Jennifer's Garden (17 page)

“Goddamn him.”  Sam gulped a sip from her bright-colored drink.  “I can’t believe he’s doing this to you.”

Careful to keep her voice down, Jennifer checked the immediate vicinity for onlookers.  “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your remarks to yourself.  This evening means too much to Aurelio and I don’t want you causing any trouble.”

Despite the fact it would prove a blessing in disguise.  The men she met this evening had been charming, the conversation stimulating, but each time the subject of Africa came up and she raised the question of time, it was batted away as meaningless.

This venture is too profound to limit within the scope of time.  We are building a nation, a future
.

Important is what she heard.  Meaningful.  And she couldn’t disagree.  But what about building a life for the two of them?  With all Aurelio’s talk of Africa, there was a part of her that couldn’t help feel his dream would tear them apart in the process.

Aurelio approached.  Sam spotted him and Jennifer’s heart stopped.  She placed her free hand on Sam’s forearm.  “Don’t.”

He pecked the cheek of a pink-haired young artist and breezed over.  Completely ignoring Sam, he beamed at Jennifer.  “We’re almost ready.”

“Good,” she said, a rapid pulse shredding through her chest.  She flashed a warning to Sam.

It went unnoticed.  She was staring at Aurelio, her eyes narrowed to slits.  “So, what’s this I hear about Africa?”

“Sam,” Jennifer whispered harshly.

He flicked her a look of disdain.  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Aurelio,
please
.”

“What’s the matter?”  She brought a hand to her hip and egged him on.  “I would think you’d be excited, want to gush all the juicy details.  I mean, it sounds so provocative, so intriguing.”

He smirked.  “Would love to, but since you wouldn’t understand the first thing, I think I’ll save my breath for someone who would.”

Painfully aware as the second head turned in their direction, Jennifer stood rigid between them.

“Nice display of consideration for your wife’s personal life, don’t you think?  Asking her to leave the country when her mother’s on her deathbed?”

“You know nothing of consideration.”  He glanced over her from head to toe.  “It’s a waste of time to have this conversation.”  Zeroing in on the drink in her hand he snipped, “Have another, Sam.  You might get laid.  I’m sure one of my young men will oblige you.”

“Both of you stop—
this instant
!”  Jennifer fought to hush her voice, but it was too late.  People were staring.

Aurelio slid an arm around her.  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”  He pulled her close and spoke into her ear.  “Not another word, I promise.”

Sam continued her redress with a fiery gaze.

“Sam?” she cried beneath her breath.  “Let it go?”

With a roll of her lips, she nodded.  But her eyes remained hot.

Jennifer heaved a tight sigh.  Taking a long swallow of wine, she prayed it was over.  For those still staring, she tried to smile.  Nothing to see here.  Move along.

The fact Sam remained by her side belied hope.

Chapter Fourteen

She needed to be with her mom.  Last night at Aurelio’s had drained her, emotionally and physically.  She didn’t speak to Sam again after the run-in with Aurelio.  He didn’t make matters any better.  Acted like it never happened.  No apology and no discussion.  Instead, he insisted she stay until the last guest left, then drove her home himself.

Because she insisted.  After his public show with Sam, she was in no mood for intimacy.

Odd that she should feel a sense of hope as she walked into the front entrance of Fairhaven, but hope it was.  She waved to the volunteer on duty at the circular lobby desk.  “Morning, Mildred.”

She returned with one of her own and a smile.  “Good morning, Jennifer.  Early today.”

She nodded in passing.  “Early bird gets the worm,” she replied in step.  She heaved a ragged sigh.  Couldn’t sleep was more like it, but that wasn’t this woman’s fault.  It was Sam’s.  Aurelio’s.  Come to think of it, maybe relief was a better word than hope.  At least she didn’t have to contend with Sam or Aurelio today.  Or Africa.

Checking her mother’s chart at the nurse’s station, satisfied nothing of significance had changed, Jennifer pushed open the door to her room and poked her head inside.  At the sight of the sleeping figure, she rapped softly against the door.  Nothing.  Ignoring the douse of disappointment, Jennifer lightly padded into the room.  Even with blinds drawn, the room was light.  You couldn’t hold back the sun on a day like today.  Brilliant blue, not a cloud in the sky, it was useless to try.

Well, at least she could sit with her for awhile, soak in her presence.  Jennifer noticed the wheelchair folded to a close and parked in the corner.  Her outlook brightened.  Perhaps her mom had been out for a stroll today.

Which meant she must be feeling better.

Warmed by the prognosis, Jennifer smiled.  Three days this past week she had come by and each time her mother had been asleep.  Fast asleep.  She took her usual seat alongside her mother’s bed, prepared to visit in silence, but like magic her mom’s eyes opened.

Beatrice smiled, the sight of her daughter lighting up her face.  It reminded Jennifer of a plaque she once read. 
Children of any age care about only one thing.  Do their parent’s eyes light up when they enter the room
?

Hers did.  Parents were the driving force in their children’s lives.  Given enough love, a child would do anything for their parent.  Plow through their studies, rise to the top of their class in medical school...

Jennifer heard her heart as it hit the floor.  They’d even grant their mother’s dying wish and get married in a beautiful garden setting, no matter how much they disagreed on the toll it took.

“Hello darling,” came the faint greeting from lips too ashen for good health, despite the sheen of Vaseline used to soften the cracks.

“Hi, Mom.”  Jennifer reached for her hand.  She caressed the papery skin with light strokes.  “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” she replied, trying to nod her head.  “Fine.”

“Did you go for a walk?”  Jennifer’s eyes indicated that she noticed the wheelchair.

Beatrice slowly followed her line of sight before returning her gaze to her daughter.  “This morning.”

“It was beautiful out, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”  She paused to take a deeper breath.  “I’m practicing...for the big day.”

Jennifer leaned forward at the labored speech.  “Mom, are you okay?”

“Fine,” she rubbed her thumb back and forth across Jennifer’s hand.  “Just a little tired.”

Angst fluttered against her ribs.  Was this a turn for the worse?  More pain?  She didn’t see any note in the chart, that her mother wasn’t—

“Tell me...” her mother encouraged.  “About your garden.”  She squeezed her hand.  “How’s it coming?”

“Wonderful,” Jennifer replied. “I think you’re going to love it.”  Determined not to ruin the visit with her worries, she allowed a genuine smile to form on her lips and filled her mother in on the progress thus far.

“It sounds lovely.  I wish I had thought to put fountains in my garden.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Never came to mind, I guess.”  She gave a tiny shrug, her eyes questioning.  “I was so taken with my flowers, I never gave it a second thought.”  A smile spread across her face.  “Closest I got was a birdbath.”

“Ah, your birds...”  Jennifer thought at once of the birdhouse.  “And the grand hotel!”

That sparked a flash of delight in Beatrice’s eyes.  “I did love my birds!”

“Little messengers from heaven.”

“Not all of them,” she corrected with a knowing grin, gaining energy as she added, “Some of them were down right pests!  They’d hog all the seeds, then deposit their poop in the bath.”  Her eyes came to life at the memory as she swayed her head from side to side against the soft pillow.  “They grew so greedy, it reached the point where I couldn’t take even the smallest of snacks outdoors without fear they would swoop down and snatch some for themselves!”

Jennifer laughed.  Knots loosened as her pleasure spread.  God it felt good to laugh, to reminisce with her mom over the good times they shared.  “How well I remember.  You used to chase them, waving that floppy straw hat of yours, calling them all sorts of names!”

“Oh,” her eyes sparkled, “but the neighbors had some fun with me, didn’t they?”

“Much to Dad’s chagrin.”

“For such a wonderful man, he could be an old stick in the mud, couldn’t he?”

“Educated people don’t run around their yard fussing at the wildlife,” Jennifer droned, mimicking her father’s tone, reciting his words verbatim.

Her mom chuckled softly.  “He never understood that.”  Her gaze drifted to the end of her bed where she paused, as though immersed in deep thought.

Jennifer gave her time, but it only took seconds before Beatrice turned to face her daughter once again.  “Kooky nature buff is how he referred to me.”

“You weren’t kooky, Mom.  You were a respected physician in your community who had a penchant for her garden.”

“And a husband who didn’t understand,” she said, but rather than settle in dismay, defiant eyes danced around the notion.

“A husband who loved you,” Jennifer defended, “despite himself.”

Beatrice nodded, then her movements became somewhat shaky.  “He did that...it’s true.  He tried not to judge what he didn’t understand.  He simply worked...to accept it.”  Her face grew somber, but her eyes continued to hold deep affection and persisted in the connection.  “Which is why I’m so happy for you,” she murmured, giving another light squeeze to their interlocked hands.  “You’re going to have a wonderful life, darling.”  She struggled for deeper breaths.

Jennifer wanted to lurch forward, but refrained.  She wanted to help her mother breathe, ridiculous as it was, help her draw strength, but she couldn’t.

Instead, she forced herself to remain calm and repeated her mantra,
she’s okay
,
she’s okay
.

This is normal, for a terminal patient.

After a moment, Beatrice smiled.  “Love is the seed from which your garden will blossom...and your greatest dreams will come true.”

Jennifer wanted to cry.  She heard the sentiment as it filtered down to her heart, but couldn’t quite coerce the emotion to join it.  Caught between the ache of love and the distress of worry, she could only think of the end.  Everything she looked forward to doing, from her marriage and family to her career and success, would be colored by her mother’s passing.

And she would be alone, the last Hamilton, left to face the future by herself.  Sure, she had Aurelio, and Sam, but no family.  No blood.  When her mother died, she would take a part of her with her.

Nothing would ever be the same.

At home that evening, settled in deep on one end of her sofa, arms wrapped around her legs, Jennifer contemplated her life.  One of her favorite Spanish instrumentals swirled softly in the background calming her mind as she thought about where had she been, what had she accomplished, and where she wanted to go.

From the outside looking in, her life was on track.  At thirty-six she was an established physician in her own right.  She owned the home of her dreams, a superb automobile and fiscally conservative, was well on her way to a good solid retirement yet still had enormous potential and a host of professional goals.

She glanced about the living room and considered what the décor said about her as a person.  If a stranger walked in, what would they assume?  Here lived a doctor who enjoyed the nicer things in life, or here lived a woman, one who cherished family and friends and the good times shared between them.

Wood floors, warm colors, plush materials, nothing here was ostentatious or designer-influenced.  Family photos, artsy ceramics, most items were gifts or mementos she had collected over the years.  Jennifer’s gaze roamed the room, lightly touching on possessions and memories until she landed on the colored-pencil drawing.  It hung just above her writing desk.

More table than desk, the piece of furniture was made from Brazilian Rosewood, an intense and colorful grain sweeping through it that had garnered her attention the minute she laid eyes on it.  She had discovered it in an off-color boutique in the Grove and was her first official purchase as a physician.  A reward to herself that now sat mostly idle.

You’ll be in veritable heaven, scouring their markets for the next interesting piece of furniture for our new home
.

Will I?  When will I have the time to enjoy them?  Between work and travel, she didn’t see much time left for anything else in her life.

The drawing drew her gaze.  Full-color, the scene was half-jungle, half-coastline and could have been a rendition from Brazil or Spain, or a myriad of other exotic destinations.  Sinking further into the imagery, she tried to recall exactly what she had been thinking when she drew that picture.