Eva was what he would get, 24/7. Although practicing what she preached netted Eva fewer dates lately, she tried to keep her mind occupied with good thoughts. Philippians 4:8 was her motivator: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”
Although she had to admit it, sometimes it was hard to think on anything else besides her loneliness.
“Check the smoking area.” What Eva wanted to do was shake Dawn and remind her of the past heartaches she suffered after chasing men who didn’t chase her back. How many times had she told Dawn to be herself? Yet, in the end, Eva didn’t believe in telling her friend, “I told you so.”
They said their “see you laters” and Eva needed to check on another resident. During the day shift when so many residents were up walking, undergoing therapy, or enjoying recreational activities, her most tiring job was keeping track of the walkers and the wheelchair rollers. She sometimes had to break into a jog to even keep up with them. It was such a blessing when family members and friends would visit. They provided an extra watchful eye on the residents.
By late afternoon, Eva was starving. Lunch had come and gone, and she hadn’t taken time to eat. Her stomach had lost its patience. Detouring to the facility’s largest dining room, she stopped one of the workers who happened to be picking up discarded trays. “Marian, whatever’s left in the kitchen that’s hot to room temperature, can I get some?” she asked, approaching the shy, young woman.
Smiling sweetly, Marian went to check. Minutes later, she reappeared with a wrapped plate on a tray. Thanking her for the goods, Eva hurried outside to hide on her favorite bench before anyone could stop her.
Her stomach was rejoicing in anticipation of the feast. As Eva walked closer to her spot, she noticed someone had beaten her to it. This time of day, residents were usually napping, while most of the staffers were sneaking glimpses at their favorite soaps.
The broad shoulders came into view first, then the thick, wavy head of hair—Kidd. She was surprised he had taken her suggestion so soon. Eva decided against choosing another spot. She enjoyed the view of the pond from that angle.
“Mind if we share?”
As he turned to face her, Eva saw the beginning of his smile. He had loosened his tie and the weariness was evident on his face. Kidd performed a quick sweep of her; his eyes seemed to dance as they came alive. Surprisingly, his appraisal wasn’t the offensive gesture of a man’s bold, lustful assessment of her body parts. She appreciated Kidd’s respect and adoration, but detected a hint of mischief as well. Eva would definitely keep her guard up.
He glanced at her tray and gave her a cocky grin. “It depends. Are we talking about you sharing your food or me sharing the bench and watching you eat?”
Eva laughed, bouncing the curls in her hair. “Not the mac-n-cheese—that’s nonnegotiable—so it has to be the bench.”
“Selfish,” he teased and shrugged. “I had two helpings at lunch. I don’t blame you.”
“I know. It’s only this good when Miss Gertie’s in the kitchen, which is a couple of times a week. Wait until you taste her fried chicken. Her sandwiches are great too—club, veggie, or chicken salad. In fact, I’ve never had anything of hers that wasn’t good yet.” Preparing to take a bite, she added, “I’m surprised there was some left.”
Suddenly, Eva felt bad for imposing. “Oh, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your solitude.”
Kidd stood and took one step, towering in front of her. “I would love to share my solitude with you.” He eased the tray out of her hands, never losing eye contact.
Swiping a paper napkin from under the plate, he used it to clear a spot for her. It was as if she was wearing a ball gown instead of a pair of scrubs that had probably picked up more germs than she wanted to know. Kidd held the tray as she took her seat. Before he gave it back to her, she placed another napkin on her lap.
Bowing her head, Eva said grace. She sighed and enjoyed the stillness of the moment. A minute or two later, she wasted no more time before sampling bits of meatloaf and stuffing her mouth with the cheesy pasta.
Leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs, Kidd quietly studied the water fountain. “I don’t think I’m cut out to work here,” he admitted out of nowhere.
“So soon? What do you mean?”
He huffed. “I’ve never worked in a nursing home before, and it’s more than the sweet old ladies who want me to dote on them. It’s everybody. Even when I walked past the petting zoo, the puppies were barking for attention. I’m overwhelmed.”
Eva withheld her chuckle about the animals. “One hundred and seven beds are demanding.” Maybe when she saw him earlier he was dodging her coworker’s advances. Running from Dawn would wear out any man. Oops. Two chastenings in one day.
While spending time around him, she hoped she wouldn’t break any records for prejudging his commitment. Eva knew it took a special kind of person to minister to more than the physical needs of the mostly elderly residents.
“Kevin, you applied for this job, and God gave it to you. You have a mission here.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Kidd replied in a cryptic manner that made Eva rack her brain to read between the lines.
Chapter Six
Five days. Kidd had survived almost a week with his sanity intact—barely. No thanks to Parke Jamieson the fifth, sixth, or whatever number followed his last name. Every day, his cousin had been like a dog waiting for a bone. No matter how small, Parke was ready to devour any update on Mrs. Beacon’s condition when Kidd arrived home. If this was what he had to look forward to until the woman was released, then he would either move or resign. After all, it was only Eva’s alluring presence that kept him from quitting before he completed his W-2 forms.
“Seen any signs of Grandma BB improving, or is she still a loose cannon?” Parke crunched on his cereal, as they ate breakfast at the kitchen table.
Mrs. Beacon was the furthest thing from Kidd’s mind. His primary goal was to limit interaction with the old folks as much as possible. He had said maybe two words to the woman in passing. She looked her age, whatever that was, and harmless. Not the viper Parke had described.
“Cheney’s called a few times and was basically told Grandma BB is coming along. What does that mean? You’re our only eyes.”
“Parke, if you want her to have around-the-clock security detail, then you should have hired a bodyguard. You know I won’t think twice about quitting.”
Parke scooted back from the table, folded his arms, and stared. “You’re right. I’m not going to dare you because I’ll lose. I’m not going to lay another guilt trip on you either, because I’ve done that, and you took the job …”
Wh
at else did the man want from him? Suck out all of his Jamieson blood? “Don’t pat yourself on the back if you think your guilt was so burdensome that I caved in,” Kidd said. Then he added, “I’m doing this as a favor—nothing more.”
Parke’s eye twitched. “I challenge you to think of somebody else for a change. Knock that mountain off your shoulder and be a—”
His nostrils flared; Kidd was fuming. I know he is not going to say what I think it sounds like, because I will not be disrespected. He didn’t care in whose house he temporarily resided.
Lifting a brow, he baited Parke to finish. “I guarantee you that I didn’t take a nursing home job for selfish reasons. Now, what were you about to say?” Kidd cupped his ear. “What, cuz, be aman? Just because I didn’t have a father in my life doesn’t mean I didn’t grow up to be a man.”
Pounding his fist, Parke leaned across the table. “That’s obvious. I held back because I didn’t know how you would take what I was about to—”
Kidd folded his arms, grunted, and then twisted his mouth. “Try me, and I promise I won’t take the first swing.”
“Be a Jamieson. That’s what I was going to say.”
“That name means nothing to me.”
“Yeah, I got that the first time we met. But it still means everything to me, my family, and our tenth great-grandfather who was captured in Africa.” He pounded a fist again.
“Save it, Parke.” Kidd held up one hand and pulled his keys out of his pocket with the other. “History was never my strong subject. I’d better head to work.” He emphasized the last word, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I wouldn’t want to be late and get fired.” He walked out, spewing a mocking laugh.
Clearly, the large house wasn’t big enough for two Jamieson men. Clearly. They were too much alike, but on opposing teams: pro-Jamieson versus anti-Jamieson. He should have left town the night of their first big blow-up. That way, he wouldn’t have known about Mrs. Beacon. He would have been back in Massachusetts and not in this predicament.
In the driveway, Kidd turned his focus to something else. He climbed behind the wheel of his classic silver Maxima—his car was a thing of beauty. It had been parked in a driveway in his cousin’s neighborhood when he noticed it.