Solomon cleared his throat. Time to stop hiding from who he was. “Please tell him that Solomon Anruchi, son of the Fayson Incorporated founders, is on the phone and needs to speak to him as soon as he is able.”
“Hold, please.”
After thirty seconds, the assistant clicked back on. “If you canwait and call back in fifteen minutes, Mr. Bluestone will speak with you.”
He could wait. Even though he’d failed his test and his future was more uncertain, the career of the woman he loved didn’t have to be.
KENYA BUZZEDthe intercom at the front door of the middle school. “Can I see Principal Stewart, please?” Friday was her mother’s least busy day, so she hoped she wouldn’t miss her.
The door clicked, and Kenya walked to the front desk in the office. The receptionist smiled. “Hello, Kenya, good to see you.”
“Nice to see you as well, Ms. Childers. Is my mom in her office?”
Ms. Childers wrote on a label and then handed it to Kenya. “She’s in the library. Do you know the way?”
“Yes, thank you.” Kenya pressed the visitor sticker to her chest. She walked down the hallway, remembering the turns to take even though she’d only been here a couple times. Her mother had been a teacher in another district when she was in school, and then once all the girls graduated, she applied for an administrative position in this one.
Noise filtered into the hallway as some class doors opened and closed. When she reached the library doors, she paused as a group of preteens walked out with their teacher, half of them taller than her. When the last one exited, she walked into the sunlit library. The room felt smaller and less intimidating than the libraries she remembered growing up. But what never changed were the longing and fear that mingled when she saw all the books lined up.
Her mother stood still in one of the rows, holding open a book and smiling as she flipped through.
“Hey, Mama,” Kenya said softly.
Her mother looked up, eyes rounded in surprise. “Kenya, what are you doing here?”
“Came to see you, to talk for a few minutes if you have them.”
Her mom closed the book and motioned for Kenya to follow her. They entered one of the private rooms that surrounded the central section and closed the door.
Kenya looked around. “What are these rooms for?”
Her mother’s smile was soft, wistful. “Lots of uses. Many times for the ones who need a little extra help.”
Ones like her.
“I’m sorry, Mama, for how I reacted when you came to see me after the reception. I wanted to tell you after church the other day, but with everyone around, I was just so...”
“I know. I’m sorry too. It just hurt me to see how hurt you were. I was so concerned that injuring your ankle would affect you, and then to hear what happened.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
Her mom settled her gaze on Kenya. “I never wanted you to box yourself in. While things are different today, there used to be so much stigma on having dyslexia when you were in school. I didn’t want you to settle for what other people said you could or couldn’t do. I wanted you to be able to figure it out for yourself and to rise above.”
Kenya stretched her arms out on the table, clasped them. “Mama, you don’t know how many times I felt so stupid. If I couldn’t have done sports and my art classes, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” She swallowed. “Mama, sometimes school was torture for me.”
Her mom reached for her hand. “It was never my intention for you to feel less than anyone else in our family, or in your classroom. And I pushed you because I wanted to prove all those teachers wrong. I pushed you because I wanted to prove that you could be whatever you wanted to be.”
“But maybe giving me the tools I needed would’ve helped me cope better now.”
“I’m sorry for all that you’ve been through. Please know that everything I have done has been out of love. That doesn’t mean it’s all been done perfectly. I mean, I’m a principal.” She releaseda mirthless laugh. “I have so many years of experience and education, yet I think that because you’re my daughter, I was more emotionally involved and didn’t always think clearly.”
Kenya observed her mom, saw the obvious love in her eyes and the struggle there too. She turned her palms up and squeezed her mother’s hands.
“Mom, why were you so afraid?”
She moved to sit beside her. “Kenya, you’ve always been so insightful, and even your words were always direct and to the point. You’ve had no problem bringing your whole self to the table.”
Her mom sighed, and the depth Kenya felt in that movement made her settle closer to her, to brace her somehow.
“I suppose, if I could look at myself through the eyes of a therapist or counselor or pastor, I would say that perhaps I have been running from the expectations that werenotplaced on me. I don’t even know how to say this, but maybe if I justsayit, it will make sense. Your sisters don’t even know this. Your daddy does, but it was never an issue, so I never mentioned it.”
