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that he was a compassionate person taking pity on someone who had no one. The fact that his thumb traced slow, lazy circles on her palm as he held her hand didn’t mean a thing…did it?
    She shoved her thoughts aside as they arrived in front of her building and concentrated on getting to the elevator. By the time they’d reached her apartment on the fourth floor she was exhausted. Her weakness was frustrating, and she could hardly wait to continue rehab after a few days of rest. Holding her arm, Amir helped Shayla ease onto the black leather sofa before placing her walker within arm’s reach. He then dropped her bag onto the cluttered coffee table before turning in a slow circle to take in his surroundings.
    Shayla tried to hide her embarrassment; her apartment was a chaotic mess. She never had developed any sort of organizational skill, and it showed. Old dance magazines and newspapers practically covered the coffee table, her favorite blanket and a book she’d been reading were strewn across the couch. A pair of sneakers rested on the rug beside her favorite overstuffed chair. Beside her stereo was a stack of CD’s nearly as tall as she was; beside it sat her grandmother’s old record player along with a stack of old jazz and classical albums. Her kitchen was clean enough, though the island where one was supposed to sit at matching barstools to eat was covered with take-out menus and even more dance magazines. She was grateful he couldn’t see her bedroom, where she knew she had left piles of clothing on the bed and floor.
    “ Would you like to stay for a while?” she asked before she could lose her nerve, not ready to say good-bye just yet. “If you’re hungry I have an array of takeout menus to choose from and there’s a stack of movies beside the DVD player that I haven’t even watched yet.
    “ Yes!” he answered eagerly , almost before she had finished.
    He sat beside her on the couch , after grabbing a few of the menus from the island in the kitchen, and they thumbed through them together before settling on Chinese.
    They had just settled in front of the television, side by side on the couch, each holding white cardboard cartons and chopsticks, when the sound of the buzzer cracked through the dim room like thunder. Amir went over to the intercom and pressed the button for Shayla, who slowly stood and leaned on her walker.
    “ Who is it?” she asked once she was close enough to the speaker to be heard.
    “ It’s M ama and D addy, Shayla,” said a voice from the other end. “We’ve come to see that you’re all right.”
    Shayla frowned. As much as she had wanted to hear from her parents, she couldn’t help but feel annoyance at their bad timing. “Come on up,” she said before pressing the button to let them into the building.

Chapter 7: Feelings
     
    The door to Shayla’s apartment swung open to admit an attractive couple in their early sixties. Mr. Ronald Gaines, dressed in a three-piece suit and long overcoat, eyed Amir with interest. Mrs. Sharice Gaines, dressed to the nines in a little black dress, kitten heels, and fur, ignored him completely. Ronald Gaines seemed like the sort of man whose dignified exterior hid a softer, more accessible personality. Amir felt nothing but cold indifference radiating from Sharice.
    Shayla forced a smile, but Amir knew that she was uncomfortable. After all, she hadn’t seen her parents in over two years, ever since she’d decided to drop out of college to become a dancer. Sharice swept forward, her hand pressed to her forehead dramatically.
    “ Oh my baby!” she cried, wrapping her arms around Shayla. Shayla stood silently in her mother’s embrace but kept her arms at her sides. “Thank God you’re all right,” Sharice continued, leaning away and appraising Shayla from head to toe.
    Ronald placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, and Amir felt her stiffen beside him. He fought the urge to shove his body protectively between her and her parents