Everything's Better With Kimberly

by Lucy Eden

  “Thanks, Daddy, I will. Bye, Mom! Love you!”

  “Bye, baby. Call me later!”

  Instead of ending the video chat, my mom must have just put the tablet down. I was staring at the chandelier in the sitting room.

  “See, Bevy? She’s fine.” A loud kissing noise, followed by a small moan.

  My finger hovered over the red end-call button.

  “She is not fine, Reggie.” I could almost picture her head snaking side to side as she said my dad’s name. “I know my baby. Something’s going on and she’s just gonna bottle it up, and you remember what happened with that…boy.” Another moan followed by my mom calling my dad Judge Simmons.

  And I’m out. I ended the call, wondering how many puzzles it would take to make me forget what I’d just heard. I might have to dig up a mind-numbing Sunday. I also wondered how long it would take my mother to figure out exactly what was going on.

  When I returned to the balcony, Adam was right where I left him. He was stretched out on the lounge chair with one leg extended and the other was hanging off of the side. One of his giant arms was draped over his face and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. His t-shirt was wrinkled from where I had been pressed against him, and part of me wished I was still there. I missed being a part of him, feeling his arms wrapped around me.

  He must have felt my eyes on him because he turned to me and gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I walked over and sat on the chair next to his. He put his hand on my knee.

  “How’s your mom? Everything good?”

  “She’s great. She was just checking in.”

  We sat in heavy silence, staring at the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean but not really seeing it. My head swam with conflicted thoughts. Starting a relationship with Adam would be disastrous. And wasn’t I being a bit presumptuous? What if Adam didn’t want a relationship? What if we started a relationship and it ended like my last one—my only one? What if he just wanted sex? What if we both wanted a relationship, ignored these feelings and ended up making the biggest mistakes of our lives? Okay, the last one was extra dramatic. I wondered if Adam was thinking any of the same things, and I chanced a peek at him. He turned his head at the exact same moment and we locked eyes. He smiled and his hand tightened on my knee.

  Maybe one last make-out session wouldn’t hurt.

  No, Kimberly. One last make-out sess—

  My watch pinged again, signaling a phone call, and saving me from another internal argument and possibly another full-body tingling mistake with Adam. It was Donna from the Red Cross. She provided me with an address and time. When the call ended, I was grateful for a purpose and a distraction.

  I rose to leave and was stopped by the rumble of Adam’s deep voice.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  “I’m going to volunteer for the Red Cross for a few hours.”

  He didn’t respond, but he gazed at me with a look I couldn’t quite place. It seemed to be a mixture of surprise, adoration and curiosity. A crazy thought popped into my head and before I could stop myself I added, “Do you want to come with me? I’m sure they could use an extra hand or two.”

  We made the ninety-minute journey with Adam’s car and driver, which I learned was provided as a courtesy with his brother’s apartment. Our driver, Francis, was born and raised in Barbados and talked animatedly about everything we passed, including answering all of Adam’s questions about the older buildings.

  The storm had touched the entire island, but as we traveled west the devastation increased. Fallen leaves turned into fallen branches that got bigger and bigger the further we traveled. We passed through the harbor in Bridgetown and saw damaged sailboats.

  When we hit the West coast, we began traveling north and the roads became more narrow and twisted with sharp turns. Francis made a quick detour to avoid a fallen tree and I gasped reaching for Adam’s hand. It was there waiting for me. He engulfed my hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. There was a tightness in my chest that wasn’t the signal of an impending panic attack, and a warmth spread through my body that had nothing to do with lust. Our eyes met and he gave me a reassuring smile and a wink. I quickly turned away and continued to gaze out of the window without letting go of his hand.

  “You have to be Kimberly,” Donna said as we entered the auditorium of a school that had been converted into a make-shift storm shelter. “You look exactly like your mother. How is she? We didn’t get a chance to chat for more than a minute this morning. I am running myself ragged today. Thank you so much for coming. You’re a Godsend.”

  “Can I get you something?” I said without thinking. “A coffee or water or…”

  “No, thank you, dear. The best way to help me right now is to get to work. —No, Hector! All deliveries go to the rear entrance! We need to keep the front entrance clear for the folks coming in! Thank you, darling! — It’s non-stop, I tell you.” She shook her head and her eyes landed on Adam. “And who is this?” Her voice went up an octave on word who.

  “This is my…friend, Adam.” I wasn’t sure how to introduce him, but I think we moved past work colleagues when my tongue was down his throat and his hand was up my shirt. “He heard I was volunteering and wanted to help.”

  “Well, we could certainly use it, especially those muscles.” She was now shamelessly leering at him and Adam grinned smugly, enjoying the attention. I cleared my throat, breaking the spell. She refocused and continued. “We’ve been waiting for supplies all morning and now they’re coming all at once. I’m not complaining, but the trucks are pulling up faster than we can unload them.”

  “I’m happy to help.” Adam put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and Donna giggled. She actually giggled like she was a fourteen-year-old girl and not a grown woman in her fifties navigating hundreds of people through the aftermath of a natural disaster.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Wait a minute, was I jealous of Donna? This man has definitely turned me into a crazy person.

  “Great! Kimberly, you come with me. And Adam, I’ll have someone show you to the loading area. Kyra! Can you come here?”

  I definitely wasn’t jealous of Donna. Annoyed would be a better descriptor because when Kyra turned around, I felt the unmistakable flames of red-hot envy.

  She was wearing a tank top that was too tight in my opinion. Her shorts were way too short and looked like they had been painted on. She was shorter than me by a few inches with a tiny waist, large hips and larger breasts. And, of course, she was beautiful. She looked like Tessa Thompson’s evil twin. She bounced over to us with shiny auburn curls that fell halfway down her back. When she spotted Adam, she looked me up and down, possibly sizing me up, before making a big show of piling her mass of curls on top of her head and fastening them in a messy bun with a hair tie she wore on her wrist, arching her back and pushing out her chest in the process.

  “Kyra, this is Adam,” Donna said, pointing to Adam unnecessarily. “I need you to show him where they’re unloading supplies out back. Hector should be out there.”

  Hector should be in here to take Adam himself, I thought to myself before trying to push the thought away. I had no business being jealous over a man that I had just hours ago declared I didn’t want. Adam Price could do whatever he wanted to with whomever he wanted. It was none of my business.

  But I didn’t have to like it.

  “Sure thing, Donna.” Kyra grinned at Adam before casting another glance at me. “Come with me, handsome.”

  Adam turned to me wrapped his huge hand around my bicep and caressing my shoulder with his thumb. “See you soon, Princess,” he said with a wink before following Kyra across the auditorium. Her step didn’t seem as bouncy as before. Her shorts also didn’t seem as short as they were a second ago and her top was actually pretty cute. Maybe, I’d ask her where she got it.

  “Kimberly!” Donna said my name as if it hadn’t been the first time. I refocused and followed her.

  I would be handing out blankets and
ADL kits to families after they finished checking in and entered the auditorium. The large room was filled with about a hundred neatly lined cots. There was a play area for kids filled with toys, games, and a large screen TV playing cartoons. Donna also informed me that there were classrooms set up for anyone needing counseling or medical attention, and if I encountered anyone in need, I was to direct them to another supervisor. I was to chat, offer comfort, but not to advise and to direct any questions to supervisors. Easy enough, I thought to myself. I’d been volunteering for as long as I can remember. My brothers and I spent countless hours of our childhood handing out toys, building playgrounds and serving food. Sometimes, when my mom would get a call for a crisis counselor, she would take me and my brothers with her. We would often get the very important jobs of handing out water or making sure the check-in table always had pens.

  Moving carefully through the rows of cots, I handed out supplies and made small talk. I fetched food and water for those who asked and put my arm around those who needed it. For those who needed to be heard, I listened.

  The attendance in the auditorium ebbed and flowed as family members arrived to claim loved ones and hotels that accepted Red Cross vouchers notified the center that there were vacancies. They were replaced by survivors who were rescued from their homes, made the long journey to the shelter or were transferred from shelters that were too crowded. I encountered young and old, rich and poor in every shade. My parents always instilled in us the value of volunteering, whether it was money or time. They always said that everyone was either one paycheck, one catastrophe, or one illness away from losing everything. Even those of us who had so much.

  It had been hours since I saw Adam, but I felt his presence, mostly in the whispers around the shelter and the occasional glances my way. Groups of people, mostly women, were making unnecessary trips through the back door of the auditorium to return minutes later clutching their chests and giggling.

  Finally, he emerged from outside dripping with sweat. He leaned on a tall stack of bottled water before snatching one out of the top case, unscrewing the cap and downing the whole bottle in seconds. Using the hem of his t-shirt, he mopped the sweat from his forehead, flashing his chiseled abdomen. The atmospheric pressure shifted in response to the clenching of almost every woman’s vagina in the auditorium, including mine, and I’d guess a fair amount of sphincters.

  Turning quickly, I continued to make my way through the row of cots hoping he didn’t catch me ogling him. I was pretty sure I’d made a clean escape when I felt a tug on my shirt. I spun around and looked down to see a little boy in red shorts who looked like he was about eight years old accompanied by a slightly younger girl who could only have been his sister. She was wearing a bright yellow dress.

  “Do you know him?” The little girl pointed at Adam.

  I nodded.

  “Is he Thor or is he Captain America?” The little boy gazed at me intently waiting for a response.

  This was a serious debate I had been asked to settle.

  “I think he’s Thor because Thor has a beard and mustache—” the little boy said.

  “But I think he’s Captain America because Captain America has short hair,” the girl interrupted.

  They both glared at me. I rolled my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing before I responded. “You know what?” I whispered. They leaned in closer. “I think you should ask him.”

  “Really?” they squeaked in unison, their eyes wide as saucers.

  I nodded seriously and they spun on their heels and ran in Adam’s direction.

  The pair raced over to him and tugged on the hem of his shirt, their signature move apparently. He leaned down to listen to them. His face furrowed in confusion, Yellow Dress pointed at me and he looked up. He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled before turning his attention back to his adoring fans. I don’t know what he told them, but their faces lit up. The next thing I knew, Adam made a makeshift table from cases of bottled water and was challenging Red Shorts to an arm wrestling match. Almost everyone paused to watch.

  Thor or Captain America rolled up his sleeve, flexed his bicep planting his elbow firmly on the “table” and made a mean face. Red Shorts did the same with an adorably comedic effect because his entire body was probably the width of one of Adam’s arms and when he hit Adam with his meanest mug, he was missing a front tooth. They locked hands. Yellow Dress counted to three, shouted “Go!” and the match begun.

  Adam made sure the crowd got a good show. He let his opponent believe he had him beat before he snatched a victory out of his grasp at the last moment. He did this twice, but the third and final time, as the back of his hand inched closer and closer to the case of water bottles, you could tell by his exaggerated expression that he’d been beat. Red Shorts slammed Adam’s fist down and the crowd erupted in cheers. He had unwittingly managed to infuse a moment of joy and distraction in a place so full of sadness and confusion. When I saw the look of triumph on Red Shorts’ face and Adam’s look of “defeat,” I felt my ovaries explode. I mean, they must have because when I looked down I was holding a baby.

  Wait. Where did I get a baby?

  Did I kidnap someone’s baby?

  Really, whose baby was this?

  “Ah, thank goodness.” The answer came from the short woman standing in front of me. “We had to leave our stroller and baby carrier behind when we left. I’ve been carrying Lina for hours. I thought my arms were going to fall off. Thank you so much.” She shook the soreness out of her arms as she smiled up at me. “Aww, she likes you.”

  The baby I was bouncing in my arms gave me a toothless grin before grabbing my cheeks and squeezing. I couldn’t suppress a smile as I returned her wide-eyed gaze making babbling noises and kissy faces.

  Adam’s eyes were on me. I could feel them. I looked up and, sure enough, he’d fixed me with one of his puzzling expressions. This one was a mix of adoration, confusion and longing. While he was fixated on me, Yellow Dress took her brother’s place at the arm wrestling table, snatched Adam’s hand, which was still in position, and easily slammed it to the table. The crowd cheered again and Adam demanded a rematch, which he also lost.

  “Do you have any kids?” the woman in front of me asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Well, you’re great with babies. If you wanted to, I bet you’d make an amazing mother.” She smiled at me and outstretched her arms. My new little friend leaned towards her mother, wiggling and kicking out of my grasp.

  Looking at the makeshift arm wrestling arena, I thought that Adam Price—the ab flashing, arm wrestling match losing, ovary exploding superhero—, if he wanted to, would probably make an amazing father.

  nine

  Adam

  We both received an email informing us that, due to the storm, our meeting had been postponed until Friday. We ended up spending that unexpected free time at the shelter. Every muscle in my body ached by the end of the day. My soreness was sore. Had I known this was how I’d be spending my day, I would’ve skipped the gym. Unloading the trucks only took a few hours, and I spent the rest of the time helping Kimberly hand out blankets and losing about fifty arm wrestling matches.

  I asked Francis if he’d be willing to transport families that had been placed in hotels, and he was happy to help. The Sterling gave him the go-ahead and even sent two other cars with drivers.

  If someone told me a week ago that I’d find myself volunteering at a storm shelter, I would’ve told them they were crazy. I didn’t have anything against shelters or volunteering but I wasn’t raised to believe in helping the less fortunate. According to my father, writing a check to get you in a room with the right people was charity, but giving handouts was enabling people who just didn’t want to work hard. When I got older, I found out that working hard for my father meant being born rich, marrying richer and terrorizing everyone around you to get what you wanted.

  I had just spent the day in a room full of good and decent people who had their lives t
urned upside down by a freak rainstorm that destroyed everything that they worked hard for.

  Where would I be if I suddenly lost everything again and didn’t have Nate?

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  What would my father think if he could’ve seen me hauling crates of food and handing out toothbrushes? I wondered.

  Then I remembered that I didn’t give a fuck. Helping people, actually helping them, felt good. I agreed to come with Kimberly when she asked because, let’s face it, the way things were going, I’d follow that woman into an active volcano. But, in the end, I was so grateful for this experience, and I was grateful to her for giving it to me.

  We rode back in silence, mostly because Kimberly had fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder, just like she did on the plane. I knew there was a reason I was so drawn to her, but seeing her in action today made me rethink everything. She had a talent for making people feel at ease. Her kindness and generosity were natural and genuine. She seemed to know exactly what people needed. She could comfort people without giving them false hope. When survivors talked about loved ones that had yet to be located and all of the things they’d lost, she remained composed and compassionate. A burst of dumb pride hit me when I saw her reaction to Kyra and felt her relax when I touched her arm. When I saw her holding that baby, it felt like my heart was suddenly too big for my chest. I couldn’t dismiss the image of my exhausted, dirty, and celibate brother still grinning at his wife with their newborn daughter draped over her shoulder. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to have that, and I was almost sure that I wanted it with Kimberly, who was off limits.

  It was late when we arrived at The Sterling and she was still fast asleep, drooling on my shoulder. My first impulse was to carry her back to the apartment without waking her, but that would draw too much attention.