She giggled.
“Then I know that he’s going to take even this pause of yours and show you something good, baby girl.” He slid his arm back around her shoulders and squeezed tight.
She was over thirty, but her daddy made her feel like a little girl again in all the best ways. Safe. Protected. Cherished. Known.
“Now, let’s get a start on your practice for that race coming up.” He stood, helped her up, and then set his legs as if he was at the beginning of a race. “How about we see who will be the first to make it to the kitchen and that peach pie your mama’s been hiding?” Before she could open her mouth, he rushed down the hall, leaving her laughing and limping behind him.
When she got there, he had already pulled out the pie dish.
“Now, Daddy, you know you are risking Mama’s wrath by slicing that pie before dinner.”
“Andyouknow your mama never does anything on time in this house. By the time we finish dinner and get dessert, I’m gonna be half asleep.”
“You are a liar, Albert Monroe Stewart.”
Kenya shuddered at the sound of her mother’s voice coming behind her. Her father’s eyes rounded as he slowly pushed the silverware drawer closed. No fork would be dug into that pie for the moment.
“Why are y’all over here acting all secretive?” Mama set her grocery bags down on the counter. “Now, Albert, you know you’re wrong for that. Not to mention what your doctor said at the last appointment.”
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “You didn’t have to go and bring up all of that, Justine.” Daddy shook his head and started pulling items out of a grocery bag. “And I thought you were justgonna get the relish for the potato salad. Yet here I am pulling out everythingbutthe relish.”
Her mom shot him a warning look before turning her attention to her daughter. “How you feeling?”
Kenya scooted onto the barstool, pie crisis averted. “Better now that I’m sitting here with y’all.”
“When do you go back to work?” Mama asked.
“Monday, September fifteenth, I guess.”
“Okay, but ... why do you sound so unsure?”
“I’m just hoping I’m not too late.”
“Too late for what? It’s not abnormal to take a few weeks off, especially once something like this happens. You’re going to go in and continue doing an amazing job.”
“But things move fast in my business. What I can’t do now, someone else has to take over. Events don’t stop just because of my ankle.”
“Well, if something does change drastically, maybe it’s time to reconsider your career path.”
Those were not the words she wanted to hear. And she didn’t miss the way her daddy glanced at her mama. As if he didn’t agree with what she said, or worse yet—he did, and she’d said too much.
Unfortunately, there was no career path to reconsider. If she wasn’t in the event industry, and in line to receive a high-level role like creative director, who was she?
17
SOLOMON COULDN’Thelp smiling at the way Kenya had arrived at the clinic on Monday afternoon. Instead of coming in bored and ready for the therapy to be over, Kenya’s face was set in fierce determination.
He stepped into the lobby to meet her. “You look really intense for a Monday.”
She shrugged, limping her way toward him, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Curly tendrils framed her face. “I’m just ready to work, Doctor.”
“Do you have plans to join a bowling league, perhaps?”
Her nose scrunched up. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because maybe that night stirred up some underlying passions that have caused you to come into therapy with more energy than previous times.”
“No, I still don’t want to be here, and I think therapy is boring.” By the expression on her face, it looked like she enjoyed seeing his reaction to her words.
