JENNIFER'S GARDEN
by
Dianne Venetta
JENNIFER'S GARDEN
PUBLISHED BY:
BloominThyme Press
Jennifer's Garden
Copyright 2011 by Dianne Venetta
*****
Acknowledgements
When writing a book, you never write it alone. You always depend on the support and patience of those closest to you. In my case, it's my husband and two children. Without their understanding and full-fledged belief in my dream of writing a novel, none of this would have come to pass. Sure, I would have written stories, passed the time with my garden blog and various creative outlets, but completing an entire novel (or several) would never have become a reality.
And it doesn't stop at the front door. From the praise and encouragement my mother lavished upon me for creative writing in elementary school to the steadfast and faithful support of my step-mother today, I am buoyed by people who love and care about my endeavors. This includes a sister who edited and re-edited on my behalf while the other focused her photographic talent on making me look good, plus two brothers willing to engage in my shameless promotion—not to mention a mother-in-law willing to read anything I write. Included among my indispensable and devoted beta-readers are Sheri and Joanie—thank you!
But as the last word slips off the keyboard, it's my family to whom I owe the most gratitude. Thank you one and all.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my daughter.
“Given the proper care and feeding, a woman will bloom in time; her own sweet time.”
Chapter One
Jennifer Hamilton glanced at her mother again, sweeping her pencil across crisp white paper as she outlined the seated figure before her. “Gosh, it feels good to have a pencil in my hand again,” she said, her fingers never stopping as she sketched in a horizon line, her point of reference to denote distance and space. “It’s been years since I last picked up pad and paper.” Yet it felt so natural, so second-hand.
Beatrice Hamilton smiled. “Med school has a way of doing that to a schedule.”
Jennifer sighed. “And residency, private practice...” She laughed. “Sometimes it feels like I have time for nothing else!”
Her mother smiled. “Wait until you add a husband and children to the mix. Talk about no time, my goodness!”
The mention of Aurelio Villarreal warmed Jennifer’s mood a degree. A gust of wind lifted the hair from her neck, its cool air a welcome break from the late afternoon heat. Casting another glance toward the Coral Gables Mediterranean-style building, Jennifer framed-in the main structure, arced a few lines to represent windows and doorways, emphasizing the contrast between the dark brown of their casings against the vanilla-colored stucco, then lightly smudged the lead for a shadow effect. A few waves across the top and she had the beginnings of the barrel-tiled rooftop.
Though she hadn’t drawn in years, her ease of motion felt as though she’d never missed a beat, drawing every day of her life. And the release. Drawing opened her spirit, unleashed her imagination. It gave her a sense of freedom, of inhibition.
Next she focused on the trees. With a few choppy strokes, she depicted the natural fall of oversized palm fronds swaying heavy in the wind, their bowed trunks lazy yet strong—strong enough to endure the hurricanes that whipped through this city every year! But living in South Florida, one became accustomed to such thrill.
“Time management,” she declared, feathering in the wispy tips. “I’ll just have to make sure I’m on top of my time management skills.”
“You will be, darling. If anyone can juggle career and family, I know it will be you.”
Jennifer stopped. She peered at her mom. “You’ve always been my biggest fan, haven’t you...”
“Number one.”
Jennifer smiled. No question, no doubt. Only love. Which made her mother’s impending passing all the more difficult. Thrusting her pencil back into motion, Jennifer didn’t want to dwell in thought. She wanted to continue, to enjoy their time together and this catharsis of sketching. It reminded her of days gone by, time lost in the sand wriggled beneath her toes. Hours and minutes felt the same, afternoons drifted into the ocean as she drew—what she saw, what she felt.
What she wanted.
Scrutinizing the emerging scene, Jennifer was pleased with her progress. Ready to trace the delicate features of her mother’s face, she settled in for a closer look. Age had nothing on her mother. Blue eyes shone bright and her skin glowed, flushed with healthy tones of pink. Hers was a beauty that persisted in graceful defiance. Why, if you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was the picture of health.
“Dr. Hamilton.”
Both women turned.
Jennifer stiffened as Dr. Roberts drew near.
Fully gray, balding in the middle, his mouth was set in a stern line. “They told me I’d find you out here.” Placing folded hands behind his back, he glanced at the pad in Jennifer’s hand with disapproval. “If you can spare a moment, I came to discuss your mother’s medications.”
Jennifer rose from the stone bench. Lowering pad and pencil against her body, she replied, “Yes?”
“We need to increase dosages.”
“Why?”
“According to the nurses, she’s been experiencing more severe pain. At this stage, I suggest an increase to encourage rest.”
Jennifer hardened her gaze. Put her to sleep, you mean.
“It’s not unexpected at this stage.”
“It’s not what she wants.”
“The nurses are with her twenty-four hours a day.” He pulled his arms forward and crossed them over his chest. A wiry man, he barely put a dent in the starched white lab coat he wore. “I think they know best.”
“My mother knows full well the ramifications of her meds.”
“Under the circumstances—“
From her wheelchair, Beatrice cleared her throat. “I’m right here.”
Jennifer discarded pad and pencil and went to her mother’s side. “Mom, is it true? The pain’s getting worse?”
She gazed at Jennifer before responding to the doctor. “I’m fine, Al. I told the nurse it was nothing to worry about.”
“Your bones are decaying, Beatrice. They are vulnerable to serious breakage.”
“My bones are working fine,” she raised her hands, turning them back and forth for inspection, “as you can see. It was an isolated incident.”
Dr. Roberts frowned and dipped his head forward. “Your condition is serious, Beatrice. Breaking your bones can lead to complications. You of all people should know the risks.”
“I do.”
“What are you talking about?” Jennifer blurted between them. “What incident?”
He turned and addressed her forthright. “Your mother injured her wrist while getting into her bed last night.”
Jennifer gripped the padded armrest of her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.” She patted Jennifer’s hand. “I told you, I’m fine.” Then to the doctor she said, “As to medication, my current prescription is adequate.”
Adequate? Jennifer stood. She didn’t like the sound of that. And she didn’t like her mother keeping things from her.
“It’s my body and my choice.”
Dr. Roberts shook his head in resignation.
“You heard her, doctor,” Jennifer defended, though part of her wanted to discuss the options, the alternatives. The thought of her mother in pain didn’t sit well at all.
Wielding his full focus on Jennifer, he asked, “Is this what you want? Are you okay with what you’re doing?” He eyed her pad on the bench with naked contempt. “What you’re asking her to d
o isn’t helping.”
It took every speck of control she had not to reach out and slap him. He had no right to speak to her this way. “You heard her,” Jennifer said. “She understands the clinical repercussions. Despite what you or I may advise, she’s made her choice.”
He scowled. “Somewhat under duress, don’t you think?”
Jennifer didn’t appreciate the insinuation, or the nasty smirk forming on his lips. “She’s made her decision and I intend to respect it. As her physician, I suggest you do the same.”
He stepped back, clearly displeased with her response. But both of them knew his hands were tied. Dr. Roberts would not override the wishes of a physician patient. “Of course. But I have a Hippocratic duty to uphold.”
“You’ve said your peace.” She breathed in deep and slow and added, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to get back to enjoying our visit.”
His glare mocked her, but he said nothing. When he glanced at her mother, his expression softened. “Are you sure?”
“This is the best medicine for me, Al. Being outside in the fresh air, feeling the wind on my face, hearing the sounds of life... I’ll be all right, really I will.”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
“I am.” She angled her head and added, “With my daughter by my side, I’m better than ever.”
Dr. Roberts grunted beneath his breath. “Very well,” he replied, his voice tight and controlled. Without another glance toward Jennifer, he retreated back along the manicured path he came.
Once he was out of earshot, Jennifer withdrew her hands and linked them across her chest. “I do not care for that man.”
“Don’t let him get to you, Jenny. He means well.”
She stared after him. “His attitude is horrendous.”
“He’s very good at what he does.”
“His beside manner sure leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Not everyone can be adored by their patients like you.”
Jennifer turned to her mother and was met with a wink. Ergh. She flung her arms open and went to her mother’s chair. Stooping to a crouch she heaved a sigh. “I don’t like it. Any of it.”
“It’s life, darling.” Beatrice held the younger in her gaze, and reaching over, brushed Jennifer’s hair to one side.
The small gesture reminded her of when she was a girl. When she came home from school, exasperated by some kid, some teacher...her mom consoled her. She always had the answers.
“Things are what they are. No sense in fighting.”
“He thinks I’m pushing you. That it’s my fault you’re...” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“He’s wrong.”
“We don’t have to wait. Aurelio and I can get married tomorrow. Here, at Fairhaven.”
Annoyance flickered in her mother’s eyes and she waved the suggestion away. “I’ll have no such thing. You’ll be married in fine Hamilton tradition. Like your father and I.”
Jennifer closed her eyes. Guilt simmered deep inside. But at what cost to you?
As though sensing her thoughts, Beatrice replied, “Don’t worry about Dr. Roberts.” She ran her hand lightly over Jennifer’s head, gliding down her cheek and then cupped her chin. “It’s his job to worry.”
Jennifer opened her eyes and stared out across the grounds. Beyond the canopy of oaks, the sun shimmered gold, casting the nursing home in luminescent tones of peach and rose. Quiet, gentle exterior lighting glowed in and around the landscape. Opulent, welcoming, it seemed more like a private estate than a medical facility specializing in end-of-life care.
“I’m fine, really. But more importantly, I want to be there when you and Aurelio take your vows. I want to be a part of this monumental step in your life. You promised.”
Looking into her mother’s eyes, there was no room for argument. She would be held to her promise. Even if it killed her.
Chapter Two
Jennifer slowed her black BMW for the entrance to the historical mansion and eased down the long and winding drive. Located off Old Cutler Road, Michael Kingsley’s home had been renovated and restored to its original grandeur and grand it was, with its oak-lined driveway, salmon-colored azaleas in full bloom ringing their base. Exposed stone walls and coral-formed arches, weathered to a soft patina of gray. Elaborately molded ironwork trimmed balconies along the second-floor, while more of the same outlined the grounds.
“We’re here for an appearance, for Michael’s sake.”
Jennifer managed a small smile. An appearance. She knew this was the last place Samantha Rawlings wanted to be. Fiery brunette, hotshot attorney—party was her middle name, not social commitment. Yet here she was, willing to drive halfway across town for a quick shot of pleasantries. Because her friend needed her.
Jennifer nodded and slowed the car beneath the porte-cochere, careful to avoid the formally clad young men waiting to get their doors. Above them, a magnificent lantern hung from the rounded ceiling, inlaid with shells and mosaics, an eclectic mix of all things Old Miami, and bathed the area with light.
Jennifer took a deep breath and released, suppressing a fresh rush of nerves as she glanced through the open front doors. “For Michael’s sake.”
Michael’s daughter was getting married. Springtime seemed to be that time of year when brides surged to the forefront of attention and like any proud father would, he was hosting an engagement party. Any other time she would be delighted to be in attendance, but under the circumstances, it only proved a sad reminder.
“Try to enjoy yourself,” Sam said, patting Jennifer’s thigh. “You could use the diversion.”
Diversion. Wary reluctance pulled at her. Like Sam, this was the last place she wanted to be, but obligations were obligations and she wouldn’t shirk a single one. “I will.”
Jennifer placed the car in park. While Sam slid out the passenger side, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Determined blue eyes reinforced: We’re in, we’re out. Michael was a good friend and it wasn’t every day your daughter became engaged. Not every day the family stood witness. A sliver of grief pinpricked her heart. No, not every day. Time didn’t wait on anything, or anyone. She closed her eyes. Even when you begged. Pleaded. Time offered no reprieve.
“Jen?” Sam ducked her head into the car. “You coming?”
“Yes.” Of course she was coming. Shaking her head, she scolded herself. Stop. Stop this nonsense right now. This isn’t about you. This is about Michael and his daughter. It’s a happy day.
A celebration.
Tears pushed at the back of her eyes as a young man waited by her door, the one he held open. Embarrassed she hadn’t noticed him there, Jennifer shook her head once more, quick and sharp. Enough. In one smooth motion, she rose from the car and snapped the lens of her mind closed. Tonight was about new beginnings, rejoicing in the future. Two young people were beginning their lives as one. Could there be a happier day?
Circling around the car she caught up with Sam.
Sam froze mid-stride. Lanterns of light swam in her dark brown eyes. “You sure you’re okay ‘cause you don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, swallowing hard against the tender swell in her throat. Maybe if she said it enough times, it would be true. Maybe if she focused on others, she would forget about herself. Maybe Sam was right. Tonight, she could use the distraction.
Diversion. Shut the lid on her life and focus on Michael’s. “Really, I’m fine.” She tried to back it up with a smile, but abandoned the effort.
“We can leave right now.” Sam glanced sideways and back, her feisty auburn waves swinging in sync. “Ditch the scene before anyone’s the wiser. Tell them you were called to the hospital.”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving the notion off as entirely unacceptable. “We’re not going anywhere.” With a brief fuss to her hair, Jennifer started toward the door—before second thoughts sent her running.
Sam nodded. “Good girl.” Linking an arm through Jennifer�
�s, she reassured with a squeeze. “Don’t worry. You’ll get through it.”
“Of course I will.”
Jennifer heaved a sigh. It’s what I do.
In the expansive foyer, they were greeted by an enormous arrangement of bird of paradise, anthurium, ginger, and a spray of delicate purple blossoms. Perched on a pedestal of mahogany and centered beneath a glimmering chandelier, it was exotic and vibrant and though predominantly Hawaiian by nature, felt completely Miami tropical.
“That is some kind of gorgeous,” Sam murmured.
Jennifer nodded dully. Everything in Michael’s home was gorgeous. From the baby-smooth leather furniture to the glossy wood and polished stone floors, he’d spent a veritable fortune to make sure of it.
Several guests mingled in the main living area and to their left, a few huddled near the wide doorway into the kitchen. Arched and trimmed in intricately carved heavy dark wood, it was a superb piece of craftsmanship. But Jennifer’s attention was drawn outside. Through floor to ceiling windows amidst a tangle of palm and ferns, she could see the main party gathered by the pool, the area lit by a flicker of torches.
Sam stopped in place. Glancing across the keystone flooring, from artwork to furniture, she let out a soft whistle. “That patio is unbelievable. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were smack in the middle of wild jungle.” She flipped her gaze to Jennifer. “I may be no fan of the mosquito fest it presents, but I have to admit,” she hitched a thumb toward the back, “that’s enticing out there.”
Jennifer willed the soft clink of glasses, the easy rhythm of light conversation to work magic on her mood. “Yes. Michael and Laurencia have done a spectacular job.”
As the two meandered toward the patio, Sam pointed to a colorful painting of a cottage prominently displayed on the dining room wall. It was a watercolor of a house trimmed in shutters of yellow, bordered by pink hibiscus, its small porch leading to a secluded stretch of sandy shoreline. Nothing else existed in the painting but blue sky and blue water. “Now that scene makes me want to toss the legal pads and head for the islands!”
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