by JoAnn Durgin
Newport was also where he’d met her mother at the world-renowned Newport Jazz Festival. Serenity’s free-spirited parents volunteered at the festival one sweltering August day nearly twenty-six years ago. They’d shared a blanket on the lawn and apparently a whole lot more considering she’d been born nine months later, almost to the day.
Humoring her father now seemed the best option. “What was the clue?”
“Name the summer White House during the Kennedy administration,” he said. “Two of the contestants guessed the family compound in Hyannis. Figures. But the third one,” he said, shaking his finger, “she was smart and knew it was Hammersmith Farm. Speaking of smart, sit yourself down, girl. We need to talk about this big plan of yours.” He nodded to the threadbare chair across from his recliner. No matter how many times she’d offered, her father refused to have it reupholstered, as if preserving Mama’s favorite chair might somehow bring her back home. She was surprised he’d even allow her to sit in that chair, holy as it was.
A grunt preceded a loud clearing of his raspy throat as Clinton reached for the unopened box of cigarettes on the table.
“Dad.” She hoped her tone would stop that hand mid-air.
“Save the lecture, Serenity. This is about you, not me.”
She met his eyes, holding them steady. He always thought he could stare her down, but no more. “Make you a deal. I don’t lecture you, and you don’t lecture me.”
He pulled off the cellophane wrapper and unwound the tab from the pack of cancer sticks. “You’re still my daughter, and from the sound of it, you’re not too old to sass your dad.”
For a man in his mid-fifties, he looked ten years older and she hated how his once robust shoulders slumped. For most of his working life, he’d proudly served the public as a member of the Croisette Shores Fire Department and been active in community events. He’d lived healthy, ate right, exercised regularly. After Mama’s disappearance, he retired and nicotine became his poison of choice, rendering him a shriveled shell of the man he’d once been. Now, he couldn’t understand why his only child preferred to live in a small rental a half-mile away instead of staying with him in the old family homestead. The concept of secondhand smoke hadn’t yet infiltrated his clogged mind.
The solace was the love written in his weary, dark eyes. Beneath the gruff exterior, her dad’s heart was one of the most tender she’d ever known. One glance could melt her strongest resolve, ease away the years, the heartache and loneliness. In his eyes, she was still the scrawny, awkward ten-year-old with long blonde pigtails who snuck out of the house to pay visits to her best friend Deidre’s puppy. Then she’d morphed into a seventeen-year-old who thought she knew more than her parents and snuck out with Danny almost every night.
The constant sadness in Clinton’s expression made her furious at her mother all over again for leaving him. Leaving them. For reasons she couldn’t understand, without fail, he always defended her. She no longer believed Mama would return, but he’d held onto the hope. Serenity had run away from home, but he’d stayed. She’d fought the past and made strides toward her future, yet he couldn’t seem to move on. If nothing else, her life was filled with irony.
Resisting the urge to cross her arms, Serenity frowned at the onset of another round of coughing spasms. He wouldn’t accept help, turned away from sympathy and pity made him angrier than anything. Feeling helpless, she darted into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the overhead cabinet and shoved it under the water dispenser on the refrigerator door. By the time she placed the glass on the end table beside him, his latest spell had finally subsided.
“Drink up,” she said. “You need to stay hydrated.”
His face twisted as he drained the glass. Smacking his lips, he handed it to her. “You’re a good daughter for watching over me.”
“Well, someone’s got to do it. Need some more?”
“Nah. That’ll do me. Sit down again and tell me about this business plan of yours.” The skepticism in his tone irritated her. “Seems a little risky in this town.”
Inhaling a quick breath, Serenity dropped into the chair. Would he rather she hadn’t come home? “Maybe it is, but I have to try.” Sure, she might fail, but she’d be able to look in the mirror with some semblance of self-respect. “What do you expect me to do, Dad? I’ve worked hard the past few years to earn the right. I suppose I could waitress at The Happy Crab or cashier at McHenry’s Market. Better yet, I could set the pins at Bowl-A-Rama.” Try as she might, she couldn’t squelch the defensiveness and sarcasm in her tone. Instead of being supportive, he wanted to fight her at every turn. She swallowed a sigh of exasperation.
“Can’t do that last one.” A spark of humor surfaced in Clinton’s voice, surprising her. “Sid at the bowling alley got one of them automated machines last year. Can’t you hang a shingle and work from that little house of yours instead of spending big money on an office?”
“An office projects a more professional image,” she said. “It’s in a prime location in the center of town, and it’ll be a good place to meet potential clients on neutral ground. Deidre and Wes own the building and they’re giving me a ridiculously low rental rate in exchange for client referrals.”
He nodded. “Your friend’s done real well for herself. She checks on me once a week, you know.” Clinton shifted in his recliner. “I know I’m not the easiest person to be around, girl, but I figured you might come around more.”
Serenity bit back her quick rebuttal. “Deidre came to visit me in Atlanta a few times, too.” She didn’t know her friend regularly visited her dad, but it was another reason to love the woman. She’d been one of her strongest lifelines to sanity. “I promise I’ll be around more once I get settled. You have to give me a little time, okay?”
Ending that spiel with a question made her sound a little desperate, as if she was imploring him for reassurance. Like a pat on the head for earning a good grade in school. Or the thumbs-up when she slid into home and won the softball game for her team when she was twelve. What did she have to prove, anyway? That she was an independent adult and could do this on her own? That she knew what she was doing? That I don’t need my daddy to hold my hand? If nothing else, the events of the last few years taught her to work for what she wanted in life. No one—not even God—would hand her a free pass with a “Here you go. Have a great life.”
Her dad had to know his words heaped more guilt on her already burdened conscience. Unleashing her anger would only drive the wedge deeper between them, and she needed to rein in the growing resentment. If only he knew how many times she’d started toward the house only to change her mind and turn in the opposite direction. How could she tell him it was almost too sad to visit her own father? The memories overwhelmed her the minute she stepped inside the house.
“I’ve been here a few times, Dad, but you’re usually asleep.” She raised a brow and attempted a half-smile. “I suppose you believe the laundry fairy’s washed your clothes and the catering elf’s left food in the fridge?”
“Yeah, and I appreciate it, girl. Right charitable.”
A small concession, but she’d take it. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, but starting a new business takes a lot of time. I’ve furnished the office space, hired a part-time assistant and filed all the paperwork with the state and the town. There’s a budget to be made, advertising revenues to consider...” Justifiable or not, they were feeble excuses and they both knew it.
Faint whimpering and scratching from the side door caught her attention. Telling him she’d be right back, Serenity hurried through the kitchen, thankful for the brief reprieve. Warm sunshine filled the room with light as she opened the door, inhaling the sweet headiness of rose shrubs—her mother’s beloved Vi’s Violet roses—planted along the back of the house. She was surprised they’d survived without her mother’s loving cultivation, but seeing the miniature lavender blooms always made her smile.
At least something comes back every year.
Serenity clapped her hands. “Ginseng! Come here, girl.” Sinking to her knees as the aging golden retriever padded through the door, tail wagging, she buried her face in the dog’s luxurious fur. “You’re my anchor. I love my girl, yes I do.” She rubbed behind Ginseng’s ears and planted a kiss on the dog’s ten-year-old head. “If only you could talk, you’d have some mighty big secrets to spill, wouldn’t you? Oh, how I wish you could.”
~CHAPTER 2~
Jackson startled as the buzzer on the phone interrupted his concentration. “Yes, Mrs. Lange?”
“Your two o’clock appointment is here, Dr. Ross.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right out.” After a final glance at the computer screen, he closed out the file and said a quick prayer. Although it was the two-minute version, he knew God listened and figured He’d appreciate the brevity. Strolling toward the outer lobby, prepared to greet his first patient in Croisette Shores, Jackson paused in the doorway when he heard a woman speaking with a young boy. They sat together on the sofa as he read a book aloud. This must be Justin and his guardian, Mrs. Johnson. With painstaking care, she encouraged him after he stumbled over a word. Justin couldn’t be any older than five, but he handled the words with aplomb. Bright kid. Cute, too, with handsome features and a mop of dark, curly hair. When he laughed, his smile revealed straight baby teeth framed by two deep dimples.
Content to observe, Jackson admired the woman’s dedication and patience. Lost in the world of Dr. Seuss, neither one noticed him. They’d recently come to South Carolina from New York, but whether the stop in Croisette Shores was temporary or permanent he had no idea. It didn’t help that Mrs. Johnson refused to fill out the requisite paperwork—claiming she didn’t want to involve an insurance company—and insisted on paying cash.
His initial inclination had been to refuse the appointment, but the Lord sent every child to him for a reason, and he accepted the responsibility as a higher calling. At the very least, he needed to meet with Justin, form his conclusions and help him if he could. So, with an underlying reserve of caution, he’d booked the appointment. He resolved to garner as much information as he could during their initial session and record his notes immediately afterward. Without really knowing why, he suspected Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t make his job easier.
“That’s right, Justin. Good job.” The woman patted the boy’s arm and looked up as Jackson approached. She wore sunglasses, making it difficult to guess her age, but he estimated early fifties or a few years older. Could be she had a sensitivity to light, but Jackson hoped it wasn’t anything more. Domestic abuse cases were difficult and he hated them, no more so than when they involved one of his patients.
He’d heard celebrities sometimes camped out in this little coastal town, so perhaps Mrs. “Johnson” was an actress or socialite going incognito. Could be she’d recently undergone a “cosmetic procedure” or whatever they called plastic surgery these days. No matter the woman’s identity, other than “Smith” or “Jones,” she couldn’t have picked a more generic last name.
Closing the book on her lap, she placed it on a nearby table and took the boy’s hand. “Let’s meet the doctor.”
Big brown eyes stared up at him with all the innocence of a seemingly happy, healthy child. “Justin?” He nodded as Jackson crouched in front of him. “I’m Dr. Ross, but you can call me Doc Jack if you want. Thanks for coming to see me today. Want to come in the office and talk for a few minutes?” When the boy hesitated, looking at the woman for reassurance, Jackson sweetened the offer. “I have gummi worms. Mrs. Lange makes them, and they’re a whole lot better than the ones you buy in the store.” As expected, that did the trick when the boy’s eyes lit and he dropped his guardian’s hand.
“You said the magic words,” the woman said, her lips twisting with the hint of a smile. “I lose to gummies all the time. I’m Violet Johnson.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jackson rose to his feet and grabbed the arm of the sofa for support, grimacing with the effort. When would he learn to be kinder to his knee? Probably never since he preferred talking to kids at their own level and was willing to pay the price. After jogging on the beach earlier, he thought he’d loosened up his joints, but obviously he was operating under a misconception.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Johnson placed one hand beneath his elbow as though it was second nature, steadying him. “Old football injury?”
“Something like that. Thanks,” he said, hating the admission of weakness but appreciating her compassion. “Why don’t we move into the office?” He motioned toward the doorway. Justin led the way, smiling as he plopped into the kid-sized armchair across from the desk.
The woman followed. Tall and thin in a toned, athletic way, her deep auburn hair was stylishly cut. Well-dressed in a khaki skirt, sleeveless blouse and sandals, her movements were graceful and fluid, making him wonder if she’d been a professional dancer. He should stop overthinking and concentrate on his patient, not the boy’s guardian, but it was all part of the big picture. After closing the door to the office, Jackson seated himself in the adult-sized chair beside Justin, opposite his desk, while Mrs. Johnson took the armchair by a side wall lined with bookshelves. Trying not to be too obvious, he lightly massaged his right knee.
Squirming in the chair, the boy’s eyes widened when his feet reached the floor. Most kids had the same reaction, and he scored extra points for having that kid-sized chair, the one piece of furniture he’d brought with him while he met with patients in Dr. Rasmussen’s office.
Justin darted a quick glance around. “Is this your room?”
Jackson’s lips curled. “This is another doctor’s room. I’m borrowing it until mine’s ready in a few more weeks. I recently moved here from Chicago.”
“That’s the Windy City, right?” Justin said, smiling. “I like the Sears Tower, but it’s called something else now.” He glanced at Mrs. Johnson. “What’s it called?”
“The Willis Tower,” she said, crossing one long leg over the other.
“Have you been to Chicago?” Jackson asked.
“Yup. I like riding the El train.” The boy nodded and swung his feet back and forth before sweeping his gaze over Jackson. “You don’t look like a doctor.”
“Justin, honey, be nice.”
“I am being nice,” he said. “Dr. Morgan always wears a white coat and that stetho thing around his neck.”
“I don’t have a white coat and I never wear a stetho thing around my neck. I’m not that kind of doctor.” His answer seemed to satisfy the boy. “Now, for those promised gummi worms. Tell you what,” Jackson said, walking around the desk and pulling out a plastic bag from a drawer, “I’ll ask you a question, and when you answer, you can choose whichever worm you want.”
“What if I get it wrong?” He didn’t appear nervous or scared, only curious.
“There are no right or wrong answers. Just tell me whatever comes into your mind first.”
Justin looked to the woman for confirmation. She nodded, still wearing the glasses.
“Why don’t we start with you telling me something you like to do?”
The boy gave him an impish smile. “I like to eat red gummi worms.”
Clever child. Settling into the chair again, Jackson chuckled. “What else?”
“I like the zoo.”
“Me, too. Which animal’s your favorite?”
“Giraffes. I like their spots and their really long necks”—Justin made a stretching motion with his hands—“and they have big google eyes.”
“Yes, I guess they do have google eyes,” Jackson said, watching the boy fish out a couple of red gummi worms and then withdraw his hand when Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Jackson said. “I’m planning on having some animals in my new office. So, when you come see me again, I might even have a giraffe.” Perhaps he was foolish to promise something like that, but he’d make his best effort. He’d mention it to the decorator he was meeting almost immediately a
fter this session. If she had kids, she’d probably know where to find one.
The boy gulped. “A real giraffe?”
Mrs. Johnson cracked a small smile. Jackson chewed the inside of his cheek, determined he wouldn’t laugh. If he did, he’d risk losing his little patient’s trust in which case he’d clam up tighter than a lockbox with no key. They were off to a good start, but he didn’t want to risk or jeopardize their early, tenuous bond.
“I don’t think a giraffe would fit, do you?” Jackson said. “He’d be too tall and probably wouldn’t like being cooped up in an office.” Unwittingly, this conversation served as the perfect segue to his next question. He figured he might as well take a chance but dared not look at Mrs. Johnson now. “Have you ever felt like you were cooped up, Justin? Like you were someplace you didn’t like and couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to?”
The woman coughed but remained silent. Appearing to consider the question, the boy shrugged. “Guess not.”
His answer shot relief through Jackson. From his experience, the answer to that question could prove significant and telling. From all indications, he was a well-adjusted child. He’d looked him straight in the eye and wasn’t overly nervous or shy. Question was, why was he here?
The rest of the short session, Jackson concentrated on establishing a solid rapport. With an easy give-and-take, he discovered Justin was four and turning five in June. Instead of toys, he wanted books and a trip to the beach, confirming this kid wasn’t average in any sense of the word. Sure, he swung his legs back and forth in the chair and crossed them every now and then, fidgeted a bit, leaned his chin on his hands and appeared distracted at times. But in many ways, he’d demonstrated he was far beyond his chronological age. He’d been taught well. Evidenced by his easy wit, he’d spent time in the company of adults and intelligent conversation. He gave the impression of being well-traveled or, at a minimum, he’d visited museums and been exposed to cultural events, music and the arts. He’d been encouraged to form and articulate his opinions. This child had been loved. Justin was unique from any other patient he’d encountered in his previous practice, and as such, fascinated him.
