Jennifer's Garden

by Dianne Venetta

  “No, that will be all. Goodbye.”

  Ah, the dismissal; short and sweet. “Bye-bye,” he touted softly, punching the call to an end. Sliding the phone back into its holster, he grunted and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Per Mike’s request, he had put this job at the top of his list, red alert on the priorities, get-it-done-at-all-costs. He was happy to do so. For a friend.

  And he knew he delivered an exceptional proposal if he did say so himself, and intended to bust his butt to pull it off. What he didn’t need was the complication of a client looking over his shoulder.

  He knew the deal. He knew what was at stake and had accepted the terms. Terms he wouldn’t have touched if he didn’t think he could manage. Didn’t Mike assure her she had nothing to worry about?

  Probably. He was that kind of guy. Jax grabbed the metal handle of his hoe and heaving it high above his head, threw the blade down into the dirt, the sharp edge landing deep within the tangle of weeds. Despite the early hour, his shirt was soaked through. Miami was hot and there was no getting around it. During the summer months, one could only hope for cloudy days, though the intelligent man knew not to wait on them.

  Besides the obvious impatience, perhaps Dr. Hamilton was the type who didn’t listen very well. Or maybe she was the kind of woman who had to control everything and everyone around her.

  He’d known women like that, and dated a few. Strong, independent—ornery as hell, especially where men were concerned. Those relationships had ended within weeks.

  Hoisting the hoe back over his head he slammed at the ground again, working the heavy metal back and forth through the soil, ignoring the salty fluid dripping down his nose.

  Jackson Montgomery was no woman’s pawn. No matter how smart, rich or good-looking, he stood on his own two feet and made his own decisions. About his business and about his life.

  A fact his father had learned the hard way.

  He wouldn’t conform to anyone’s idea of what was best for him, and those who tried to force him into a mold...

  Well, it spoke to their intentions, and exposed their self-centered roots. Expectations were about them, not about him. The day he’d learned that lesson was one of the most liberating days of his life.

  # # #

  Jennifer ended the call. Short, sweet and to the point. Let’s hope he keeps it that way she thought, and threw herself into an office full of patients. It proved a typical day until one of her patients refused treatment.

  “Sarah, I can’t help you if you don’t follow my instructions.”

  Seated on the padded table, her chest covered by a paper gown, the elderly woman replied with a sheepish smile, “The medicine makes me sick, Dr. Hamilton.”

  “Nausea is a side effect. We can try others, experiment with different medicines until we find the one that’s right for you.”

  “My mother is not a guinea pig.”

  Sarah Wiley’s daughter stood in the corner, arms locked in a cross beneath her ample bosom, watching the examination like a grim-faced guard.

  Jennifer stared at the scowling middle-aged brunette, her skin mottled by smoking. “I’m not suggesting anything of the kind. I’m merely pointing out that patients react differently to various kinds of medications. It’s best if we tailor our treatment to meet your mother’s needs.”

  “By experimenting.”

  Jennifer wondered if the woman was always this helpful, or was it a simple matter of personality clash. “Unfortunately, there is no other way. We won’t know how she responds to a medicine until we try it.” The daughter glanced away and Jennifer returned her attention to her mother. “But you have to take the medicine, Sarah, or else we won’t be able to determine which is right for you.”

  “Mary, what do you think?” Trusting as a newborn kitten, she would not make a move without the consent of her daughter—which at present—was being withheld.

  “I think we should get a second opinion.”

  “Absolutely,” Jennifer agreed. “Get a second opinion.” Whatever you need to do to be convinced this is serious, she thought privately, do it. The alternative is almost certainly death.

  “What about the surgery?” Sarah asked.

  “It sounds a little drastic to me.” The woman placed meaty hands to her hips and complained, “You doctors are always trying to prescribe something or perform some kind of procedure. I don’t know even know if her insurance will cover this. You may be wasting your time.”

  Jennifer slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and balled them into fists. She glared at the woman standing before her. Despite the stiff antiseptic smell in the room, she could easily detect the stale odor of smoke. In a very calm voice she replied, “I prescribe the treatment I believe to be in the best interest of my patients. My goal is to improve the quality of their life-—not my bank account. If you feel the need to seek advice from another professional, please feel free to do so.” Otherwise, keep your mouth closed. Jennifer turned to Sarah. “This is your decision, Sarah. Your condition is treatable. We can begin treatment with medicine, but if that proves unproductive, we can opt for a procedure to place a stent in your artery. It will help increase the flow of blood to your heart.”

  Sarah nodded, but glancing toward her daughter, it was clear she wouldn’t make a move without her.

  “You said so yourself, the pain isn’t getting any better.” Recurrent angina, cholesterol through the roof, the woman was a prime candidate for a heart attack.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, smiling as though it might relieve some of the tension in the room. “It’s all so confusing at the moment, I think I need time to absorb it all.” She reached out and grasped Jennifer’s arm. “But you did a great job explaining it, Dr. Hamilton. It’s just that my little old brain gets full pretty quick these days!”

  Jennifer didn’t like to see elderly patients patronize themselves. They were the keepers of the gate, the ones with wisdom and experience. She swiped a glance at her daughter. They shouldn’t be intimidated by petulant offspring.

  “I’m going to write you another prescription.” She walked to the other side of the room and pulled a pad of paper from the drawer of her workstation. She scribbled the name of a statin, the dosage, then signed her name at the bottom. She handed it to Sarah. “Take this as directed and make an appointment to come back and see me in six weeks for your blood tests.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  “And get a second opinion, Sarah. Do whatever you need to do, but don’t let this condition persist untreated.” She leaned closer and softened her tone. “Don’t let money stand in the way, either. If your insurance doesn’t cover something, let me know. We can take care of it other ways.”

  “She doesn’t have any money,” the daughter quipped. “Payment plans won’t work.”

  Jennifer ignored the comment and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Promise me you’ll do something about it.”

  She nodded, beaming in light of her doctor’s concern. “I will.”

  Sliding the stethoscope from around her neck, Jennifer exited the room without a word.

  Adding the last file to the stack of patient folders on the corner of her desk, all prepped and ready for dictation, Jennifer sat back in her chair. Tension knotted and twisted in her shoulders as she stared at the wall of diplomas. University of Miami. Jackson Memorial. Shands Medical Center.

  She had the expertise. She had the knowledge to help. Why did people fight it? Why did they decline the treatment that would save their life?

  The doctor in her knew some people chose to bury themselves in denial rather than face the truth, the scary truth that life is finite, but the daughter in her didn’t understand.

  Medications were prescribed everyday. Catheterization was a commonly performed procedure. Yes, there was risk, but everything we do involves risk. From walking down the street to driving a car, anything can prove harmful if you think about it.

  Frustration ramped higher into her neck, cons
tricting the muscles at the base of her skull into a ball of pain. Why wouldn’t you at least try? When the alternative is sudden death? Why would you wait?

  If she could fix her mother’s problems with a simple device, she would. If it meant giving her mom a few extra years, she would. She would run ten times the risk Sarah Wiley was facing if it meant keeping her mom alive. Then, she could enjoy the wedding at her leisure. She could witness the birth of her grandchildren, guide her daughter on how best to care for babies and raise them to be loving, happy adults.

  Much like she did for her own child.

  Jennifer’s heart pinched at the memory of Sarah’s daughter. Quite the opposite of loving, her selfish, distrusting attitude may cost her mother’s life. The irony stung.

  Chapter Ten

  “Dr. Hamilton! Dr. Hamilton!”

  Michael held the door to the kid’s activity room open for Jennifer as she entered ahead of him. “I guess we know who the popular one is,” he pronounced, not an ounce of envy in his voice.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes and I’m sure the huge box in my hands has nothing to do with it.”

  He laughed. “You do have a reputation, Dr. Hamilton.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “That, I do.”

  Walking further into St. Theresa’s Children’s Hospital’s specially designed playroom for kids, they joined the youngsters gathering on the center of the colorful woven carpet. It was the heart of their play area, created for the sole purpose of bringing them together to encourage creativity and play in a normal atmosphere, one that didn’t include monitors and needles, medicine or doctors.

  Except Jennifer and Michael. But they weren’t here in a professional capacity, quite the opposite. They were here for fun.

  Dropping to her knees, Jennifer placed the cardboard box where the children could reach and as expected, little arms went crazy, grabbing, inspecting animals, turning them to and fro as they determined which was their favorite.

  “I want the giraffe!”

  “The hippo is mine!”

  “But blue is my favorite color!”

  Jennifer laughed at the raw expression of desire. “There’s more, don’t worry! You’ll all find something you like!”

  And if they didn’t, she would return to her car and rifle through her stash in the trunk and find one they did, because disappointing these kids wasn’t an option. Confined to their respective wards in the children’s hospital, she decided the heart-wrenching battle against serious illness was enough.

  Dressed in pink scrubs, she sat back on her heels and watched as they rummaged through her selection of stuffed animals while Michael played referee. “Jason, give that one back to Shana. She had it first.” But as he commandeered the exchange of the multi-colored gecko, he pulled another larger one from the box and handed it to the boy as the girl popped up with her bounty and ran outside the boy’s reach. “I think this one is better for you.”

  His eyes grew wide with delight. “It’s way better!”

  He yanked the lizard from Michael’s grasp, most probably concerned another child might spy his prize and try to claim it for their own and admired it head to tail. Jennifer chuckled. Not a problem. She had three more like it in her car.

  “Who wants to play checkers!” Michael called out.

  Several boys tumbled over one another to get to him, shouting, “Me! Me!”

  “I do! I do!”

  “You played first last time!”

  “Settle down boys. I’m here all afternoon.” Michael playfully rubbed Samuel’s shiny bald head. “And this time it’s for the championship.”

  “Dr. Hamilton, can we have a tea party?”

  She smiled at the young girl with white blonde hair, long curls pinned high to one side with a pink satin ribbon, eyes round and blue, lined by lashes so dark, Jennifer would have sworn they were false. “So long as you bake crumpets, we can.”

  The child peered with a curious stare. “What’s a crumpet?”

  Jennifer set hands to her thighs and leaned close. “I don’t really know. I only heard about it and thought it sounded tasty.”

  “It does, doesn’t it...” She placed a petite forefinger to her lips, tinged ever so slightly blue, and pondered for a moment. “I think we should have crumpets with our tea. And I’ll make them!” She giggled and raised her soft pink rabbit high in the air. “What do you say, Poppy? Wanna make crumpets for Dr. Hamilton? She’s real nice and I think she’ll like them.”

  Jennifer clapped her hands together. “Please, Poppy, please.”

  The child shook her toy and pretended to speak for the rabbit, “With pleasure and a little sugar on top!”

  Laughing at her ventriloquist talents, Jennifer eased up and helped to arrange the tea set; fancy porcelain, elaborately painted with vine twisted around lavender flowers, there were enough tiny cups to go around for everyone.

  Shana dutifully returned satisfied the gecko was hers, and served everyone tea. While the boys declined, Michael cheerfully accepted his cup with a gallant nod. “Why thank you, Shana. And may I ask what flavor we have today?”

  “Ginger mint.”

  “Oh, that does sound good.” Pinching the handle with his forefinger and thumb, he held his pinky straight out and sipped. “Mmmmm...”

  Shana giggled. “It’s rude to slurp.”

  “Oops, sorry,” he said in feigned chagrin, as though it hadn’t been a purposeful ploy for a laugh.

  It was moments like this when she adored Michael the most. “Try a crumpet, Michael. They’re truly divine.”

  “Don’t mind if I do!” He reached up and plucked a make-believe biscuit from the tray extended before him. With great show he bit down, chewed with exaggerated motion, his mouth politely closed. He swallowed. “That’s the best crumpet I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I made it!”

  Michael followed the direction of the voice and spotted the girl with curls. “Her name is Beverly.” Jennifer quieted her voice. “She’s new.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Beverly. It was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied, and went back to her busy work at the stove, a remarkable replica in a kitchen complete with refrigerator, counter and sink, dining table and chairs. She wiped down the area around her mixing bowls, busy preparing for another batch.

  Michael looked to Jennifer for explanation.

  Maintaining her pleasant expression, she tapped a finger to her chest and mouthed, “Transplant.”

  His eyes registered the hit. He knew the odds. They were tough.

  Three hours later, Michael walked Jennifer out. Strolling passed an enormous Banyan tree, the two came to a stop beneath its canopy. Long finger-like roots fell from the leaves to crawl along the ground, forming an intricate foundation around the base of the trunk. “Same time next month?”

  “You bet.” She smiled, picking through the contents of her purse in search of her keys.

  “So how’s Jax working out? Did you two overcome your differences?”

  “We did.” Conscious of the sensitive subject matter, she added, “He’s already begun work, in fact.”

  “You’re going to be real happy with what he does for you.”

  She slid on a pair of black sunglasses. “I’m sure I will be.”

  “You know,” he glanced back at the hospital, flanked by Poinciana trees, their brilliant red-orange blooms striking against the cream of flat stucco. “I should tell Jax about this place. He might want to donate some of his time here.”

  “Would he be interested in such a thing? I mean, he seems to be a very busy man, do you really think he has the time for visits to the children’s hospital?”

  “Jax runs his own schedule. In fact, he volunteers down at the boys and girls club already and who knows,” he slid brown tinted sunglasses onto his nose, “he might want to squeeze this place in to his list of benevolent endeavors.”

  The thought of Jackson Montgomery sitting around with a bunch of kids, laughing a
nd playing, seemed like the most normal thing in the world.

  “Kids love him.”

  “I’ll bet they do.”

  “Besides, once he sells his house he’ll have plenty of time on his hands, between trips to the islands, that is. He’s set to retire soon and this may be just the thing he needs to fill his days stateside. Anyway,” Michael swiped a glance at his watch. “I’ve got to get running. Laurencia’s waiting for me.”

  “Go, please,” she told him. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

  He leaned over and pecked a kiss to her cheek. “See you at the hospital.”

  “See you at the hospital,” she replied, her mind still picking through Michael’s remark. Retire? Was he serious? She stood immobile, her gaze trailing Michael across the parking lot as he hurried to his Mercedes. How on earth could Jackson retire? He couldn’t be much older than her and she was nowhere near retirement.

  Still sorting through the significance of Michael’s revelation, Jennifer arrived home to find Jackson hard at work. Wednesdays were her half-day, the afternoons assigned to catching up with paperwork, attending to any personal affairs, and once a month, a trip to see her kids. But for Jackson, it was just another day on the job.

  She parked and walked to the edge of her drive, but stopped. She wasn’t about to soil her expensive leather heels in the black, inky dirt. Bringing a hand to her brow, she blocked the late afternoon sun and asked, “How’s it coming?”

  Jackson turned. Tucked into khaki shorts with more pockets than one had a use for, his white T-shirt was soaked through, muddy brown dirt smudged the small green emblem embroidered on its pocket. His legs were crawling with black grime, the sweat acting like glue for the dirt to adhere to his skin, his socks no longer white above tan leather work boots.

  Retirement? Really?

  I hear bartenders make pretty good money.

  Sam may be right after all.

  He straightened. “Hello, Dr. Hamilton.”