Guilty By Association

by Pat Simmons

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Mrs. Beacon ironically slurred the last word.

  “Actually, it’s sheer willpower.” He didn’t blink, as his nostrils flared and he folded his arms.

  “Ah, sit down. Don’t get testy with me. Nose expanding, biceps pumping, and height never meant nothing to me.” She met his stare. “Listen, if I get a crook in my neck looking up at you … watch the damage I can do from a wheelchair.”

  Oooh. Kidd wanted to test her. Instead, he huffed and took a seat on their dainty sofa. “Happy now?” He crossed one ankle over his knee.

  “I’ve already sent Parke a tweet. It took me less than 140 characters to let him know, the next time he decides to spy on me, not to send another Jamieson.”

  “Really? I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.” Kidd snickered, taunting her.

  “Don’t test me, Jamieson. Last Friday, he and Cheney called themselves sneaking in here. I may have a little trouble staying steady on my feet, but my mind is sharp as a tack … I think. Your bloodline is strong; I see the resemblance. Plus, Eva mentioned your last name earlier that same day, long before they showed up. So for now, everyone will have to continue tracking my progress on Twitter or my Facebook page until I’m ready for visitors—and not a day before. I’ll bust out of this joint first,” she said with a slight slur.

  Kidd shook his head. This woman was a force to be reckoned with. They might be able to get along after all.

  Mrs. Valentine cleared her throat, indicating she was about to take advantage of the cease-fire. “Just before you walked in, I was tellin’ B about the sundowners last night. They were on the prowl.”

  Now they were down to one syllable names—B? “What’s a sundowner?” Kidd frowned.

  “Every now and then, when the sun begins to set, Vince Williams gets confused and thinks he’s the butler for a man named Randolph Franklin. He sneaks out of his unit and walks the halls, asking us if we need anything else, bowing as he backs out of the room. He’s harmless.” Mrs. Valentine waved her hand in the air.

  “But the worse of them all is that Jack Miller. He’s a nasty old fool. It’s a good thing he can’t get out of his room half the time. I heard he was something else back in the day. Some nights, you can hear the staff fighting him off.”

  “So the freaks come out at night, huh?” Kidd racked his mind to place the name with a face. When he did, Mr. Miller didn’t seem strong enough to lift his head. He chalked it up to another one of Mrs. Valentine’s tales coupled with Mrs. Beacon’s collaboration.

  “Give me a few minutes with the sucker. I’d leave my carbon footprints all up and down his body,” Mrs. Beacon stated, without a hint of jesting.

  Kidd kept a straight face. If it wasn’t for her stiff leg, Mrs. Beacon just might deliver a blow. “There’s no need to make threats.”

  Jutting her chin, she boasted, “Humph. You think I can’t back mine up? I shot a man. My bullets are marked, and I always hit my target. Ask Cheney. It was her father.”

  This woman is crazy. Something told him that friendship ties would have been severed if Grandma BB carried out such a plot. Garden Chateau sure knew how to pair up the residents. Kidd smirked and decided to have some fun. “Hmm. Well, I beat down two guys at the same time for messin’ with my brother. I don’t need a gun. I used my God-given talent.”

  “I’m sure God didn’t give you strength for that, Samson,” Mrs. Valentine chimed in.

  “No need for you to bring God into this, V,” Mrs. Beacon warned her, shooting daggers her way.

  Actually, the two were quite amusing. He would have to visit them more often.

  Mrs. Valentine won the duel. Leaning forward, she batted her eyes and looked at Kidd. “I’ve been thinking about your dislike of your last name. You can change it like many of our ancestors. You know any Freedmans? I bet ya they’re descendants of former slaves who took on that name with pride after slavery ended. That’s why they called themselves—Freed-man. Now me, I’m taking Valentine to the grave.”

  Kidd remembered the old woman telling him that before.

  She continued talking like a runaway train from the station. “I’m from descendants of Robert Valentine. He bought and sold Blacks as if he was on that Wall Street. Our ancestors were valuable currency—silver and gold. Can you imagine the price of Jesus’ blood for our sins? Ooooo weeee.” Mrs. Valentine’s expression took on a faraway look.

  “After the war, folks would call for a Reunion Day throughout the South, hoping to find kin who had the same former slaveholder’s last name. If some had changed their names, the connection could be severed forever. Back then, Reunion Day stood for more than a good time. It was a way to track down family. You see, there was this man with a funny name who had enslaved some of the Harris family from Wilmington, North Carolina. Let’s see.” She paused. “There were the twins, Ross and Burr … and their sisters, Ceila and Mahaley. They were separated during the war. Ross ran an ad in the Christian Recorder newspaper. I think the year was 1893. Anyway, those were our distant kinfolks.”

  Mrs. Valentine eyed him. “Now back to your disdain for the Jamieson name. It can’t always be about what the enslaver called you. To hate your name is akin to hating yourself. You’ve got to love yourself. Christ loved you way before your great-great kinfolks were even born.”

  First Eva, now Mrs. Valentine. They really didn’t know him. Otherwise, they would know that he was all about self-preservation. And that translated down to loving himself. What did Eva and Mrs. Valentine do? Compare notes?

  “If your daddy made a bad name for himself, change the value of it. It happens all the time, especially with those celebrities. Don’t matter if their papa ain’t no good. The sons and daughters grow up to be successful. Don’t you know the good always shows up the bad? Let your light shine, boy. Let it shine.”

  Boy. Somehow that word coming from Mrs. Valentine made him want to make her proud.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eva went on the hunt for Kidd Jamieson. His car was parked in his regular spot, and his office door was open. But he was nowhere to be found. Not to worry. She had all of eight hours to track him down, so she went about starting her shift.

  In between residents’ care, she checked outside on the bench. Eva even searched some of his known hiding places that he didn’t know she knew about. It’s funny. When she wasn’t looking for him, she saw him all the time—ducking and dodging residents.

  Throwing her hands up in defeat, Eva gave up. As she strolled down the hall, she heard Mrs. Valentine’s harmonious voice in a one-sided conversation. She was about to knock on the door frame when she halted.

  The object of her search had his bulky body squeezed into a dainty white chair. Relaxed with his ankle resting on his knee, Kidd was entangled in the tale Mrs. Valentine was weaving. She had full command of the floor; even Mrs. Beacon was captivated.

  Mrs. Valentine looked up and paused. “Hi, Eve.” She smiled as if she had won bingo, her favorite game. The woman looked forward to playing it in the recreational room on Wednesdays. “I’ve got me an Adam.”

  Lifting her brow, Eva nodded at Kidd. She wanted to drag him out of the room and share her good news. Of all days, he was doing something he was paid to do. That forced her to tuck away her news for another time.

  “Good morning, Adam—or should I say Professor Adam?” she teased, hoping it would prompt him to ask her to explain.

  Dense or unconcerned, he chuckled. That was all the intermission Mrs. Valentine granted Eva. She continued her story, regaining Kidd’s attention.

  “Mistress Sarah Cowan had one slave named Miss Hannah. In 1860, she was 120 years old. Let’s see …” She tapped her chin and gnawed on her red lipstick. “I guess that makes her born in 1730 or ’40”

  “How can you remember details from a hundred years ago and can’t do simple math?” Mrs. Beacon snapped. Beginning to use her arm again, she reached for her cane, but came up short.

 
Kidd was swift to assist Mrs. Beacon and then sat again. Without missing a beat, he spat out his objections about the old enslaved woman to Mrs. Valentine. “And Miss Hannah lived her life as a caged pet, with mental and invisible chains. Humph. And people can’t understand our anger—our hate. Miss Hannah was somebody’s daughter.”

  The twinkle in Mrs. Valentine’s eyes faded. “Why, shame on you. Anger is a cancer that will eat you up. Miss Hannah adapted and lived. She was a survivor from disease, deceit, and dishonor—but she survived. Will you survive all the darkness around you, or will you give up right now? Miss Hannah had twenty-three children. My grandma didn’t say if they were all living, but …”

  The angry Black man syndrome was the unofficial, but obviously verified diagnosis for Kidd. Jesus was the only remedy to replace that anger with peace. Eva’s excitement about her test performance dimmed as her heart ached for him.

  Slowly backing out of the room, she said a prayer. The bitter words frightened her. Lord, how can I reach him? Even though I’m far from perfect, give me the wisdom to help.

  Mrs. Valentine’s mindless stories were fueling Kidd’s fire. This was one resident of whom he definitely needed to stay clear. If only Kidd would believe that Christ nailed his burden to the cross with Him. She prayed for whatever was tormenting Kidd. It had to be deeper than Mrs. Valentine’s tales.

  He stayed on Eva’s heart for the remainder of the day. The bright spot came when she logged into a computer at the nurse’s station and accessed her class grade. Her heart pumped as she waited for the screen to reveal her test results. Running her finger down the column to the previous day, Eva gasped. “Ninety-one!”

  Not believing her eyes, she blinked profusely, but the score didn’t change. She had never earned a ninety-anything on her other nursing tests. Eighty-seven had been her highest grade, and that was only one time. Usually, she scored in the low eighties. “Thank You, Jesus!” She pumped her fist in the air.

  Ready for an impromptu celebration, Eva began a marathon to the snack machines. This called for a high-sugar-content grape soda and a bag of caramel popcorn dripping in highly saturated fat. The nursing student within her scowled, but at the thought of junk food, her taste buds were already salivating. She almost stumbled when she saw Kidd guarding a vending machine as if he was a defensive tackle.

  Amused, Eva quietly observed him assaulting it. When she giggled, he paused and did a quick glance over his shoulder. His expression definitely wasn’t like he had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. She sashayed toward him. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Whirling around to face her, he leaned against the machine, blocking Eva’s view of the goodies. Kidd crossed his arms and stared into her eyes first. “Nothing illegal—yet.”

  “Hmm. Need a loan to get something out of the machine?” she teased.

  “No,” he responded, as he twisted his lips in a seductive tease. “I need for this thing to give me my bottle of iced tea. Do you have any suggestions on how to make that happen, considering I’ve already pumped in six dollars so far?”

  She swatted at his arm and Kidd flexed his muscle. “You’re a sucker for Mrs. Valentine.”

  “My secret is out. My affections are known.” His voice was almost husky. “Well, she is my valentine. I’ve got to keep her happy. How did you know?”

  “She’s always parched and in need of an iced tea after her stories.” They chuckled. Then Eva sobered. “I’m glad you like her. One never knows what her monologue will be from one day to the next. Pay Mrs. Valentine no mind when she talks about slave times as if she were there. She fabricates those stories. When I walked into their room today, you seemed disturbed by what she was saying.”

  The cockiness evaporated. Kidd broke eye contact and glanced over Eva’s head. “I’m tough. I can handle anything.”

  “What about your heart, Kidd? Can it handle anything?”

  No response. Eva mentally stepped back in her place. What made her believe that, just because he quizzed her, they would suddenly become more than coworkers? Why did she think she could speak her mind without him taking offense?

  Swallowing, Eva changed the subject as she eyed his arsenal of bottled drinks—Pepsi, water, and two cans of root beer—on the nearby table. “Thirsty?” she joked.

  “Nah.” Kidd shrugged and jingled the loose change in his pants pocket. Pulling out some dollar bills, he turned around and fed the machine more money. Within seconds, he grinned victoriously when it finally released the correct item.

  “Somebody needs to talk to your vendor,” he complained, scooping up his change from the slot. “Any word on your test?”

  Eva’s heart fluttered that he remembered something important to her. “I only missed three.” Her excitement erupted again. “Yay!”

  He stopped what he was doing and turned her way, wearing a smirk. “Congratulations, Miss Savoy.” He gave her a high-five. “You made me proud, girl.” His eyes danced with merriment.

  The man had so many personalities. The intensity of them all scared her. She loved it when he smiled, though. They always seemed genuine. On the downside, his anger was raw. What had sparked it earlier?

  “I haven’t been this happy since Jesus washed my sins away.” Eva didn’t let his blank expression stop her. “I needed to score high on this last quiz before the final. Then if I do mediocre on the final, I’ll still average a low B, but it’s still a B.”

  “So we’ll have to make sure that happens. Can’t have you missing your calling. Mommies and nurses know how to kiss it and make it feel better.”

  Their eyes locked, and Eva didn’t know if the man was flirting with her or not. If so, why did it thrill her so when Kidd wasn’t her type?

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and eyed the vending machine. Instead of sugar, she needed a bottle of water to cool her hormones. She could feel his presence behind her back. Eva willed him to disappear.

  “I’ve offered to help again.”

  “You have,” she confirmed.

  “Would you accept?”

  Was it her imagination, or was it the manner in which Kidd asked that made Eva wonder if they were still talking about her class.

  “Your tutoring services? I couldn’t refuse.”

  “How about anything else from me?”

  Okay, she wasn’t going to toy with any innuendos. Eva cleared her throat. “Hey, I meant to ask you how you knew those definitions so fluently that you could explain minuscule terms.”

  “I don’t play games, Eva. If you want to evade my question, fine. I’ll ask again, but when I get tired of asking, I’m done.”

  That sounded like a threat, but she kept her poker face in place. He wasn’t in a position to issue any ultimatums.

  “To answer your question, when I was younger, my mother worked for a doctor. He would let her borrow his medical books as a way to encourage her to pursue a degree in medicine.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes and no. She couldn’t get past the blood, so she did the next best thing. She paid medical claims after all the bloody procedures were done.

  “So before you turn me down again, think about my qualifications,” he whispered in her ear and swaggered down the hall.

  Are we talking about the same subject? Eva wondered.

  Kidd stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder. As if he was staring into a camera, it was her eyes he commanded. “By the way, I like your hair.”

  Dawn appeared from nowhere and grinned. “He’s a keeper, Eva. Don’t worry, if you kiss him, I won’t tell.” She winked and glided away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eva excited Kidd. He craved her smile in the mornings. There was something about her passion that he wanted to capture and emulate. His desire to touch her lips hadn’t diminished, even when those very sweet lips were hurling bitter comments about his character. She was beautiful when she was angry.

  He had catalogued her features. She was pretty, not drop-dead gorgeous. But then again, who cou
ld surmise that dressed in those nondescript scrubs. He wanted to take her out and see how long they would last before they disagreed about something. Kidd needed to set that wheel in motion.

  The work environment was not an ideal setting to spark a romance. But he didn’t believe in one-sided attractions. If she didn’t feel something for him, then Kidd could walk away and look elsewhere. He even ceased his friendly flirting with the old ladies. Actually, Kidd had become fond of them, but even in their old age, they acted very territorial.

  He was an admirer of natural beauty, and Eva had it—period. She didn’t need the one-inch lashes he had noted on some women or the rainbow hair extensions that made him wish he was color-blind. Until now, he didn’t know that a loose-fitting uniform top and pants could be so form-fitting with a little imagination.

  Kidd ended another workweek in a great mood. The pay was exceptional for a man with an associate’s degree. Even after he routinely sent money home to help his mother, he had a chunk left to save. He offered Parke money for allowing him to stay in his home. But Parke refused. His anger at Kidd had dissipated and he’d changed his mind again, stating that his cousin’s watchful eye over Grandma BB served as extremely adequate compensation. So Kidd regularly stuffed money into his three cousins’ penny banks.

  Earlier in the day, he asked his coworkers about fun-natured trouble to get into over the weekend. Some of them suggested The Loft in the city, near downtown. They said it was the night’s hot spot, so Kidd considered that as an option. Their recommendations had been right on point since he arrived. Matt, a custodian, raved about Envy, a club not far from Garden Chateau. Kidd had stopped by and had no complaints.

  Before he made any definite plans, he needed to touch base back at home. When he stopped at a red light, he fumbled with his iPhone, tapped his mother’s cell number, and then touched his Bluetooth. The moment she answered, Kidd felt something was amiss.

  “What’s wrong, Ma?”

  Hesitantly, Sandra released a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want to worry you. Your brother … he’s in Randolph police station.”