Stand by me, p.1
Stand by Me, page 1
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2021 by Pat Simmons
Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Simmons, Pat, author.
Title: Stand by me / Pat Simmons.
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Casablanca, [2021] |
Series: Family is forever ; 3
Identifiers: LCCN 2021023691 (print) | LCCN 2021023692 (ebook) |
(trade paperback) | (epub)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories. | Christian fiction. | LCGFT: Domestic
fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3619.I56125 S73 2021 (print) | LCC PS3619.I56125
(ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023691
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023692
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Excerpt from Here for You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Reading Group Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
Caring for a loved one or friend may seem like a thankless job, but take heart.
My grandmother, Jessie Atkins, was diagnosed with dementia symptoms in the mid-1990s. She couldn’t remember my name or how we were related, but one morning, she made a profound statement that I still carry close to my heart today.
“I want to thank you for what you’re doing. You never know whose hand is going to give you that last piece of bread.”
And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
—Galatians 6:9 (KJV)
Chapter 1
“Excuse me. You look familiar.” A deep, unfamiliar voice pulled Kym Knicely from her musings. A man stood in front of her, invading her personal space. His presence interrupted her from flipping through magazine pages as she waited at St. Louis’s Lambert airport to board her flight back home to Baltimore. He could use a fresh pickup line.
Kym raised an arched brow as she lifted her head and almost gasped for breath. Trying not to ogle the intruder, she could only stare. Kym would have definitely remembered meeting this good-looking man who evidently cared about his appearance even when he traveled. While some dressed for comfort—like her, in fashionable jeans and a simple top, with comfy flats on her feet—he, on the other hand, was meticulously coordinated in a sweater, slacks, a blazer, and dress shoes.
“Sorry, we haven’t met.” She wished there were something familiar about him, but there wasn’t, so Kym dismissed the handsome stranger, found her breath, and continued reading.
At thirty-six years old, she gave the illusion of contentment in her single state. Behind closed doors, she suffered through the loneliness. Keeping a busy lifestyle was merely a cover-up. She wanted what her sisters had: husbands who loved them unconditionally.
Not that Kym hadn’t attracted her share of attention from some notable eligible bachelors. Attraction didn’t equal love. Plus, something always seemed amiss about them. She wanted a man to be more than intelligent, confident, and a gentleman beyond measure. Since handsomeness was in the eye of the beholder, good-looking had to be in the top five assets. But the man who snagged her had to possess a selflessness about him.
Maybe she needed a cupid. Kym’s aunt had passed away two years prior. Even in Aunt Tweet’s sickness, she somehow had played matchmaker for Kym’s two younger sisters, Tabitha and Rachel. Where are you, Aunt Tweet, to track down Mr. Right One for Me? she mused.
While in St. Louis, Kym had mixed her business with pleasure and attended a three-day conference on leadership in higher education. She found the seminars informative, and they’d reconfirmed she was on the right path with her dissertation to target children in grade and middle schools. It was the seed to nourishing their desire to graduate from high school, but the hand-holding couldn’t stop there. It was up to administrators and the community to lift up teenagers to apply to college, then help them to finish the course.
Afterward, she couldn’t wait to smother her first and only nephew, Marcus Brownlee Whittington, with hugs and smooches. It was a perfect way to end her trip—a visit with Tabitha and her family—despite also using the time to tweak material for the upcoming week of October midterms.
Marcus wasn’t a junior. Her sister and brother-in-law had bestowed the middle name in honor of their late relative Priscilla “Aunt Tweet” Brownlee. She had impacted her three great-nieces’ lives as children and adults.
Tit for tat, Rachel, her other sister, expected a visit too. And Kym would oblige. She had already made travel plans to fly to Nashville around Christmas to be with her baby sister, who was a breast cancer survivor.
It was the prayers and God’s will that her illness remained in remission for almost two years. Nicholas, Rachel’s hubby, spoiled her rotten. Kym suspected it had nothing to do with the cancer but that he was deeply in love with his wife for better or worse.
As the oldest, Kym refused to relinquish her right to check on her sisters, so: Husbands, beware. Sister chats took precedence.
Tabitha Knicely Whittington had returned to their childhood home in St. Louis, the Gateway City; Rachel Knicely Adams loved her life in Nashville, Music City; and Kym wouldn’t dream of living anywhere other than Charm City, with Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.
Home. Maybe she and her best friend, Judith, could enjoy an evening cruise to relax after the exhausting week.
A while later, the gentleman returned. “Is this seat taken?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer as he claimed the chair as if it were assigned to him. Handsome but rude—a bad combination. Best to ignore him, although it was a challenge as his faint cologne tickled her nose.
“Hi again. I’m Chaz Banks.” He extended his hand.
His persistence bordered on annoyance. She accepted his gentle grasp—strong hands—and nodded without giving her name.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him study her. He bobbed his head and bit his bottom lip as if he had come to a decision.
“I saw you in the audience at LLU’s presidential speaker series. You were stunning in that white pantsuit.”
“Excuse me?” Was he a stalker? Had the man followed her from Baltimore? Her heart raced as she considered her options: call for security, which could cause the airport to be locked down, or pray for her safety. She chose the latter.
“I didn’t mean to cause you alarm.” Chaz frowned.
Okay. Breathe. That explained him being on campus, but that event had been more than a month ago. Kym remembered stepping out in that two-piece pantsuit with gold heels and jewelry. She had garnered many compliments that evening from colleagues and students. A few days after that seminar, Kym had retired her “wear anything white” streak, which had consumed her fashion sense for weeks. “An alum?”
“Yep.” He nodded. “Proud LLU Lion. BA in finance, master’s in public health.”
Tilting her head, Kym discreetly scrutinized him. She was doubly impressed. There was a lot to be said for a man who valued education, and his field of choice said something about his commitment in life.
A lazy grin spread across his smooth face, clean shaven except for a black mustache sprinkled with gray strands. Nice smile. White teeth. “I’m Kym Knicely.”
His eyes twinkled. “Honored to meet you, Kym. What about you? What’s your connection to Lewis Latimer University? You’re an alumna?”
“Only for grad school. I earned my BA from Temple in Philly, then I worked in the private sector for a couple of years, trying to find my purpose.”
“Did you?” He seemed interested in her answer.
“I did. After a few substitute teaching assignments at grade schools, I accepted my calling to mentor. When I shared my concerns about my students lagging behind in reading and math, my aunt encouraged me to make a difference for their future and seek a graduate degree.”
Kym caught herself rambling and stopped. Why was she opening up to this stranger, even if they had exchanged names? Identity theft was real. She was giving out pertinent info that could be password hints.
“So you’re not a native?” Chaz made himself comfortable. “What attracted you to my city?”
The softness in his voice encouraged her not to retreat. “No, I’m a St. Louisan. Go Cards,” she said the city’s baseball fans’ cheer. “I had visited Baltimore a couple of times and was wowed by the historical landmarks and its unique museums.”
His attention was intense. Not once did his eyes stray to the activity around them. She liked that.
“It offered more than those physical attractions. My great-aunt, who we affectionately called Aunt Tweet, attended Storer College, one of the earliest Black colleges. Education was a big deal for Blacks back then, and my aunt made it her business to instill in us that education opened doors. Enslaved Africans sought learning to read, while slaveholders withheld the opportunity.”
“I think back in the day, every Black had a schoolteacher in the family,” he said, adding to their conversation.
“Right. There was no way any of the Knicely girls were not going to attend college. Only my youngest sister attended a historically Black college and university—Fisk in Nashville. Since prestigious Lewis Latimer University was an HBCU, hands down, Baltimore was a winner.”
As Chaz rubbed his chin, she glanced at his ring finger for the first time. Kym wondered at his status. He could be married and not displaying his commitment, or married and with no regards for his vows, or single and satisfied, enjoying the lifestyle of no entanglements. She chided herself for questioning. Focus on a professional conversation.
“What were your majors?”
He stayed on topic. She liked that. “Since I couldn’t decide on a concentration, I pursued a bachelor’s in liberal arts. Being well-rounded has its advantages to explore different fields. I was still indecisive when I applied to LLU’s impressive grad school.”
He shook his head and squinted. “You don’t strike me as a woman who doesn’t know what she wants.”
How am I supposed to take that—as a pickup line, or is he perceptive? There was something about him that made her comfortable to talk. Clearly, she was overthinking it. “Because of my love of fine arts and history, I was torn between a master’s in museum studies and historical preservation…”
He leaned closer, and she caught a whiff of his subtle cologne or aftershave. His dark brown skin was flawless—not a razor mishap in sight. His features were sculptured with care.
“What was your other choice?”
Kym found herself blushing from this man’s attention. “African American studies.”
“So which one was the winner?” His eyes sparkled.
“Neither.” She laughed at herself. “I prayed and asked for direction. God reminded me of the students when I was their substitute teacher. I chose curriculum and instruction as my concentration for my master’s. That allowed me to research the coursework in the local public school system, then I compared it to the national curriculum of districts that showed improvements.” She paused. “Sorry, when I talk shop, I get carried away.”
“I’m not complaining, and I’m following you every step of the way.” He shifted in his seat and exhaled as if he had sucked in a breath of fresh air. “Please continue.”
A willing audience to pass the time until her flight. “Well, after my aunt’s death, I applied to the doctoral program in urban education. I’ve worked on my project for four years. Finally, I plan to graduate next spring. If only my aunt were alive to see my achievement because of her gentle guidance.” Kym swallowed back the sentimental moment.
Chaz gave her soft applause. “I’d be honored to stand in the gap for her, Professor Knicely,” he stated with a surprising conviction as the ticket agent instructed everyone to line up in their designated boarding numbers under the A section.
“Not yet.” Kym blinked as she stood to gather her bags. “That’s more than six months away.”
“I’ll remember.” Chaz got to his feet too.
Sure you will. Either he was mocking her or committing himself without much thought. She wasn’t holding her breath. She nodded her goodbye and got in line to board Southwest Flight 5070 to Baltimore.
* * *
Oh no. Not again. Chaz had allowed Kym to vanish the day of the speaker series before he could introduce himself. Not today as he admired Kym’s strut that had a slight bounce down the ramp.
Who would have thought, at a random airport, his virtual reality would become an actuality as he watched her check in for her flight. His heart rate sped up at the mirage. He’d blinked and studied the image. Of all places, it was here in St. Louis, dressed in a shade of blue, which made her stand out just like the white outfit she wore on the day of the lecture.
If he couldn’t find a seat next to her or bribe another passenger, he would sit as close as possible. Chaz twitched his mustache, a habit he had developed when in deep thought since forever. Yep, he had a plan.
Once on board, he thanked God for the small blessings to see her adjacent seat vacant. Kym was glancing out the window. Another gentleman hugged the aisle spot. That didn’t deter Chaz, although he would rather sit in the back rows or near the engine than squeeze his six-two, solid bulk into a space meant for a petite teenager. But if he was going to seize the moment, Chaz needed to make an exception.
“Are you saving this seat, Professor Knicely?” He waited for her permission to insinuate himself.
Kym glanced up, and unlike the first time, mirth danced in her eyes, while the man in her row didn’t look happy for the intrusion, as if he had intentions of his own. Sorry, buddy, Chaz mused.
“I’m not.”
Permission granted, so Chaz lifted his carry-on overhead and held up the line, forcing the gentleman to stand and allow him entry.
Surprisingly, he fit into the middle seat, adjusted his weight, and displayed a smug grin as he clicked his seat belt.
“Kinda tight fit, don’t you think?” Kym chuckled at his distress. He surrendered his façade and laughed with her.
“What’s a little discomfort to be in the presence of one of the loveliest and most intriguing women I’ve met in a long, long time?” He attempted to stretch his legs, but his movement was thwarted by the constraint of the seat in front of him.
Chaz eyed Kym as she faced the window, attempting to hide her amusement. Perfect, he thought as he admired her features. She had dark, silky hair that was thick and long, but her curls appeared to be as soft as her skin. Her complexion was unblemished. She was a beauty. There was no rock on her ring finger. What was wrong with the men who saw her?
He was content watching her as others boarded the plane. When she turned and caught him staring, he didn’t blink. She lifted a brow as if challenging him to look away—he didn’t.
