Sisters By Heart

By Nickey Knighton

Nickey Knighton's debut novel Sisters by Heart recounts the story of sorority sisters, Shondra and Cydne, ten years after graduating from their Historicall

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine B. Knighton (Nickey)
• Release date: May 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885041720

Book preview

Sisters by Heart

Sisters by Heart

Nickey Knighton

New Degree Press

Copyright © 2022 Nickey Knighton

All rights reserved.

Sisters by Heart

ISBN

979-8-88504-066-2 Paperback

979-8-88504-622-0 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-172-0 Ebook

Contents

Author’s Note

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne 

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra 

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Shondra

Cydne

Acknowledgments

For my first big sister and my first love,

Annie Lee Knighton, my mother.

For my first best friends, Win and Pam,

my sisters by blood and by heart.

For Bennie and Tré, you know.

For my HBCU family forever.

For all my sisters by heart.

Time passes.

Life happens.

Distance separates.

Children grow up.

Love waxes and wanes.

Men don’t do what they’re supposed to do.

Hearts break.

Colleagues forget favors.

Careers end.

But Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you.

A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley, and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley’s rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley’s end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you, or come in and carry you out.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, mothers, grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended family all bless our life.

When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead, nor did we know how much we would need each other.

Every day, we need each other still.

—Anonymous

Author’s Note

Although never published on a wide scale, I have been an author all my life. How can that be? Well, my heart and soul contain hundreds of books yet to be written.

While my sisters and I were growing up, my mother encouraged us to write a book. When we approached her with a fascinating story, her response was always write a book about it. She was an avid reader and letter writer, and to this day, I cherish the letters my mom wrote to me while I served in the military. She believed our life stories were worth telling and ones that needed to be heard; Documenting these experiences would be our legacy to the world. But even after much encouragement, I’ve been so busy making a life that it got in the way of writing about it.

When a sister by heart suggested teaming up virtually to write a story during the pandemic, I was all in. Teaming to write offered an escape from the daily grind, and I looked forward to my turn to contribute to our work of fiction. Unfortunately, competing priorities prevailed for many of us, and our writing project dissipated after several months. I really missed the creativity that this activity afforded, so when another sister shared that she was currently writing a book through Georgetown University’s Book Creators Program, I was inspired.

I have found that there is not much written about relationships that originated on the campuses of Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCU). The HBCU experience provides so much more than academic pursuits but enables the emergence of a unique culture and the formulation of relationships with fellow students, faculty members, and organizations that are infinite. This feeling of pride in my own university and love of my sisterhood was my inspiration for pursuing this work of fiction—telling a story of unconditional friendships not often articulated but deserving of center stage. Some may struggle to understand how four short years can shape such strong bonds that can endure all things like the life experiences of my protagonists, Shondra Tate and Cydne Brown.

Sisters by Heart is the story of two women, graduates of a fictitious university, and the bond formulated that sets the course of their lifetimes. This is a story of what friends will do for each other and sisterhood that endures no matter what. My book details their connections to each other and to their families through triumphs, challenges, betrayals, and renewals over the course of a decade. It is the story of sisterhood that originated through pledging. This is a love story founded on basketball. A fictional account of matrimonies, marital challenges, infidelity, parenthood, fascinating careers, cultural experiences, celebrity connections, and international travel, all lie within the pages of Sisters by Heart.

This book is for anyone who wants to reminisce and relate their own bonding experiences and for those who want a deeper understanding of sisterhood pledges and forever connections. For those who may have lost their collegiate associations for whatever reason, I hope this book will inspire you to restore your loyalty and commitment to old friends and your university where it all began. And if you don’t have an HBCU that you can call your own, you do now—Washington Carver University.

Chapter 1

Shondra

We are family.

We pledge our hearts to thee.

We love you through and through.

My dear ‘ole WCU.

That was our mantra and patronal anthem at Washington Carver University. It was where families were formed with thousands of brothers and sisters coming together each year for a college experience. WCU is a historically Black university and the experience gained is like no other. The highs and the lows helped us to grow together, struggle together, and love together. The relationships and the bonds that were formed are for a lifetime. This is where life begins for many in our African American communities. HBCUs are home, where individuals are supported, nurtured, and inspired to become their best selves as they contribute to the larger community.

Life at an HBCU is all about family. Both my parents went to historically Black colleges, and I basically grew up in that community in and around Atlanta, which is probably the city with the largest consortium of HBCUs—Spelman, Morehouse, Clark-Atlanta, and Morris Brown Universities. I was destined to go to an HBCU for my undergraduate education. It was a total experience, academically and socially. From freshman through my junior year, my HCBC, WCU, was the center of my universe, and my life was all about my academics, my sorority, my friends, and my basketball team. I studied, socialized, and dated only among the WCU family environment. Everything and everybody that I wanted in my college life was on the campus of WCU, and I looked no further.

And then, I met a man.

A man named Derrick Tate. Derrick and I were complete opposites in most respects. My university was on the side of Macon that was majority Black. His was a primarily White university that was located on the other side of town, or across the tracks, as we commonly referred to the White side of town. Macon is still the Old South after all, and they don’t call it the Heart of Georgia for nothing, since many of the institutions outside of the metro Atlanta area are still very segregated. What Derrick and I did have in common was our talents and love for the sport of basketball. We encountered each other on a city basketball court during the off season.

We were both in summer school at our respective universities. All the local basketball stars, most back home in Macon from college for the summer, gathered in the evenings when the weather was accommodating for some pickup hoops. The unbearable heat and dampening humidity kept everyone inside near air conditioning during the peak of the day, but they all came out in the late evening when it cooled off some. I was usually the only girl who showed up consistently to play since most of my teammates were home for the summer. This was a way for me to keep my skills sharpened until we started practice just before the beginning of the fall semester.

Totally confident in his game, Derrick was one of few players from his school to venture to our side of town for a good, challenging game of basketball. My three-point jumper earned me respect from the fellows, and the opposing team would always put their best point guard on me. On that particular day, that happened to be Mr. Derrick Tate.

I was sitting side court, in a tank top, sweaty, drained, and tired when Derrick came and sat beside me for the first time. Derrick was engaging and different from most of the local people that I’d met around Macon. It was obvious that he was not from around here as we say in the South, and most of us Southerners had never met anyone from the state of Maine. The sports columnist for the local Macon newspaper even once referred to Derrick as the Yankee Point Guard at Macon University.

Good game, Shondra, Derrick said in his New England accent.

Thanks, Derrick, I responded with my little Southern drawl. How nice of you to notice. I winked at him.

What I noticed about him was his physique. We were playing shirts and skins basketball. Of course, I was always on the shirts team for obvious reasons, and Derrick was on skins. Not only did he have game, but his body was built to match. Derrick was tall, tanned, and just downright handsome.

So, what are you going to do with all this game you have after your graduation next year? You know your skills belong in the professional league. You are going pro, aren’t you? What are your prospects looking like? Derrick inquired.

I gave him a look that I hoped communicated what I was thinking. Back off with all of your rapid-fire questions. You don’t know what it’s like to be me. Derrick, I play for the love of the game. We don’t get the publicity, local or otherwise, like the athletes at Macon University. I play for the love of the sport, and that’s enough.

Obviously, my message fell on deaf ears. Derrick nodded and continued to pursue this line of questioning before excusing himself for a moment. Shondra, please excuse me while I make a very important phone call. Derrick pulled out his phone and walked away momentarily. When he returned, he asked, Are you available for coffee tomorrow morning? Can you meet me at Molly’s Café downtown?

Although he was somewhat annoying in his approach, Derrick’s persistence prevailed. At 9:00 the next morning, I was meeting him at Molly’s Coffee Shop in downtown Macon, Georgia. When I arrived, Derrick was not sitting alone and was accompanied by a handsome African American brother who he introduced to me as his agent. That initial conversation with Derrick and his agent led to scouts from the Women’s National Basketball Association visiting WCU during my senior year to observe our team. As a result, a couple of us were scouted and recruited. I was offered a contract to play in the professional basketball league with the Atlanta Souls upon graduation.

Every evening that summer, Derrick and I showed up on the court to play and compete. The competition was fierce and the highlight of my day. If he was late, I got a little worried thinking that I may not get to see him that day. My best friend, Cydne, was interning in Atlanta that summer and after having met Derrick, I finally mustered up the courage to tell her about him. I had never had what amounted to even a causal relationship since our freshman year without her consent and approval. As always, during one of our phone calls, I spilled everything to her. I told her that Derrick played basketball for Macon University, that he was a Sports Management major, was from Maine, and was tall and very handsome.

Girl, I do not know one Black person from Maine. Tell me more about this Derrick, Cydne insisted.

Did I say he was Black? I asked, surprised. I tried recounting everything I told her about Derrick but was certain I didn’t say anything about his color.

Shon, what the hell? How have you managed to leave out this little detail? What’s his last name? Is that Derek with an E or Derrick with an I?

I could tell she was checking him out on social media.

Oh, my goodness, Shon. He’s not Black. So, what do we have here? Out of all the men who have pursued you over the course of our three years on campus, you land on a man from Maine, from the PWI on the other side of the tracks. Only you, Shon, only you, she laughed. He looks good though. Mighty fine white brother, and I would even say that he’s hot. I’m coming down in a couple of weekends to meet this Derrick in person.

After our next basketball court date and with Cydne’s semi-approval, it was my time to make the next move. I was a little anxious, but I needed to test this potential relationship to see if there was fire behind this spark. As we sat hot and sweaty after a game on the side of the court, Derrick threw me a towel. Our friendship had blossomed over the last several weeks based on our respect for each other as players and the interesting conversations we had. We talked about everything—what it was like growing up in Maine, why he chose to come to college in Georgia, race relations, my love for my hometown of Atlanta and my university, and what we wanted for our futures.

On that evening, we stayed later than the other players and took back to the court to practice our three-point jumpers. And right there on center court, I surprised even myself when I asked Derrick on a date.

Hey. Derrick, can I buy you dinner tonight? I asked nervously. What if he said no? What if he already had a girl? I couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t. With all this talent and good looks to bear, I was sure he was the big man on the campus over at Macon U.

Sure, Shondra. I thought you would never ask, he chuckled. But only if it’s dinner and a movie. What time should I pick you up?

I’ll meet you out in front of my apartment complex at eight. I’ll text you the address.

It’s a date, Derrick responded.

That date was the first of many over the course of the summer. We met for coffee every morning, played basketball in the early evenings, rushed to our apartments to shower, and changed to meet up again for our late evening dates. The summer between my junior and senior years at WCU was my happiest ever. Just the sight of Derrick and the mention of his name when Cydne and I conversed gave me butterflies in my stomach. Others took notice as our handshakes before we took the court before each game evolved into warm embraces.

After several weeks, it was time for Derrick to meet Cydne. She came down for a weekend to hang out with us and to check out this new man in our lives. She was our third wheel for the weekend, and I gave Derrick and Cyd some one-on-one time. Cyd and I have a platonic partnership, and we have pledged to live out the rest of our lives together in some form or fashion. She