After several more miles traveled in comfortable silence, they came upon the first plantation home on their schedule. Eli turned onto a white graveled road nestled under an awning of towering oaks. A large, ostentatious mansion broke into view from behind a thick covering of trees.
“It looks different from the brochure,” Monica commented as they parked in the grassy area a few feet from a wooden gazebo.
Eli cut the engine and made his way to the other side of the car. He held her door as she stepped out.
“I heard some company from up North bought this plantation a few years ago, and it’s starting to lose some of its authenticity.”
Eli turned and studied the front façade. The elaborate shiny brass hardware on the doors was definitely not from the late eighteen hundreds. He was sure the large ceiling fans twirling lazily above the front porch were not there during the Civil War, either.
“It’s still very nice. I’m not necessarily looking for a place with historical significance; I just think the character would add something special to the banquet.”
Eli followed Monica to the door and depressed the doorbell. He snorted. Yeah, they had those a couple of centuries ago. The door opened and a young woman appeared. She stared at them with a curious look. “Can I help you?”
“We were hoping for a tour,” Monica said, holding up the brochure.
“Oh, I’m sorry. They stopped giving tours over a year ago. This is a private residence now. You can try San Francisco Plantation just down the river, or cross the bridge and go to Oak Alley. That’s one of the more famous ones.”
“It’s on my list,” Monica answered. “Sorry we bothered you.”
They turned and started for the car.
“Just how old is that brochure,” Eli asked as he backed the Range Rover away from the gazebo and started back up the driveway.
Monica’s head fell back against the seat. “How embarrassing.”
“Maybe we should have called first.” Eli turned east.
“Can you imagine living in a place like that? I have never had someone ask to tour my house, I can promise you that.”
“Would you even want too? It probably takes them ten minutes to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.”
“It’s still amazing.”
Eli caught the wistfulness in her voice, and wondered about its source. Had she been forced to live in a tiny little apartment while growing up, and had always dreamed of a big, fancy home? Did she just have a love for things old? He knew so little about her.
Usually, that suited him fine. The less he knew about a woman, the easier it was to cut her off at the end of the four-week period. But it was different this time. He actually wanted to learn more about Monica. A trace of sweat broke out across Eli’s brow as something akin to panic lodged in his throat.
The next plantation they visited was up and running, but there were no tours due to a termite infestation.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Monica shouted at the car’s ceiling once they were back on the road.
“We’re batting oh for two.”
“It’s depressing.”
“I don’t think plantation hunting is in the cards for today.”
She sighed, then asked, “Do you want to stop somewhere for a bite to eat before going to your niece’s party? I do owe you lunch.”
“Nah. There’s going to be plenty of food there. You can pick up the tab at dinner tonight.”
Monica turned to face him. “You think you’re pretty slick, don’t you? Will this dinner cost me a fortune?”
“Nah. I’ll take it easy on you this time.”
“This time? That makes it sound like a next time is a given.”
He lifted his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Pretty much.”
“Are you always this sure of yourself, Dr. Holmes?” Her eyes glittered with easy humor.
Eli’s mouth eased into a slow, confident smile. “Pretty much.”
Chapter Twelve
Amanda waited for a break in traffic, crossing the street after the blue Chrysler rolled by. She walked through the double doors of the nondescript two-story building.
“Good morning, Mrs. Daniels,” the receptionist said.
“Hello, Gloria,” Amanda answered. “Dr. Berkenshire agreed to see me today.”
“Yes, she just went up. You can go ahead to her office.”
“Thanks.”
Amanda mentally sulked as she pressed the button for the elevator. This no stair climbing business caused more drama in her life than Dr. Holmes probably realized when he handed her his guidelines. Amanda turned right after getting off the elevator. Dr. Berkenshire was waiting at her door, the always calm, serene smile pasted on her face.
She could not be human. Real people were not so at peace with themselves all the time.
“You’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” the doctor said by way of greeting, pointing to Amanda’s stomach. “How is the pregnancy coming along?”
Amanda sat on one of the soft leather chairs in a set up that looked more like the cozy corner of a coffee shop than a psychiatrist’s office. There were books lining the wall to her right and an antique self-standing globe to the left. A smooth, instrumental piece played softly from a sleek CD player.
“Do you mind the music,” Dr. Berkenshire asked. “It’s usually how I unwind on the weekends.”
“Not at all,” Amanda answered. She needed something to help her relax. She didn’t want to be here. But, then, she was the one who’d asked for this session. Not that she needed an official “session.” She just had a few things she needed to work out, and she figured running them by the doctor would be a good idea.
And just who are you trying to convince?
“So,” Dr. Berkenshire said, interrupting Amanda’s internal debate. “How are you? Any complications with the pregnancy?”
“Well, technically, I’m on bed rest. I have a bad case of anemia.”
“Ah,” the doctor nodded. “I had the same with my pregnancy.” She waited a beat, then said smoothly. “And how is everything else?”
Amanda took a heavy breath. Sometimes she really hated the way these shrink types tried to con you into talking about your problems, as if it was just a regular conversation between two friends meeting in the grocery store. Although Amanda had to admit, Dr. Berkenshire’s technique was more comfortable than what she’d first expected. That stereotypical scene of a patient lying on an uncomfortable couch while an old, stuffy white man in a tweed jacket probed her mind had been etched in her brain. She vastly preferred sitting with a cup of tea and chatting with the petite, soft-spoken Dr. Berkenshire.
“I’m dealing with it,” Amanda answered the indirect question. “But it’s been more difficult these past few days.”
“Why is that?”
“I moved back in with my husband,” she replied in a noncommittal murmur.
The doctor’s brows rose. “And how are you dealing with that?”
Amanda looked over at the wall clock, the pendulum almost hypnotic in its steady sway. “It hasn’t been easy,” she finally admitted. “Some days are better than others, but there are just so many things going through my mind when I’m there.”
“Like what?”
“Everything! Having to quit school. Having to quit my job. Even though it paid next to nothing doesn’t mean I didn’t need it. Then there’s Jeffrey.”
“What about him?” Dr. Berkenshire asked.
“I don’t know. I just have all these feelings coming back. Memories of when we were happy, when I was happy.”
“Are you starting to question the divorce?”
Amanda shook her head. “No. The divorce is for the best.”
“How are you so sure? Have you talked with your husband, Amanda?”
“No. I told you, I can’t—”
Why was it so hard for this woman to understand that she could never tell Jeffrey about this?
“I’ve told you this before,” Amand
a lamented. “Jeffrey saw the type of family I came from, and he said early on that he could never endure what my father went through with my crazy mother.”
What would Jeffrey do if he ever found out she’d inherited her mother’s bipolar disorder? Would he fear her illness would drive him to drink, the way it had done with her father? Would he believe Amanda would take her own life, the way her mother had?
Amanda had vowed never to have Jeffrey plagued by those questions.
“There is a distinct difference between you and your mother, Amanda. You are being medically treated for your illness.”
“But you told me yourself that my meds may not work the same after I have the baby.”
Dr. Berkenshire sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It is not a guarantee that your hormone levels will return to their pre-pregnancy state, so yes, there is a possibility that your medication will not have the same effect.”
“What then?” Amanda asked. “What happens when the pills don’t work? I’ve spent the past eleven years hiding this from Jeffrey. If he finds out I’m bipolar…” She brought her trembling fingers to her lips. “You just don’t understand,” she whispered.
Amanda took a moment to collect herself. “I wasn’t always like this, you know?” she said, toying with the hem of her maternity top. “I used to laugh.”
“And you don’t anymore?”
She shook her head. “Not as much as I would like to.”
They sat in silence. Then Dr. Berkenshire’s eyes took on that knowing, probing look that always raised Amanda’s defenses.
“You can be happy again. That’s what the medication is for. We’ve already gone over this. The potential risks to a developing fetus are so marginal they are hardly worth mentioning.”
“You said that the last time.”
“Your meds did not cause your previous miscarriage, Amanda.”
“You can’t be sure of that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Amanda stopped the doctor before she could reply. “I am not putting my child in danger. I don’t care how miniscule the risks.”
“And if the delusions return?”
Amanda willed herself to remain under control. “I’m handling them,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
“So they have returned,” the doctor accurately assumed.
Amanda closed her eyes in frustration. “I know they’re not true, okay. I understand that.”
“But?”
“But it doesn’t matter,” she answered with a sigh. “Even as I’m telling myself Jeffrey isn’t cheating, I can’t help but believe it. Why did I have to turn out crazy like her?”
Dr. Berkenshire scooted to the edge of her chair and took Amanda’s hands in hers, giving them a strength-infusing squeeze.
“Delusions are pervasive, Amanda. It’s not as simple as telling yourself you don’t believe them. If you went back on your medication, all of this would go away. Why would you do this to yourself if you don’t have to?”
Amanda pulled her hands free and placed them on her stomach. “I’ve waited my entire life for this baby. I will carry it full term. I refuse to take any chances.”
Dr. Berkenshire sat back in her chair, a slight, resigned smile on her lips. “As always, it is your choice. You haven’t done anything to endanger yourself or your baby, so I cannot force you to go back on medication, but I do urge you to try some form of psychotherapy. Why don’t you come to one of our group therapy sessions? You don’t have to share the first time. You can just listen. Both sufferers and their families attend.” The doctor emphasized the word families.
“If I come, it will be alone. I am not bringing Jeffrey.”
She shrugged, the tranquil, composed façade returning. “It’s your decision. I can’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable doing. So, will I see you on Tuesday night?”
Amanda thought about returning to the house and all its memories. She thought about how difficult the past few days had been and how there was no end in sight, at least for the next few months. If she had even the smallest chance of surviving the upcoming months, she would have to do something.
“I’ll see,” Amanda finally said, although in her mind, she was already trying to conjure an excuse for having to leave the house on Tuesday.
Elijah pulled in front of a shotgun-style house that looked to be the norm around most of the New Orleans neighborhoods Monica had visited. Cars were lined up and down the street. Monica could see the tip of a red and blue Spacewalk peeking over the back fence.
“Smells like Alex broke out the grill,” Eli said as he helped her out of the SUV.
“I thought you said this would be a small get-together.”
“This is small,” he answered. “Believe me, you’ll know the difference when we do something big.”
Monica followed him up a graveled path along the side of the house. He opened the gate and she walked in ahead of him. The backyard was packed. There were at least fifty people, and they all seemed to stop when she and Eli walked in. Unease, instant and nerve-wracking, rippled down Monica’s spine.
A short, small-framed woman with pretty eyes and flawless skin came from around the food-laden picnic table, wiping her hands on a towel, which she threw over one shoulder.
“You made it,” she said to Eli, although her eyes were on Monica. Eli gave her a kiss on her proffered cheek. Her gaze remained on Monica the entire time. “And who might this be?” the woman asked.
“Mama, this is Dr. Monica Gardner. She just moved here from St. Louis. She replaced Dr. Millgram in the ER. Monica, this is my mother, Margo Holmes.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes.” Monica extended her hand and felt instantly at ease as Margo returned the gesture with a warm smile.
“Same to you, Dr. Gardner.”
“Monica.”
“Then you must call me Margo,” she insisted with Southern charm.
“Uncle Eli!” A little girl, whom Monica recognized from the picture in Eli’s office, ran up to them and threw her arms around his knees.
“What’s up, Rosebud?”
“My name is Jasmine,” she answered. She held out her hand. “Where’s my present?”
“Jasmine Sophia, you know better than to ask for gifts,” Margo chastised.
“But it’s my birthday.” Even pouting, the little girl was too cute for words.
“That doesn’t matter,” Eli’s mother explained, taking Jasmine by the hand and giving her butt a pat. “Now you go back to the Spacewalk and Uncle Eli will give you your gift after you have blown out your candles.” With a resigned smile creasing her face, Margo shook her head as her granddaughter ran toward the Spacewalk. “That little girl.”
“Did Alex hide the bicycle in the old tool shed?” Eli asked.
“It’s in there, though I’m not so sure she deserves such an expensive present. Her mouth is getting sassier by the minute.”
“That’s because she’s a princess, and she knows it.”
“It’s because she’s spoiled rotten.” Margo turned curious eyes to Monica. “So, are you looking to make New Orleans your permanent home, or is this just a trial period?”
Monica’s antenna instantly perked up as Eli’s warning rang through her head. “My contract with the hospital is for two years, so I guess I’ll reevaluate at the end of that time period. I love the city so far, though. The resilience of the people here is inspiring.”
Margo’s eyes brightened. “Wonderful,” she said. “Elijah, why don’t you see if Alex needs help at the grill and I’ll introduce Monica to the rest of the guests?”
“Okay.” Turning to Monica, he asked, “Is that all right with you?”
Well, if it wasn’t all right with her it was a little too late. Monica caught the sly gleam in Eli’s eyes and realized she’d just been snowballed.
“Sure,” she said, sending him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing. Eli’s smile widened. The man was slick as mud on wet cement.
“Wonderf
ul,” Margo said again. “Oh, how exactly should I introduce you? Coworkers? Friends?”
Oh, that was subtle. Monica realized she wasn’t dealing with your regular run-of-the-mill matchmaker. Margo Holmes was a pro.
“As I told you on the phone the other day, Mama, Dr. Gardner is more than just a coworker,” Eli answered.
Monica didn’t think Margo’s eyebrows could perk up any higher, but she had just been proven wrong. “Well, we didn’t have much time to talk, Elijah. I wasn’t sure how serious things were.”
Monica decided to step in since it was obvious Eli was having too much fun making his mother eek out every detail.
“Eli and I have been seeing each other pretty regularly.” Not a total lie; she did see him nearly everyday at the hospital.
It was as if a ton of fireworks had detonated behind Margo’s eyes. “I didn’t realize you two were dating. My son used to share such news with me,” Margo said in a mock whisper.
“I thought I used the word ‘girlfriend’,” Eli said.
“You did not. I would have distinctly remembered if you had.”
“Well, I’m saying it now. Mama, Monica is my new girlfriend.” Eli reached over and took her by the hand. As he placed a gentle kiss on her fingertips, an instant zing of something Monica did not want to identify shot from her fingers to every part of her body. They had not discussed public displays of affection, and she certainly wasn’t prepared for the feel of Eli’s soft lips on her skin.
“That’s just wonderful,” Margo said.
Pin pricks of guilt assaulted her conscience as Monica witnessed the joy shining in Margo’s eyes. The woman’s enthusiasm forced Monica to come to grips with the far-reaching implications of her snap judgment. When she agreed to Eli’s plan, she had not considered how their pretend relationship would affect other people in both of their lives.
“Let me show you off to the rest of the family,” Margo said. Eli laid it on just a bit too thick by pretending he didn’t want to let go of her arm. They were definitely going to have a discussion the next time they were alone.
“I’ll just drop in on Alex, then I’ll be with the two of you, okay?”
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