Soul Caress Read online

  SOUL Caress

  KIM SHAW

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Kennedy gently pushed her favorite compact disc of all time, Wynton Marsalis’s All Rise, into the vehicle’s CD changer. Instantly, the quiet car was filled with the soulful wail of a solitary trumpet. Nothing else in this world spoke to Kennedy’s weary spirit after a grueling day at work like Wynton’s artistry. She could always count on his music to massage her senses and transport her to a serene place.

  She turned the knob of the wipers so that the blades moved faster across her car’s windshield. The driving rain made it difficult for her to see more than five feet on the sleek black road ahead. It had been raining without pause for the past two days, the skies wrapped in foreboding darkness night and day. Although, even if there had been brilliant sun, Kennedy would not have known it. She spent all of her daylight hours in the office for the past two weeks. Nestled against the butter-soft beige leather of her Mercedes Benz sedan, Kennedy attempted to relax and to will her body to release the day’s tension. She did not regret the fact that she had been pulling down long hours at Morgan Stanley, and while it was a major coup for a second-year analyst to be second in command on a client as prestigious and world-renown as Otman Hotels, it was the most mentally and physically exhausting challenge she’d ever faced. She couldn’t help but snicker with self-satisfaction, however, as she counted the zeros on the huge bonus that would be waiting for her at the end of the deal. She’d had her eyes on a piece of investment property and now was the perfect opportunity for her to buy something for herself without the help or interference of her parents.

  Kennedy was no stranger to hard work. She’d always been driven. As far back as she could remember she had been striving to be the best. In the first grade, she’d built a volcano for the science fair. She hadn’t been able to rest until she could make the thing explode and spew hot lava three feet into the air. Twenty years later she showed no signs of lightening up. A laundry list of things to do loomed ahead of her in the coming weeks. Between the Otman deal at work and assisting with the planning of her parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration, she had a lot on her plate.

  Right now all Kennedy wanted to think about was the hot bath she planned to take as soon as she got home. She couldn’t wait to curl up with the latest Eric Jerome Dickey novel as she sipped a glass of Merlot.

  The crunch of shattering glass was the last sound Kennedy heard. One minute she was driving down the slick asphalt of King Street, just a bit over a mile away from her two-bedroom duplex in Falls Church, Virginia. Suddenly, the tires of her car skidded and to no avail, she pumped the breaks, attempting to regain control. Her brain raced as she tried to remember the things you were supposed to do to avoid a wreck, yet everything seemed to be happening faster that her recollection could keep up.

  The car entered into a forty-five mile per hour spin and Kennedy gripped the steering wheel, the skin taut across her knuckles. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed and her grip on consciousness fractured was a flash of lightning that zipped across the sky.

  The sleeping beauty caused quite a stir at the otherwise quiet Annandale Hospital that night. It was a Tuesday evening and emergencies had taken a break for a while. As she was wheeled into the trauma center, the doctors and nurses sprung into action, determined not to lose her. While all patients received the same dedicated care at Annandale, there was something about the almost lifeless woman, whose regal beauty was still apparent even in her unconscious and battered state, that tugged at their core, causing adrenaline to surge throughout the emergency room. Her skin was burnished bronze, and her slim curvaceous figure was captivating even in crises.

  Evening gave way to night as the medical staff fought to restore her. In the wee hours of the morning, shortly before dawn, Kennedy awoke from the car accident feeling as though her skin were on fire. Every inch of her 5’9” frame hurt as every muscle seemed to be torn to shreds. She attempted to open her eyes but found them tightly bandaged with a thick and endless stream of gauze and tape that had been wound securely around her curly, matted hair and throbbing head. She tried to lift her right arm, but discovered that it had been set in a cast, weighing it down and rendering it immovable. Her left arm remained under her control, but as she lifted it, a searing pain shot through her shoulder and followed a path directly to the very core of her brain.

  She lay still for several minutes, her mind blurry and confused. The air held a sickening smell that was a mixture of blood, which was caked in her nostrils, and antiseptics. Nothing made sense to her, as though she were in a vacuum of suspended time and space. For a moment, she considered remaining there, lost and unknowing. Yet soon panic filled her, as her mind raced to find its way out of its solitary confinement.

  Feeling as though she were trapped inside of a horror movie, Kennedy’s fear mounted steadily until she began to scream in her mind at first and then attempting to let that scream out. Her voice was initially barely a whisper. Her lips felt like they were twice their normal size as she slid a thick sandpaper tongue across them. She swallowed the stickiness coating her throat and tried again. With each attempt her voice grew louder, changing from a whisper to a cracked, strangled sound. She tried again and again until finally there came a loud piercing wail of agony.

  The intensive care unit door burst open and all of a sudden Kennedy’s room became a mass of activity. Doctors and nurses charged in and began talking all at once, or so it seemed to her confused mind. Kennedy tried her best to make sense of what they were saying as they checked her over, reviewed her vital signs, removed, replaced and tightened bandages, but it was as if they were speaking Greek.

  “Kennedy…Kennedy Daniels, I’m Dr. Moskowitz. Ms. Daniels?” a deep voice called, reaching her ears from a distance it seemed.

  The voices asked her a myriad of questions, wanting to know if she knew her name or could tell them where she was. Kennedy answered slowly, trying to be as coherent as she possibly could. Each word was painful to articulate, her burning throat and vocal chords refused to cooperate with her. She knew the day of the week and the date. She recited her name and date of birth. She was even able to provide an oral history of her day, right up to Wynton Marsalis and the drive home. Everything after that was a mystery to her.

  She begged and clamored for them to tell her what had happened to her. When the clatter in the room finally died down, all but one of the voices faded away.

  “Kennedy, I know this must all be very confusing and upsetting to you, but I need you to try to calm down,” the stranger said soothingly.

  He introduced himself again as Dr. Moskowitz, head of emergency medicine, and advised Kennedy that she was no longer driving toward her home but in fact at Annandale Hospital. She was in the intensive care unit where a team of doctors and nurses had been working through the night to take excellent care of her.

  Kennedy could hear his voice but nothing he said made any sense to her. All she
could think was that none of this could possibly be happening to her.

  “Kennedy, we’ve contacted your family…the police found their phone number in your cell phone…they’re on their way,” Dr. Moskowitz said.

  Kennedy could feel the doctor’s hands on her, cold hands that checked her pulse again. While Dr. Moskowitz’s voice was soft and composed, his hands felt rough against her bruised skin as he touched her.

  “Kennedy, you are one fortunate young lady to have come out of that car wreck, and let me reassure you that you are going to be okay.”

  By the time the doctor departed, his confident words that her prognosis for a full recovery remained fair ringing in the air, Kennedy had begun to scream again. This time the anguish resonated on the inside, her voice reverberating against the walls of her brain. A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach like a boulder at the bottom of a creek. She cried a river of tears that soaked her bandages as she prayed for God to make what was happening not be happening to her. However, it was definitely real and she never felt more alone, or more vulnerable in her entire life than she did at that moment. The once fiercely independent young woman cried like a baby for her mother to come and kiss the pain away.

  Chapter 2

  Kennedy’s parents, Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Daniels, along with her sister, Madison, arrived at the hospital late in the morning following the accident. They imperiously descended upon the intensive care unit and demanded the full attention of the hospital staff. Joseph Daniels quietly, yet firmly requested that the doctors treating his daughter be paged and sequestered for a meeting at once. His wife of thirty years, Elmira Ellington Daniels, stood by his side, apparently used to watching her husband take command.

  “Oh, dear Jesus,” Elmira bellowed upon seeing Kennedy as they entered her room.

  Elmira crumpled against the stout frame of her husband. Kennedy was stirred awake by the unmistakable sound of her mother’s smoky voice. She turned her head in the direction of the noise and immediately felt the smooth, beefy hands of her father wrap themselves around one of hers.

  “Elmira, calm down. She’s going to be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Kennedy croaked, her throat still hoarse and hurting.

  Suddenly, Elmira was overcome with sobs and, without the ability to see her mother, Kennedy was sure she was dramatically fanning herself to ward off one of her infamous fainting spells. Right on cue, Joseph issued a familiar phrase.

  “Elmira, you don’t look very well. Why don’t you go outside for a while? Have yourself a cup of coffee or tea,” he added. “I saw a café right near the security desk in the lobby.”

  Kennedy was used to scenes such as this one, but for once she was just not up to playing her part in it. Joseph and Elmira had a perfunctory marriage in which the pampered Elmira was shielded from any discomfort or uneasiness. Kennedy had fallen into the habit of echoing Joseph’s sentiments in many instances. This was not one of them.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Elmira said in a reluctant tone that was worthy of an Oscar award.

  Elmira rose from her perch at the side of Kennedy’s bed. She smoothed the front of her brown tweed flare-legged pants. At fifty-two years old, Elmira Daniels looked more like a pampered celebrity than a housewife, married to a cosmetic surgeon. Today’s designer outfit, pantsuit, chocolate-brown patent leather platforms and handbag, was what could be called dressing down for her. Her attire alone could be priced at over three thousand dollars, and that figure tripled if one were to assess the four-karat pear-shaped diamond ring set in platinum, the two-karat diamond earrings or the solid gold watch on her dainty wrist. Kennedy inhaled her mother’s signature scent and the familiar feeling was both comforting and disturbing.

  Elmira’s thick wavy hair was cut in a short bob, shaved in the back circa 1986 Anita Baker, dyed dark brown with blond highlighted bangs sweeping her forehead. The only sign revealing her age were the tiny crow’s-feet visible near the outside corners of her hazel eyes. That minor flaw was no match for the meticulously applied cosmetics in which she lived. Her buttermilk complexion was as beautiful today as it was when she was half her present age. Her face wore a dual expression today, the first of which was concern for her eldest child. The second expression—slightly masked, yet apparent to those closest to her—spoke to the indignation she felt that such a tragedy could have befallen one of the Daniels.

  Madison rolled her eyes, sickened by her mother’s constant dramatics and her father’s characteristic indulgence. If Kennedy could respond in the same manner, it was no doubt that she would have because as solicitous as her sister was, today’s behavior was extreme.

  “Hey, sis, are you hanging in there?” Madison asked, moving closer to the side of the hospital bed after Elmira exited the room.

  “Maddie? Yeah, I’m okay,” Kennedy lied.

  Kennedy’s heart warmed at the sound of her sister’s high-pitched voice. With the aid of the pain medications she’d been given, which had the effect of making her mind a fuzzy place where happy images of her life rested, she fondly remembered when Madison, three years her junior, had first begun to talk in complete sentences. The family had been certain that she’d grow out of her voice or that the highness of her tone would deepen as she got older, but it never really did. Kennedy used to tease her when they were little, telling her she sounded like a cartoon character. Madison, never one to care what people thought of her, would giggle and imitate Minnie Mouse. As Madison grew older, every part of her changed and developed except the tone of her voice. That voice set her apart from the other girls and the boys flocked to it and to her like kittens to warm milk. Madison learned to use her voice, and all of her other attributes, to get the things she wanted. She was shorter than Kennedy, closer to her mother’s height at only about five-seven in heels. Her complexion matched Elmira’s, while Kennedy had inherited a shade closer to their father Joseph’s golden-brown skin tone. The sisters shared the same high foreheads and wide, dimpled smiles, making it clear to anyone who saw them that they were related despite the other physical differences. If there remained any doubt that they were sisters, those doubts were silenced when anyone attempted to mess with one or the other.

  One hot summer day when Kennedy was nine years old and Madison six and attending Elko Lake sleepaway camp for the first time, Kennedy had been down near the lake with the older campers, learning how to build a raft out of bamboo and vine, when all of a sudden one of the kids from Madison’s group ran down yelling that Madison was getting jumped by a group of campers. Kennedy took off before the words were fully off of the girl’s tongue. She ran uphill, around the cluster of cabins to the arts and crafts area. Through the storm of dust that was being kicked up, she saw three girls surrounding Madison, a sea of arms and hair tangled together. Madison was holding her own against the trio of troublemakers, 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-whippi
ng. 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.