Soul Caress

“Of course you are, dear. This is a rehabilitation facility, you know, and we certainly can’t get you back up on your feet if we leave you lying on your backside all day. Now, one of the client assistants will be by in just a few moments to take you out to get some fresh air. He’ll escort you all over the grounds. Just wait until you see the place. It’s to die for. Oh, Stillwater spared no expense when it came to landscaping this beautiful property. Just you wait.”

By now Nurse Crosby had removed the hooks that had kept Kennedy’s leg suspended one foot off of the bed. She carefully lowered Kennedy’s leg until it rested on the bed. Kennedy listened to the squeak of her orthopedic footwear as she moved away from the bed toward the bathroom. Kennedy listened as the nurse ran water into a basin, turned off the faucet and squeaked her way back to the bedside.

“I’ve brought you a warm wash towel so that you can wipe your face. Here you go.”

Kennedy reached out, moving her fingers tentatively in front of her until she touched the towel. She grabbed it, bringing it to her face. When she was finished, Nurse Crosby took it away from her.

“Here is your toothbrush. The paste is already on it.”

Kennedy felt in front of her again until she located the toothbrush and clumsily directed it to her mouth. She brushed her teeth for several moments and then took the cup of water offered by Nurse Crosby. She rinsed, gargled, spit into the basin and rinsed again.

“Now, that’s better. Once you’ve had your wheelchair lessons, you’ll be able to do this in the bathroom all by yourself. Won’t that be great?”

Kennedy slumped back against the pillow without responding. It was taking every ounce of reserve that she possessed not to go off on the nurse. Normally, she was not what you would call a combative person. She hated conflict and discord, preferring to find less confrontational ways in which to work out disagreements. Unless she felt backed into a corner with no alternatives—as in the case of the rumble at summer camp back in the day—Kennedy was mild-mannered and diplomatic. Her patience was running low these days, however, and the last thing she was prepared to deal with was an overzealous nurse who’d swallowed one too many happy pills.

“Do you feel like pink or blue today?”

“What?”

“Pink or blue? I’ve taken the liberty of making two selections from your closet—the first is a blue denim dress and the other is a pink skirt and matching sweater. What will it be?”

“I don’t care,” Kennedy responded tersely.

“Well, let’s go with the denim.”

Without another word Nurse Crosby helped Kennedy remove her gown and slip into the denim dress. After her arrival the day before, she’d been left alone pretty much to rest until evening, when another nurse had helped her bathe in a special shower designed for people with casts on their legs. Within the shower stall there stood a metal closet in which Kennedy placed her plastered leg and then the nurse closed it, thereby keeping it sealed and protected from the water.

“All right, dear, I’ve got other clients to tend to,” Nurse Crosby announced as if Kennedy had been keeping her there.

Kennedy listened as the nurse retreated, closing the door behind her. She covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingertips against her useless orbits. She cursed and muttered, allowing herself to release the frustration that she’d held in check while Nurse Crosby was in the room. While Kennedy’s other injuries had begun to heal, her emotional health teetered on the brink of crumbling. Her arm had been freed from the cast and despite a slight loss of muscle tone, it felt as good as new to her.

Outwardly, she had mended sufficiently enough so that the doctors at Annandale were comfortable in signing her out of the hospital and sending her to Stillwater Rehabilitation Center to begin the arduous task of rebuilding her life. However, inwardly her spirit remained fractured and she felt no motivation to even get out of the bed. The fire that had previously driven her to become the lively, energetic woman that everyone who knew her believed her to be, had been extinguished.

She took sharp, deep breaths, feeling as though she were suffocating under the unfairness of it all. She gasped for air where there was none to be had.

“Good morning, Ms. Daniels. I’m Malik Crawford and I work the day shift here at Stillwater. I’ve been assigned to work with you during your stay.”

Kennedy turned toward the door, the direction from which the baritone voice came. Two things struck her at precisely the same moment. One, the voice was vaguely familiar, although she could not place it. Secondly, whoever he was, the brother had the sexiest voice she had ever heard in all of her twenty-eight years. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, momentarily pulled from the cliff of crushing despair on which she had been lingering.

“Mr. Crawford—” Kennedy began.

“Malik, please. Just call me Malik. As I said, we’ll be working together during your stay. I will take you to all of your therapy sessions, doctor’s appointments and twice-daily trips outdoors. Outside of that, if you need anything else…if you’d like to leave your room, say, to go down to the game room or something, I’m your man. Okay? Just buzz the nurses’ station and ask them to page me. How’s that sound?”

I’m your man sounded interesting, but Kennedy didn’t say that. Had she been in another frame of mind, another place in her life, she would have allowed the heat of attraction to spill over her. Yet other more pressing things were on her mind, like the fact that she was dependent on this person for however long she was at Stillwater. Dependence was not something she did very well. She was used to taking care of herself and coming and going as she pleased. Once again, the realization that she was no longer the woman she’d once been smacked her in the face. Once again, she fought the powerful urge to cry.

Malik watched Kennedy for some reaction. He’d neglected to tell his new client that he had been part of the team who’d helped to unload her transport bed from the ambulance that had brought her to Stillwater early the day before. In part, he’d omitted this fact out of sheer embarrassment. He had been rendered speechless when he’d laid eyes on Kennedy Daniels for the second time in his life. Absent were the bruises and bandages, the intravenous tubes and the heart-monitoring devices. Gone was the poor nameless individual for whom he felt sorry.

Her jacket unzipped to reveal a white camisole that fit her torso like a glove. On her left foot she wore a pair of yellow-and-white Nike cross-trainers, and her hair was pulled back off of her face and held in a ponytail by a large barrette. Her fresh face and fit figure could easily have been that of an eighteen-year-old college freshman, yet something in her carriage even as she was rolled on a gurney out of the transport van told him that she was a mature woman in every sense of the word.

The singular thing that struck him, literally sucking the air right out of his lungs, was her smile. It had been ever so brief, but immensely potent. One of the nurses, an older woman who did a remarkable imitation of comedienne Adele Givens, said something that prompted the brief smile from Kennedy. Behind the expensive shades that covered one-third of her face, Kennedy smiled, her plump lips parting, revealing beautiful teeth and exposing a small dimple in her left cheek. Malik’s iron-man persona melted, causing him so much discomfort that he’d had to excuse himself to other duties just to get away from her before he became a staring, blundering idiot.

Twenty-four hours later, Malik had collected himself. He was confident that he would be able to handle his duties with professionalism and decorum with the light of a new day around him. Upon entering her room, he’d steeled himself against the potential of her physical beauty to stir his emotions. He was not a man for whom a woman’s physical appearance was enough to do more than cause a slight stir in his loins. What turned him on mentally and emotionally was a woman whose intellect and conversation were equally as attractive. If he couldn’t talk to a woman and share his ideas, hopes and dreams, he could not share his body with her, either. He had no way of knowing what rested inside of Kennedy Daniels, so to him she remained just another pretty woman—a client at that.

Kennedy reached her left hand out to the side, bumping it against the side of the nightstand clumsily. She moved her hand several inches up until she could feel her way along the surface of the table. When she came into contact with the object for which she had been searching, her shades, she snatched them up gratefully and moved slowly to her face, placing the shades over her eyes. Malik, having received no verbal response from her, took that as a sign that she was ready to go. He came farther into the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. He stopped next to her bed.

“I know movement is a little tough for you right now with that cast covering most of your leg, but we’ll help you learn how to navigate with it and trust me, as soon as you get used to it, it’ll be time to take it off,” Malik said.

He hadn’t expected a response, although he felt that at least a nod of the head would have been nice.

“I need you to try to turn your body sideways, swinging your broken leg toward me while letting the other one hang down toward the floor. I’m right here so don’t worry…I’ll catch you if you need me to.”

With Kennedy feeling less than trusting of Malik’s ability to safeguard her transfer, the transition from the bed to the wheelchair was thorny and awkward. She laced her arm around his neck, noting how strong a neck it was, but she gripped him so tightly that he had difficulty maneuvering. By the time he got her into the seat, his breath was ragged and little beads of sweat had popped up on his forehead.

“All right, Ms. Daisy, ma’am, shall we?” Malik joked as he began pushing the wheelchair of his silent new client.

The sun felt hot on Kennedy’s face. She tilted her face up toward it, allowing it’s warmth to massage her stony facade. Malik stood a few paces away from her, alternating between watching her and staring at the lagoon. This was his favorite place on the Stillwater grounds for several reasons. For starters, not many people came down here as it was quite a trek from the structure. The tranquility he found here on his daily breaks was rarely broken by chatter. He appreciated alone time, since it was something that was a rarity, especially since he’d allowed his brother to move in with him earlier in the year. At the apartment, with its small two bedrooms, a kitchen that opened to the combined living room and dining area and claustrophobic bathroom, there was rarely an opportunity to find solitude. His brother, Malcolm, who was seasonally unemployed, often had the company of some female, and no matter who the pick of the week was, they all had the same annoying giggles and the same exaggerated moans, which could be heard in every corner of the tiny place.

Here on the lagoon, Malik would sit and stare at the ducks, contemplating his life. He often felt that just like those ducks, all he was doing was floating on the same body of water, day in and day out, with no progress and without change. At thirty years old, Malik had become restless and dissatisfied. By other people’s accounts, including his parents, he had a good stable job with benefits and a pension that he’d only have to work thirty years to receive. All he needed to do was find a good woman, start a family and his life would be perfect. For Malik, however, there was so much more to the puzzle of his existence. The only problem was that even though he knew he wanted more for himself, he had no idea what else there was in store for him. Furthermore, he had even less of an idea of how to go about getting it.

A noise that came from Kennedy pulled him from his thoughts. From his vantage point behind her, he could not see her face, but the heave of her back and shoulders told him unmistakably that she was crying. He hesitated, unsure of whether he should leave her alone and let her cry uninterrupted or not. He knew all too well that sometimes a person just needed a good cry. His grandmother used to say that crying was like giving your spirit a bath. Still, something pulled him to her, awaking a need in him to comfort her, even though she was a complete stranger to him.

“Ms. Daniels, are you okay?” he asked as he moved in front of her.

She’d removed her shades and they lay on her lap. When he spoke, she moved her hands up to her face, covering her eyes. Her body trembled.

“Ms. Daniels, are you in pain? Would you like me to call for one of the doctors?”

She shook her head vehemently from side to side.

“No, I don’t want anyone,” she said.

Finally, a complete sentence from her. The sound of her voice, even though it was choked with emotion, surprised him. He hadn’t expected it to sound so strong. Even though she was obviously upset, her voice held a quality of vigor that was undisturbed by her current distress. With a right hand that trembled, she slowly reached up and wiped at the tears on both sides of her face. She lowered her left hand, fingering the shades that lay in her lap. Her eyelids blinked rapidly for several seconds before fluttering to a standstill. She stared out in front of her, seeing nothing.

Malik looked at her face, for the first time seeing it in its entirety without the distraction of eyewear. His heart literally stopped beating for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. He knew that she was beautiful. He had recognized that the moment he’d rolled her out of the transport vehicle. What caught him by surprise now, touching a part of him that he had not even acknowledged in years, was the fact that despite her tears and current distress, there was a harmony of spirit that possessed her. He had never laid eyes on a woman in his entire life that made him feel like he never wanted to look at another woman—until now.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just…can I have a minute alone?”

“Sure,” Malik said, continuing to stare at her.

It took all the strength within for him to disengage from her face and move away from her. He walked a few feet along the lagoon and sat down on one of the large boulders that lined the edge. Occasionally, he dared to sneak a quick glance in her direction. She held her head erect, her face pointed toward the water. She didn’t move nor did he. He glanced at his watch, knowing that it was past the lunch hour and that he should have her back in her room already. Yet he was unwilling to interrupt her solitude.

Although he had other duties that he was currently neglecting, he had no intentions of rushing her. He couldn’t very well leave her by herself as she was a long way from the point in her rehabilitation where she could be left on the grounds to take care of herself. He knew that there was no clear prognosis as to whether her vision loss was temporary or permanent, but that the goal was to teach her how to live as a visually impaired person just in case. That would take weeks of work with the specialists and it would also have to wait until she had the use of both of her legs again. Until then, she was dependent on him and, try as he might, Malik couldn’t help but like the sound of that.

Chapter 6

“Thank you for…for today,” Kennedy said as Malik rolled her back to her room.

It was after eight o’clock in the evening and Kennedy had just finished an hour-long lesson in Braille reading for the blind. She was exhausted, having been kept on the go all day long. After her walk with Malik, she’d returned to her room for a quick bite to eat and then, because she was running late, had been rushed to physical therapy. There she’d spent thirty minutes learning how to pull her body upright from a reclining to a sitting position. Next was a trip to the weight room where she stretched and lifted weights for another thirty minutes. Dr. Pitcher, the ophthalmologist, came in to see her later on, where he performed a brief examination of her eyes. This was followed by dinner, another walk, or ride, depending on how one looked at it, around the grounds and finally the brail lesson, her last activity of the night.

Malik knew that Kennedy was referring to her breakdown at the lagoon that morning and while he didn’t feel like he had done anything special, he appreciated her gratitude.

“Don’t mention it,” he said as they arrived at her room.

He opened the door and rolled her chair inside. There was a chill in the air and he moved toward the wall that held the thermostat for the central heating and cooling system.

“Should I turn up the heat a little bit for you?” he asked.

“Umm, no. I like it this way. I was a winter baby,” Kennedy answered.

“Uh, oh. Don’t tell me you’re one of those T-shirt and flip-flop wearing, beach buffs in November kind of people. Girl, don’t you know that black people are from the tropics—we ain’t built for the cold weather.” Malik laughed.

It happened. For the first time since she’d arrived at Stillwater the day before, or at least while she had been in his presence, Kennedy laughed out loud and directly from that place inside where people are free and unpretentious. For Malik the sound was like the ringing bells of a winning slot machine. He watched her, the way her head tilted back and her mouth opened wide. It warmed him, filling him with the happiness that comes from seeing someone else’s spirit brightened, especially when that someone was special.

Malik lifted Kennedy from the wheelchair that had become an extension of her and carried her to the beige two-seater in the sitting area of the modest room. Although it was time for his shift to officially end, he did not want to leave her and he fished for excuses to hang around even if only for a few minutes more. He moved the wheelchair closer so that it was within her reach and started explaining the different mechanisms. A less than complicated piece of equipment, it was quite a task for him to stretch out his explanation, but he gave it a shot. Kneeling by her feet, he guided her hand to the wheels, across the breaks and the footrests. He let his fingers linger a second on top of hers, tantalized by the softness of her digits. A sudden knock at the door interrupted what had to be the highlight of his entire week, perhaps even month.

Jessica Hubbard, the night shift client assistant, entered. She took over where he left off, covering the clients he’d been in charge of all day. While there was much less activity at night than during the day, Jessica’s job was to help the female clients shower and get settled in for the night. She was still around when many of them awakened in the morning and for those who preferred to bathe in the morning and needed assistance, she took care of them. By the time Malik arrived at eight o’clock in the morning, Jessica would have seen to it that the clients were dressed, fed and ready for whatever activities were lined up for them for the day. Together, they handled a caseload of between five to seven clients at a time and both of them felt as though they had lucked out in being paired to the same team.

“Hey, Malik, Marci told me you were still around. Running late tonight?” Jessica asked as she entered.

“A little bit. I was just trying to get our new client settled in. Kennedy Daniels, I’d like you to meet Jessica Hubbard. She’s on call nights.”

“Hello, Ms. Daniels. It’s nice to meet you,” Jessica said.

“Likewise. So you’re the one I’m supposed to bug in the middle of the night if I need a drink of water or if I have to potty?”

“Yep. Feel free to bug away. Sorry I wasn’t around when you got in yesterday…I had a minor family emergency. Are you about ready to call it a night? If not, I can come back in a little bit.”

“Thank you, Jessica. I’m pretty beat, so, yes, I’m ready.”

“Well, then. All right, I guess I’ll head out now so you ladies can do your thing. Kennedy, I’ll see you in the morning,” Malik said reluctantly, aware that his time with Kennedy had finally come to an end.

“Fine,” she answered, acutely aware of the fact that at some point during the course of their day together, she had gone from being Ms. Daniels to Kennedy.

Later that night, surrounded by a darkness that she believed she would never become accustomed to, Kennedy’s thoughts drifted to Malik Crawford. She wondered what he looked like and whether his smile came from his eyes. Did his stature match the deep timbre of his voice? What about his hair? His nose….

Chapter 7

Blindness, whether temporary or permanent, was not a condition to which Kennedy found herself able to snap her fingers and adjust to. Waking up, after twenty-eight years of living a full and functional life, to darkness, had sent Kennedy into depression. She oscillated between fighting the feelings of despair and giving in to them completely. All the time she questioned why this had happened to her. Was her current situation a result of something she’d done or some offense against nature she’d unwittingly committed?

She found herself only going through the motions of the rehabilitation regimen the doctors and physical therapists had set out for her. Essentially, she had given up on ever having anything that resembled the satisfying life she used to lead.

The team of professionals who were working to reconstruct her life included a psychologist, Dr. Goodhall. Dr. Goodhall was warm and engaging yet she asked tough questions. Questions that forced Kennedy to think about things she preferred not to dwell on. Kennedy didn’t want to probe into the innermost regions of her sentiments, especially because she was struggling to hold the fragile pieces of her feelings together.

Dr. Goodhall suggested that she allow people to be her comfort and source of strength while she dealt with the difficult transitions that lay ahead. This was a suggestion to which Kennedy objected vehemently. As far as Kennedy was concerned, not her parents, other family members nor anyone could pacify her. Furthermore, she could not take one second of her mother’s theatrical hysteria nor anyone’s pity. She had hit an emotional rock bottom and contrary to popular belief, her misery did not want any company.

Unfortunately, being a resident at Stillwater did not afford her much solitude. There was a steady stream of staff members with whom she had to interact, countless appointments and therapy sessions and then there was Malik.

He arrived knocking at her door every morning at eight o’clock sharp and even when she reported that she did not feel like going out, he quietly insisted that she join him. He talked as if they were going out on a date instead of out for a walk around the grounds of a facility for people with disabilities. In spite of herself, it was his subtle charm that coaxed her out of her room every day without fail.

“Malik, what do you do when you’re not playing caddy to damaged invalids like me?” Kennedy asked one afternoon after Malik had parked her wheelchair off the path that led into the gardens.

“Damaged invalids?” He laughed. “I don’t see any damaged invalids around here.”

“You know what I mean. Let’s face it, this place isn’t exactly crawling with healthy people. So you do this all day long…it’s got to be depressing as hell.”

“Not at all. Actually, I kinda like spending time here. I mean, in this place you’ve got all kinds of people facing some of the most difficult challenges of their lives and many of them do it without complaint. Now take folks who have their health and the use of all their faculties out there. They curse and grumble about everything from their Starbucks not having enough sugar to a traffic light that takes too long to turn green.”

Kennedy thought about what he’d said, wondering if she had been one of those people before her accident. While she didn’t think that was an accurate description of herself, she did realize how much in her life she had taken for granted. She could not remember the last sunset she’d seen, having spent the past few months and years locked inside of Morgan Stanley’s offices until long after dusk every night working away like any good corporate soldier.