Soul Caress. Kim Shaw
but she was in a no-win situation, especially since one of the girls was big, bucktoothed Liza, who was the size of two six-year-olds put together.
Kennedy snatched one girl from the back of her head and literally tossed her through the air, the girl landing in a loud thud five feet away. She grabbed Liza by one arm, spinning her around to face her and before the girl knew what was happening, Kennedy had clocked her in the jaw. Liza’s hands went up to protect her face and Kennedy seized the moment, raising her Pro-Ked-clad foot and kicking the girl in the abdomen as hard as she could. Liza dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Kennedy looked over her shoulder and saw that, now that Madison was in a fair fight, there was nothing to worry about.
Madison had her last opponent on the ground and was a whirlwind as she sat on her knees wailing on the girl’s upper body and face. The first girl Kennedy had attacked was sitting on the ground holding the spot on her head that was oozing blood from where it had struck the side of one of the craft tables when Kennedy had tossed her. Liza attempted to get up and Kennedy took that as a sign that she hadn’t received enough of an ass-whipping. She pounced on the girl, her fists balled, seeking to teach her never to mess with a Daniels again. By the time the counselors were able to separate and subdue Kennedy and Madison, all three of their victims were blubbering mixtures of blood and tears. From that day on, wherever they went, the story followed them and it was a rare brave soul who’d even think about confronting one of them.
In recent years, Kennedy had felt as though her once inseparable relationship with her sister had grown distant. The older Madison got, the more she rebelled, while time had the exact opposite effect on Kennedy. Madison seemed to get pleasure out of going against their parents’ wishes, rocking the boat as turbulently as she could. It put a strain on the camaraderie she and Kennedy once shared, as Kennedy was the one who followed their parents’ instructions to the letter. At twenty-five, Madison had become wild and impulsive and she heeded the advice or words of caution of no one, including her onetime ally, big sister Kennedy.
Seeing Kennedy bandaged from head to toe and lying in a hospital bed having nearly escaped death, obviously paused Madison. She quickly swiped at the tears that were swimming on the rims of her eyes, turned up her dazzling smile and stroked the only space on Kennedy’s face that didn’t seem bruised, bandaged or purple with pain.
“That’s good to hear. Girl, for a minute there I thought you were trying to leave me alone with that crazy woman!” Madison joked.
“Maddie,” Joseph warned, although he secretly got a kick out of his youngest daughter’s ability to ruffle his wife’s feathers.
“Come on, Dad. I sat behind you guys on the flight down here and all she did was talk your ear off the whole time about going after the manufacturer of Kennedy’s car. Then what’d she say? Oh yeah, she thinks somehow the state of Virginia is responsible for this. As if something they did or didn’t do to the roads caused Kennedy’s accident. I am surprised she doesn’t want to sue Mother Nature for the rain. I swear, she is a piece of work,” Madison fumed unapologetically.
Joseph held his tongue, unwilling to go toe to toe with his daughter, especially when she was speaking the truth.
“Madison, don’t upset your sister,” was all he said.
“Oh, Dad, there’s nothing I can tell Kennedy about her mother that would shock her.”
She had taken to referring to Elmira as only Kennedy’s mother as the two of them argued more and grew ever more distant. Kennedy’s attempt at a laugh came out as a wince as the ever-present pain intensified. Madison called for the nurse, who came in and turned the dial on the machine that released morphine into Kennedy’s system intravenously. Madison sat silently, holding her sister’s hand while sleep overcame her.
Joseph looked on for a few minutes and then slipped out of the room to go and tend to his wife. Madison shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself. For the remainder of that day, while their father returned periodically to sit in silence near Kennedy’s bed, their mother could not bring herself to return to the room. Madison knew that her discomfort came more from the unwillingness to accept that one of her children could possibly have a permanently damaged face and distorted body than any other reason their father tried to gesticulate. In the world of Elmira Daniels, there was no such thing as imperfection.
Chapter 3
Kennedy spent days in and out of consciousness, flying high on pain medication. As she slept, her dreams were filled with images of twisted metal and broken glass. The sounds of her screams combined with the whining screech of tires on wet pavement reverberated in her brain despite her desperate efforts to escape them. She held the taste of blood in her mouth and each time the pain relievers dissipated from her bloodstream, her bones ached and her skin stung as if she’d been dipped in acid. When alert, in the moments before a new dose of medication took control, Kennedy tried to remain positive, praying for the will to grow stronger.
Her parents and Madison were staying at a Hilton Hotel about ten minutes away from the hospital. Madison jokingly whispered to Kennedy when they were alone, that while their parents loved her very much, there was no way Elmira would be caught dead in the Best Western directly across the street from the hospital. Kennedy laughed for the first time since the accident.
“It’s so good to hear you laugh again, sis. Dad and I went to the auto body shop to check on your car. I hate to tell you this, but it’s totaled.”
Madison laughed when Kennedy groaned at her news.
“Hey, look at it this way—the fact that you walked away from the twisted wreckage of that car, figuratively, anyway, is a miracle. Let’s just count our lucky stars. Besides, when you get better, we’ll squeeze Daddy to buy you a cute little Aston Martin.”
Joseph, Elmira and Madison stayed by Kennedy’s bedside in shifts for the first few days. Kennedy’s emotions were split between feeling an overwhelming need to have their presence at all times and wishing she could have a few moments alone, without her family, doctors or nurses surrounding her. This experience taught her that a hospital beat a mall for most crowded, hands down.
“What happened to her?”
Kennedy heard a deep voice rise above the usual hospital noises, but she lay still beneath the white blanket. It was very early in the morning and her family had not yet arrived for the day. She was being returned to her room after having a CAT scan performed, the second since her accident. The doctors were attempting to rule out any possibility of injury to the brain that may have gone undetected when she was first examined.
Malik Crawford was working with a transport team from Stillwater Rehabilitation Center. They were at Annandale picking up a patient who was being discharged and delivered to Stillwater for continued care. Their patient, a wealthy magazine editor who’d suffered partial paralysis from the waist down as the result of a skiing accident, was waiting to receive discharge papers from his doctor.
Malik had gone down to radiology to say hello to a buddy of his while he waited and was now waiting for an elevator back upstairs. His eyes were drawn to the woman lying on the gurney, her eyes wrapped in heavy white bandages. Long auburn hair framed her face like a halo and one of her smooth bronze-colored arms rested peacefully at her side. The other was bent at the elbow and covered by a pink cast. The rise and fall of her chest was the only sign that she was alive. Her body was long and slender and he immediately had the vision of a tall, shapely woman with the legs of a dancer. She was incredibly beautiful and instinctively, his heart went out to her.
“Car accident,” the orderly said. “She’s doing much better than when she was first brought in, right Ms. Daniels?”
Kennedy did not respond, hating the fact these people were talking about her as if she were some laboratory rat devoid of distinguishable feelings. Statements like his reminded her in no uncertain terms that, all in all, she was lucky to be alive. Of course, none of these people were living the physical and emotional hell she was living, but they still held the uniformed opinion that she should be grateful.
“Her leg looks like it’s positioned