Pride and Consequence

Carlos pressed his hand to his chest and sighed. “You’re so good for my ego.”

“Mmm-hmm. Well, I did bring something for you guys,” Zakira revealed, lifting the basket she carried.

“I knew it. What is it?” Carlos inquired, already taking the package.

Zakira clasped her gloved hands together. “They’re chicken potpies. I used herbs from my garden to season the pastry. The vegetables are fresh, and the chicken has been marinated in an herb sauce, also courtesy of my garden.”

Carlos closed his eyes in happiness. “I can’t wait to dive in.”

“Well, there’s enough for you and the rest of the guys, so let me know what you think. We’ll meet Friday morning to discuss some other things pertaining to the charity dinner.”

Carlos saluted her and headed farther into the kitchen with his delicious burden. Zakira smiled and relished the welcome vibe she received whenever she visited the restaurant. She had always felt a sense of acceptance from the Badu’s employees and since she’d started organizing the cancer fund-raiser, she’d experienced an even deeper sense of acceptance. The staff truly seemed to enjoy working with her on the event and they respected her opinions and ideas.

Zakira sighed before heading upstairs.

“Zakira!” Chanel called, a bright smile on her face. “If you’re looking for Malik, he left.”

“Damn,” Zakira muttered, setting her purse on Chanel’s desk. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

Chanel shook her head. “Sorry, he didn’t.”

“Do you know when he might be back?”

“I’m sorry, he really didn’t tell me anything before he left.”

Realizing she would just have to wait it out, Zakira spent a little while longer at the restaurant, then headed home.

As Zakira was leaving Malik’s office, he was arriving at the doctor’s. He shut the door to his black SUV, but leaned against the car instead of walking away from it. He knew none of what he would hear that day would be good. He stroked the strong line of his jaw for a moment, thinking of how his life was about to change. Then, taking a deep breath, he headed into the building.

Dr. McNeil was in the lobby speaking with his receptionist. He turned when the lobby doors opened.

“Malik! Glad you could make it on such short notice.”

Malik’s dark eyes narrowed, and he gave the doctor a humorless smirk. “Why prolong it?”

Dr. McNeil gestured in the direction of his office. “This way.”

Malik’s stride was rapid but steady as he followed the doctor. When the double oak-paneled office doors closed behind them, he turned and spread his hands. “Well?”

Dr. McNeil headed toward his desk. “Have a seat, Malik.”

With a grimace, Malik watched as the doctor calmly took his position. He followed suit, choosing one of the cushioned chairs in front the wide pine desk. “How long have I got?”

“Malik…” Dr. McNeil faltered, trying to find the right words.

“Listen, Doc, can you please just get to it?”

Dr. McNeil studied him for a moment. Then, sighing, he removed his round, gold-rimmed spectacles and leaned forward. “The mass of tissue we discovered after the scan is a tumor. The tests showed that it’s malignant.”

Though Malik had assumed as much, the news was a shock. He felt a strange tightening in his chest, as though his breath were being shut off. Bowing his head, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“This isn’t the end of things, Malik. There are treatments.” Dr. McNeil informed him.

Malik leaned back in the chair and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “How did this happen?”

Dr. McNeil frowned. “The tumor?”

Malik nodded.

“Well, it’s difficult to say,” the doctor replied. “Actually, the cause of tumors is unknown.”

Malik pushed his tall, athletic form out of the chair and paced the floor. “Dammit, you’ve got to have some clue!” he snapped.

“Malik, a lot of money and time has gone into studying tumors and their causes, but there’s still no concrete piece of evidence that gives a satisfactory explanation. Studies have shown that cancer can be caused by viruses, forms of radiant energy, even heredity.”

Malik shook his head and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. “This hasn’t happened to anyone else in my family.”

“There’s always a first,” Dr. McNeil quietly pointed out.

“Thanks,” Malik replied dryly, rolling his intense dark gaze towards the ceiling.

“There is the possibility of surgery,” Dr. McNeil suggested.

“No way. No surgery.” Malik firmly refused, his slanting eyes narrowing further.

Dr. McNeil stood behind his desk, obviously surprised by Malik’s attitude. “You do realize that this could save your life?”

Malik waved his finger at the doctor. “Yeah, well, what if something goes wrong with the surgery, what then? This is my brain we’re talking about. Can you guarantee that if I survive the surgery I’ll be all there, mentally?”

Dr. McNeil sighed. “No, I can’t. There is always a risk when surgery is involved.”

“Well, Doc, that’s a risk I don’t want to take.”

“Malik—”

“Doc, please.” Malik interrupted, raising his hand. The stress of the moment had finally gotten the better of him and he dropped to the windowsill and sat there holding his head. “Believe it or not, all this scares the hell out of me. But surgery scares me more than the tumor.”

“Malik, I can understand how this might be affecting you, but you should keep a positive outlook on this. The operation could very well be a success.”

Malik’s voice was slightly muffled beneath his hands covering his face. “I can’t let Zakira see me that way, stuck in a bed. And I can’t let her see me die.”

By eight o’clock that evening, Zakira’s nerves were in overdrive. After leaving Badu’s, she took a long drive, did some Christmas shopping and visited a few friends. Feeling a little better, she decided to go home. When she called the restaurant and discovered Malik was not there, nor had he been home, she became worried again. Trying to keep an open mind, she washed her hair and braided the thick mass into two pigtails which she wrapped around her head. She even cleaned the already immaculate house in an attempt to keep from fretting over the whereabouts of her husband. So much activity eventually exhausted her, and she collapsed on the sofa for a short nap.

Malik’s key scratched the lock some thirty minutes after Zakira fell asleep. He entered the house quietly, not wanting to frighten her if she was still awake. The tense, guarded look in his dark eyes turned softer when he found his wife fast asleep in the living room. He crept across the thick carpet so he would not awaken her. Easing his heavy frame to the sofa, he took a seat next to her.

Malik’s exquisite charcoal gaze roamed Zakira’s face as though he were trying to memorize her lovely features. Very lightly, he traced the soft line of her brow and Zakira instantly awoke.

Frowning a little, Zakira got her bearings before glancing up. When she saw Malik leaning over her, she bolted up on the sofa. Her small fingers, curled around the lapels of his suede jacket and jerked him close to her.