“If you take that off, don’t expect a second chance.”
No, she didn’t expect he’d give her one. Strange, but he was the one man she thought capable of forgiveness. Jennifer set the ring on the glass table, careless to the tremble of her fingers. It dropped with a ping.
Rest in peace, she thought grimly. With one last look at Aurelio, her eyes filling with the familiar rush of tears, she mouthed goodbye.
Walking around his stone-still figure, she picked up her purse and went for the door. She didn’t stop, he didn’t protest. Sliding her hand around the cold metal handle, she made her exit, pulling the door to a soft close behind her.
# # #
Jennifer called her friend first thing. It was the only thing she knew to do. Spew out the pain, hash through her emotions. Get help making sense of it all.
Heaven knows, she couldn’t.
Bless her heart, Sam didn’t once interrupt. No snide remarks, no sage advice, she only listened. When there were no more words to describe her misery, she waited for Sam to step in.
“You need to call him.”
Jennifer didn’t speak.
“You need to tell him how you feel.”
“He’s not right for me.” It was her new conclusion. Yes, she had ruined her life. Yes, she had courted the possibilities, but sanity finally intervened.
While it wasn’t fair to tear Aurelio’s world apart, it wouldn’t be fair to undercut Jax’s, either. He should have the freedom to pursue whatever life course he wanted. Resenting the Bahamas was no different than resenting Africa.
“You don’t know that, Jen.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Love is funny. It turns lives upside down. For better or worse. You can’t predict choices of the heart.”
“Maybe no, but I do know that I can’t drop everything to sail through the islands.”
“He might be persuaded to put that plan on hold.”
“So now I’m changing who he is? How smart is that, Sam? The man wants his freedom. He has no ties here. He lives job to job.” A lump rose in her throat. “I can’t. My career is all or nothing.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, it does.”
“There’s room for flexibility.”
“What flexibility? I work out of hospitals, offices, not the bow of a boat! I can’t save my patients without proper facilities.”
“You save lives, Jen. You care for people.” Sam paused. “They live in the States, they live in the islands. It’s the vo-cation that matters, not the lo-cation.”
“Sam.”
“Jen.”
The challenge hung between them.
“I would lose my practice, my career.”
“You could lose the love of your life.”
“It’s a ridiculous risk.”
“No it’s not.”
“He’s probably not even interested.”
“He’s interested, trust me. I was there, remember?”
“But what if he’s not? Then I’ve lost everything—I’ve ruined lives, broken promises—and for what?”
“Your freedom.”
She could have thrown the receiver through her window. “I don’t want my freedom, Sam!”
“Everyone wants their freedom, Jen. That’s what living’s all about.”
Jennifer smacked the phone to her nightstand. Sam was wrong. Living was about more than freedom—it was about love, support; being responsible to those who needed you.
She thought about Beverly. Her surgeon called today and the news wasn’t good. She had developed an infection. Jennifer closed her eyes. One that could kill her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Mom?”
Beatrice’s eyelashes fluttered at the voice. “Are you awake?”
“Sweetheart...” she murmured. “I’ll see you soon...”
“Mom?”
Beatrice smiled at him. “I love you, too.” She opened her eyes to her daughter Jennifer. “Oh—darling...” she said, and worked to adjust her focus to the dimly-lit room. The first rays of daylight filtered in through her blinds, curtains pushed aside, the air golden. And by her bed, in her usual seat, was her baby.
“Hi mom,” Jennifer said, a slight quiver to her voice. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Beatrice’s gaze relaxed as she settled in on her daughter, enjoying the warmth of her hands. She offered a smile. “Fine...just...fine.”
“I brought you some tapioca pudding. The doctor said you’re not eating.”
“So sweet, Jenny...” She gave a feather squeeze to her palm. “Thank you.”
“You need to eat.”
Beatrice heard the concern. “I am... Don’t worry...” But when her daughter’s face remained grave, she seemed to detect something more than worry. “What is it?”
Jennifer’s eyes dropped to their hands.
“Jenny?”
She raised her head to face her mother. “It’s about the wedding. I can’t—"
“Tell me,” Beatrice insisted, a mix of confusion and apprehension crowding her intuition. “Jenny? Please?”
“I can’t marry Aurelio,” she croaked out the words.
Beatrice’s heart fell.
Her daughter swallowed, hard. “I can’t give you the garden wedding I promised.”
She searched her daughter’s gaze for direction, for meaning. But the glitter of blue revealed only distress. “But I don’t understand... What’s happened?”
“I’m having doubts.”
Beatrice expelled her breath in a soft sigh. “Oh darling...” With pronounced effort, she reached over and patted her hands. “We all have doubts. It’s normal.”
Jennifer shook her head. “There’s someone else.”
Beatrice became very still.
“It’s not what you think, Mom,” she continued quickly, “it’s...I had a...”
“What?”
Jennifer gushed out in one long sentence, “I had a dream and it’s because of this I can’t marry Aurelio.”
Beatrice drew back. “A dream?”
And then she explained, from the beginning.
She did the best she could. From her slow and controlled speech, the unnatural state with which she delivered the story, Beatrice could tell this was difficult for her. And as she watched her daughter’s face, eyes often dodging the elder’s scrutiny, Beatrice heard a young woman under enormous pressure. Not from her profession, though she was certain it was a factor, but from herself. She had set a course of action and was following through, only to be tripped up by an unforeseen obstacle tossed in her path.
Beatrice smiled privately. Her baby girl always had been methodical in her choices, her decisions. She always kept an eye on the future, the goal.
Jennifer learned that from her parents. Arthur and she had always taught their child to have a plan. If she wanted to succeed, she must have a plan. One didn’t make it, if they set no course. One would flounder, if they had no compass. Yet now it seemed the very lesson that had brilliantly advanced her career had failed her, personally.
The revelation broke Beatrice’s heart.
And Sam. Her vivacious, fun-loving girlfriend, the one she and Arthur had never fully approved of had apparently doled out the best advice of all. Move past appearances. Look beneath the surface. Discover the man inside.
It was exactly what Beatrice had done with Arthur.
“Maybe Aurelio and I can make it work. Maybe this is only a temporary setback. I just need a little time, while I get my thoughts straight.”
Beatrice gave a gentle shake of her head. Forcing her hand to be steady and strong, she reached up and brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “I don’t think so.”
“But why not?” Jennifer asked, sounding perilously close to desperation. “For a successful marriage, people work through their problems, right? They overcome obstacles.”
They don’t run.
Both understood the unspoken senti
ment. It was the antithesis of everything she was taught. Hamiltons didn’t run from a challenge, they rose to it. But more than a challenge, Beatrice understood the deeper motivation at work. Jennifer feared disappointing her. Like always, she was trying to produce the results her parents expected.
Shame on them, Beatrice admonished herself at once. Shame on her and Arthur for not giving their daughter the power and knowledge to choose as well as they had chosen, the confidence to defy convention and love outside society’s expectations.
Beatrice reined in her recriminations. Her bones ached, her energy nonexistent, but she rallied her strength. What’s done is done. Right now, Jenny needed to know exactly the jewel her mother had found in her father, and how hard it had been to make their dreams a reality. She was going to need strength to go after this young man of hers, of that much Beatrice was certain.
Clasping her daughter’s hand more securely in her own, she exhaled in a tired sigh. “Wrong.”
For a long moment, she held her child in her gaze, allowing her to digest the unexpected. “You’re not marrying him, because you don’t love him...enough...in the right way.”
“What?”
Beatrice shook her head at the disbelief swirling in her daughter’s eyes. “And it’s okay.”
“But what about the wedding?”
She shook her head again. “I didn’t want a wedding.”
Jennifer gaped at her.
“I’m sorry I pushed. I only wanted love...for you. The kind your father and I shared.” She paused, heart strung by her daughter’s stricken look. “Help me up, sweetheart. I’d like to tell you a story.” She smiled and dipped her chin. “A love story.”
Jennifer did as she was told. Propping her mother slightly higher in bed, she adjusted her pillows and tucked in her blanket. It took only a few moments, but gave both a chance to gather their thoughts. As the day began, sweeping in the beams of sunlight, Jennifer turned off her bedside lamp.
With her daughter perched on the edge of her bedside chair, Beatrice gestured for her daughter’s hand. More than the physical connection, she was warmed by its presence. Its love. She felt it in every touch, every caress. Doggedly devoted, Jenny had been relentless in her loyalty. It wasn’t until now that Beatrice realized it was flawed.
And needed correcting. Beatrice started at the beginning. “Your father and I met in college...” Visions of a youthful Arthur swirled in her mind. Quiet, unassuming, it was a miracle the two ever spoke. But fortunately for her, they did.
She smiled, bathed in his memory. “It was a whirlwind courtship...and one neither of us expected.”
Beatrice went on to describe both students as ambitious, their minds equally inflated with the idealistic brand of youth. Each wanted to pursue a career in medicine, each had an eye on the ultimate prize—their doctorate—but through the years, a difference began to emerge.
“Your father was so intelligent, passing his classes with near-perfect scores, piling on extra credits, just for the fun of it. I held my own, managing to stay in the top tier of my class, but I preferred labs. I liked to get my hands dirty,” she added with a playful grin. “Digging through the guts and gore, really set me on fire!”
Jennifer smiled, nodding she could relate, but remained quiet.
For Beatrice, it felt good to remember. Like a shot in the arm of much-needed energy. They were some of the best days of her life—before giving birth—and she wanted her daughter to understand...understand husband and wife came first. They stood by one another through the childbearing and rearing years and once the kids were gone, they remained by each other’s sides.
Until death do us part.
Tears pricked at her eyes as Beatrice rubbed her thumb back and forth over the soft warm skin of her child’s hand. She wanted to remember this, too. The feel of her slender hands, the touch of her skin. Mother and child was a connection like no other and one she wanted Jenny to experience for herself.
But she needed to understand the difficulties involved. The sacrifice. “Along the way, it became apparent we had very different directions in mind for our careers.”
Jennifer appeared confused. “But you’re both doctors.”
“Yes, but I was a woman, studying in a male dominated field. Your father... Well, he was showing tendencies toward the academic.”
“You make it sound like that was a problem.”
Beatrice fell back through time, landing in an era when it was indeed, a problem. “Oh darling, you have no idea... The bias women had to overcome in my time was enormous. Women physicians were not as accepted as they are today. Why, Harvard didn’t even open its doors to us until the 1940s!” She paused, settling into the memory. “But I was determined to make it. Your father, well, he had positions waiting for him...with the best groups in town. All he had to do was say yes.”
“But he didn’t.”
Beatrice shook her head. “He didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because his heart had found its love in academics, in teaching. He loved seeing the lights go on in the minds of his students...the excitement build as they connected the dots. The heated exchange when they challenged him... And research. It became his passion.”
“His passion?”
“His passion. Other than me, of course.” She nodded her head, slow and easy, amused by the mild embarrassment in her daughter’s eyes. “When we weren’t focused on each other, he submersed himself in data, I with people. I wanted to make a difference on a human level, in the lives of sick people; the ones who needed my care the most.” Beatrice stopped. She narrowed in on her daughter. “Like you.”
Jennifer responded with a timid smile.
“Your father was an amazing parent. There for you every step of the way, he never missed a beat.” She paused, her mind overwhelmed by sudden apology. Unlike her. She had missed entire days, special events, school picnics...
Because her career had demanded it. Staring at her child, it was with mixed emotion she considered her advice. Change a thing? Beatrice couldn’t say that she would. Arthur had been the love of her life. Jenny a gift from God. The three of them had made a good life, but it hadn’t been without hurdles. Much like her daughter was experiencing now. But to advise the same? “Our life together almost didn’t happen.”
Jennifer’s mouth fell open.
An older gentlemen pushed open the door to her room and slipped his head inside. “Ready for breakfast, Dr. Hamilton?”
“Not yet.” She glanced at Jennifer. “Can you give me an hour?”
“No problem. I’ll check back.” With that, he disappeared from sight.
“But why not?” Jennifer jumped back on course. “What happened?”
Beatrice paused. “Your father and I faced a bit of... Opposition, shall we say?”
“From who—your parents?”
“From our parents, the community at large...”
Jennifer’s expression assumed a stance of defiance. “Why? It sounds to me like you two were meant for each other, right from the start.”
“We thought so, too,” she said, warmed by her daughter’s adamant defense. Sharing the moment, she patted her hand, pleased by the alliance. “But your father was assuming the role of teacher and I the role of physician. Why, in those days, he may as well have called himself Mr. Mom for the impression was the same.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Men are capable. They provide. Women are powerless. They support.”
Jennifer bristled and Beatrice smiled. “I was under a lot of pressure to choose a partner more suitable for my future, as was he. It didn’t matter that we loved each other to the very core, that we couldn’t imagine a day go by without the other by our side...”
“But dad was brilliant. He received national acclaim for his research from both the academic and the scientific community. How could anyone view him as unsuitable?”
“I agree. I, myself, always considered it
an asinine premise. When you think about it, where did good physicians come from, but from good professors?”
“So how could anyone consider a medical professor incompatible with a medical doctor?”
“Because I am a woman and he was a man.” She paused. “Our roles were reversed.”
“But that’s ridiculous.” Jennifer was becoming agitated. “Who cares who did what—you loved each other!”
“Exactly.”
It was all Beatrice had to say.
The implication made its mark. Who cares.
Jennifer became very still. Her eyes grew sharp with comprehension. Beatrice caressed her daughter’s hand with a feather-soft brush, but didn’t utter a sound.
Let her draw her own conclusions.
Jennifer rose from her seat and went to the window. Separating the blinds with her fingers, she peered outside. As the campus awoke, residents crossed the expansive lawn, some pushed in their wheelchairs by nurses, other taking heavy steps, their efforts supported by walkers or canes. A few seemed too young to be here.
Taking her time, she digested the information revealed. Her mother had offered her a glimpse into a side of her past she hadn’t known existed. Until now. Private, intimate, they were the details of love. Behind the scenes workings that made a marriage succeed, ones she had been wholly unaware of.
Jennifer dropped her hand from the window and turned. “It doesn’t matter.”
Beatrice shook her head with a hint of rebellious challenge. “No, it doesn’t.” She smiled. With a pat to her bed, she said, “Come. Tell me about Jackson.”
Her tone was teasing, yet daring refusal.
Jennifer couldn’t help but smile at the coax. “Jackson. Jax.”
Thoughts of describing him gave her pause. Where to begin? “Well, he’s a genuinely nice guy...”
“Handsome?” her mom’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
It was the first time Jennifer had laughed all day. “Handsome doesn’t begin to describe Jax!” Pleasure filled her insides as she returned to her chair. “He’s sexy—in the most physical way—if you like your man’s muscles strong and chiseled, glistening in the sun after a hard day’s work.”
Jennifer's Garden Page 24