by Lyn Cote
Spring drew in a deep breath. “As you probably noticed, a silent auction has been in progress all during today’s show. Many generous Golden Sands members, local merchants and contestants have donated goods, services and prize-worthy plants to be auctioned off to benefit a new community project initiated by Dr. Marco Da Palma—the Gulfview Free Clinic.”
Looking at Marco, she noted that he’d frozen in his chair. Well, she’d wanted to surprise him and she certainly had!
“While the grand total of the money generated by today’s silent auction is being calculated, I’d like to thank several community leaders who instantly took to this idea and have already made sizable pledges. Would those people please come forward now?”
She stole a peek at Marco’s face. She couldn’t decipher his expression. What was he thinking?
She continued. “First, I’d like to mention that Peter Rasmussen and Gregory Fortney have donated the money for the down payment for the clinic’s site, the former Faith Community Church on Main Street. They couldn’t be here today, but send their best. Now—” she motioned toward a fashionable couple in their forties who stepped up to meet her “—this couple is Mr. and Mrs. Grady Jones. They have volunteered to pay the first year’s monthly mortgage for the clinic.”
Applause broke out. The Joneses said a few words, then stepped back. Next, Spring introduced the three different contracting firms who had offered to update the clinic’s plumbing, electrical and handicapped accessibility, gratis. Applause greeted each announced donation.
Spring glanced at Marco. His face was devoid of any reaction. What’s wrong, Marco?
A Golden Sands board member approached the podium and handed her a sheet of yellow paper. Seeing the total, she beamed. “Today’s silent auction has netted the Gulfview Free Clinic $9,352.00 in cash.”
The audience exploded into reverberating applause. A few men stomped their feet and whistled. Spring felt tears fill her eyes. Thank you, Lord. You have moved people to such generosity, it takes my breath away.
Marco looked like he’d stopped breathing, too. Should she have warned him or given him a hint?
Sitting beside Marco’s mother, stepfather and sister, Matilde and Tía Rosita rose. They both marched forward like women with a mission. Spring stepped back and let them have the microphone.
“I’m Matilde Ramirez and this is Tía Rosita. We don’t have a lot of money, but we are going to make sure—with help from other women in the downtown community—that this will be the cleanest clinic in Florida!”
More applause.
But Marco sat, blank-faced and immobile.
Spring tried to think what to say, to do. What was Marco thinking?
In the back of the ballroom, a man stood up. Spring thought she recognized him and motioned toward him to speak. He raised his strong voice. “I’m Dr. Edward Clary. I’m the head of staff at Gulfview General and I work with Dr. Da Palma. I hadn’t heard of these plans, but I’m certain that many of the doctors and nurses of Gulfview will be willing to donate time at the clinic—”
The room exploded with excitement. Many people stood to applaud. Soon the whole roomful was on its feet. The chant of “Speech, speech” began.
Spring eyed Marco. Would he come to the podium? Mother, who sat beside him, pushed him to his feet. He walked to the front as though his joints had stiffened. Abashed and uncertain, Spring stepped aside so he could speak into the microphone.
Marco looked out over the sea of happy faces and felt like slamming his fist into the podium. He took a steadying breath, spooling in his rage. I have to get through this.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, feeling his way carefully toward the proper words, not the ones he stuffed down inside, unsaid. “I had no idea—” that’s for sure “—that today’s garden show…would hold so many surprises. I’m stunned.” That’s the truth. “But Spring Kirkland appears to be full of surprises.” Shocks is more like it. There was laughter.
“This clinic…which will provide free medical care for those who have insufficient insurance, no insurance or don’t qualify for any government assistance, is vitally necessary in our community.” Speaking about the clinic steadied him. He unclenched his right fist.
“To those of you who have donated items for auction, thank you. To those who have pledged time and money, I’m deeply indebted to you….” This grated his already raw nerves. But I never wanted to be.
Stifling his anger, he motioned for the new applause to quiet. “Thank you all, especially Spring Kirkland, whom I’m sure is responsible for all this.” The unkindest cut of all. How could you, Spring? How could you?
The next afternoon, Spring stood, fretting in the parking lot of the Golden Sands golf course. The blue sky overhead, the tantalizing warm breeze, the gorgeous day counted for nothing. She consulted her watch again. Marco was twenty-two minutes late for their golf date. He isn’t coming. The words echoed like a death knell inside her.
Something had gone dreadfully, dreadfully wrong yesterday afternoon at the garden show. Somehow everything fresh and sparkling between Marco and her had disappeared in a flash. After the announcements of all the support for the free clinic, she’d stood beside him, accepting congratulations. But it had been like standing beside a glacier. What is it, Lord? What did I do to anger him?
With a feeling of fatalism, she flipped open her cell phone and dialed his apartment. No answer. She punched in his office number. No answer. She shrank from calling the hospital. As a last resort before giving up, she dialed his mother’s number. “Hello, Anita, this is Spring. I’m trying to locate Marco. We had a golf date today.”
“Oh, Spring, he just called me about something. He’s at the church.”
Did she detect worry in Anita’s voice? “The church for the free clinic?”
“Sí. Do you have his cell phone number?” Anita asked.
Spring said yes, thanked her and hung up. She stared out across the green to the rippling blue Gulf beyond. Lord, I feel like running home, crying my eyes out and hiding in my room for the next month. But that’s the old Spring. I’ve come too far to go back. I won’t lose the man I love a second time. But You’re going to have to go with me and give me the words to say—because I haven’t got a clue what’s wrong!
Spring parked her aunt’s car in the littered parking lot on the west side of the white stucco church, then walked to its side entrance. Her heart pounded in her ears, louder with each step. What would she say? What would Marco say? Closing her eyes, she said one more prayer for guidance, then she opened the door and walked in. Immediately, she heard the swish of a broom and knew she’d probably find Marco at the handle end of it.
With flagging steps, she entered the sanctuary. Head down, Marco was sweeping the refuse in front of the pulpit into a neat pile. His posture telegraphed his despondent mood to her. What is it, Marco?
“Hello,” she called, and paused by the last row of wooden pews. She remembered how they’d sat side by side here, sharing how much in love they were, such a short time ago.
Marco looked up. No smile welcomed her.
“We had a golf date.” Her voice quavered in the empty, high-ceilinged room.
“Golf?” He sounded as if he didn’t recognize the word.
“You know, the game where you hit the little ball into a cup?” She attempted a smile but it faded under his sober attention.
“I’m sorry. I guess I forgot.”
His tone chilled her. Marco never forgot. A tremor of naked fear arced through her.
He made a sound of disgust, then rested both wrists atop the broom handle. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t feel like golf today. I meant to call you. I just didn’t…get to the phone.”
She fought to remain calm. “Marco, I—”
“I’m sorry I made you track me down.” He cut her off in a flat voice.
The sharp look he gave her made her freeze inside. Who was this cold-eyed stranger? It couldn’t be her Marco.
“I—I see
,” she stuttered, tears only a breath away. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” Her brightly spoken words tripped over her tongue. “We can set up another date.”
He nodded as if she’d just said, “Let’s discuss that at the next funeral.”
Before tears could overtake her, she turned and ran outside. She sprinted to her car.
Inside, a gale of weeping broke over her. Her head bowed, she sobbed into her hands. Mental photographs of moments spent with Marco flashed in a parade in her mind—Marco frowning over a golf shot, Marco doing the limbo, Marco in the moonlight…
Finally the tempest passed, leaving her weak and shaky. She prayed for calm and waited for it. Finally, still distraught, she started her car. She had to get home, home to Mother.
She found her mother in her aunt’s garden. Without a word, but with tears flowing, she walked into her mother’s arms. This is what it feels like to have a broken heart. Oh, God, it hurts so bad. What has happened?
Mother held her close and murmured soft words to her, just as she had when Spring was a child. Slowly, Spring’s tears ebbed.
“It’s Marco, isn’t it,” Mother murmured beside Spring’s ear.
Spring nodded, too exhausted emotionally to speak.
“I could see how he changed at the garden show. You don’t have a clue why, do you?”
Shaking her head no, Spring caught her breath. “I thought he loved me.”
“He does, dear. But without meaning to, yesterday you triggered something inside him. I don’t know him so I don’t have a clue what it might be.”
“I didn’t just imagine it?” Spring straightened and accepted the tissue her mother handed her.
“No, dear, I saw it, too.”
“What do I do?” A stray sob shook Spring, then made her hiccup.
“Have you asked the Lord for his help?”
“Yes.” What else could I do?
“Then, you’ve done all you can do. Just keep praying to God and loving Marco. Marco is an honest man, a man of integrity. When he sorts everything out, he’ll come to his senses and tell you what’s happened.”
Spring closed her eyes, praying her mother was right, and that it wouldn’t take another decade for Marco to come back to her.
Letting an hour pass after Spring’s call, Anita decided she must take action. Fortunately, Paloma was at a friend’s house. Santos had been called away by someone’s plumbing emergency. She had the house to herself—the perfect time. She called Marco’s cell phone number.
Marco answered.
She noted his dull voice. No es un hombre feliz. Not a happy man.
She tested her guess. “Is Spring still there?”
“No, she just stopped for a moment. I forgot our golf date.”
Anita wasn’t pleased to be proved right.
“Marco, I need you here pronto. It’s an emergency.”
“Mama—”
She hung up on him. And sat back to wait.
In exactly twenty-one minutes, Marco’s car surged up her driveway. She rose, poured a fresh cup of black coffee for each of them.
He bounded in the kitchen door. “What’s wrong?”
She turned to face him. “You’re wrong.” She handed him the coffee mug. “Sit down. It’s time we had a talk.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“Sit down, por favor,” she ordered.
Marco slid into the chair across from her at the scarred kitchen table that Santos had been nagging her to replace.
“Will you please tell me—”
“You hurt that sweet girl. She loves you, and you sent her away, didn’t you.”
“I don’t know—”
“She loves you.” She traced one of the grooves in the wooden tabletop. “Do you have any idea how rare true, real love is in this world?”
He stared at her. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Sí. I watched the change in you at the garden show. Spring spent hours, days, weeks getting all the funds together so that you could have your clinic up and started by the end of this year, not ten years from now. And that’s what’s killing you, isn’t it.”
Her son glared at her.
She lifted her chin to him. “You wanted to work for years and do it all by yourself, didn’t you?”
Her question had shocked him. She saw it on his face. “We should have had this talk years ago.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Anita bit her lower lip. “It’s always been difficult for us to speak of your father’s death.”
“Then, don’t.” He looked away, as he always did.
“We must. The time has come for you to let go of the past.”
“I’m not holding onto the past.”
She ignored his denial. “When your father died, something deep inside you altered. You had been a normal, happy child before that night. From that day, you became quiet and so focused on becoming a doctor.”
“What is wrong with that? I had to be focused or…”
Seeking warmth, she placed both hands around the hot mug. “I know. You would never have reached your goals unless you had drawn out the best that was in you. We were poor. I knew you’d have to fight for your place in the world, so I said nothing. I never tried to speak to you about this. But after you completed your training and bought your practice, I hoped that you would begin to take time to have a life. I have worried and worried over you the past two years.”
He looked startled. “You never said a word.”
“Would words have helped? I hoped some young woman would snare your heart. I even stooped to bringing some to your attention, something I’d vowed never to do.”
He made a sound of disgust and wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Then this year, Spring came into your life. I knew right away that she was special and that you had feelings for her. You changed before my eyes. I thank God for her. Now you are not going to let your pride and pain destroy your life and hers. I refuse to let this happen.”
“Destroy my life? You’re not making sense.”
“You are not making sense. Did you want a free clinic in that church or didn’t you?” She challenged him with her eyes.
Marco fumed in silence. This is none of your business.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, I wanted the free clinic—”
“But you wanted to do it all on your own. Qué tonto! What a silly man. How many years would it have taken you to raise the funds for it?”
“Not that long.” He evaded his mother’s penetrating eyes.
“Years! It would have taken years on your own. Should the sick people have to wait that long? To serve your pride!”
Stung, he snapped, “That’s not true.”
“That is how it looks to me. Tell me how it looks to you.” She stared at him.
Anger roiled in the pit of his stomach. Words, phrases spun in his mind. His mother’s accusation echoed in his heart. Pride? Was it really pride? Or something else?
“Why are you so angry at me now, at Spring?” she demanded. “You are angry because she stepped into your dream and made it come true, when you were too proud to ask. You wanted to spend years struggling to do this alone. You would deny others the joy of helping you accomplish a fine goal. Pride is the only answer I can think of. She hurt your pride because she did it quicker and easier than you could have alone. Tell me I’m wrong and make me believe it.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but he had no words. He couldn’t lie. He had been so angry, he hadn’t been able to think straight—not yet. Was his mother right?
“And I hate to say this to you, mi hijo, but it is the worst kind of pride. Putting your own accomplishment ahead of the well-being of others is wrong.”
He couldn’t reply. How could he make her understand? It isn’t just pride. The clinic was my task, my penance….
“You’re not God. He can do things in his way and use whom He chooses. Now, confess your pride to Go
d, then get down on your knees and thank Him for bringing you a wonderful woman like Spring who loves you with her whole heart. She is a blessing from heaven.” His mother got up and walked from the room.
His mother’s words had gouged him like a sharp chisel. Each word had hit its target—his pride. Should Tía Rosita and others continue to go without health care because of him? Marco sat stunned by his mother’s truth.
But something else tugged at him. He thought back over that painful night when his father died. For so many years he’d blocked the wrenching memories. His mother had said that he’d changed from that night, and she’d been right. What had he felt during the accident?
All the raw emotions, details—he let them rip through him. The odor of gasoline, the smell of burnt rubber, a blaring faraway siren, his own tears choking him. His father, gasping for breath, had held Marco’s small trembling hand in his large rough palm and had left him. Horror had twisted inside him, squeezing him, leaving him breathless, crushed. Padre, don’t leave me.
What had he felt that night? Had it been pride? No, he’d felt useless, filled with regret, remorse, guilt.
Marco rubbed his forehead and bowed his head. He didn’t pray often away from church—but was this a mistake, too? Was it another token of his self-sufficient pride?
“I’m sorry, God. I forgot that I am just dust. I see my pride and I’m ashamed. Please forgive me. But now I know guilt played a part in this also.”
Still aching from his foray into the past, he remained with his head bowed for a long time as he pondered the years since his father’s death. He’d driven himself from accomplishment to accomplishment. Guilt had been the whip that spurred him on. But in the achieving of goals, he’d depended on himself alone and no one else.
In his guilt, he’d let no one in. No man is an island, but he’d been a proud aloof island, and pride comes before a fall. Yesterday he’d fallen—he’d turned away from Spring, the beautiful and loving woman he’d fallen for at first sight. How can I ever make it up to her? Will she give me a second chance?
Chapter Fifteen
