The Will of Wisteria

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  What was he thinking? Was this not the stupidest thing he had done in the last decade? Claire was going through so much; the last thing she needed was him bringing more confusion to her train wreck.

  The door opened. “Were you going to stand there all night or ring the bell?”

  Every racing thought came to a screeching halt. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t speak.

  She looked . . . stunning. Magnificent. Her slim figure fit perfectly into her dress, and her olive skin blended beautifully with the champagne color. Her dark shoulder-length hair was pulled back on the sides and lifted from her face. Every flawless feature was visible.

  “Can you speak?” she asked, smiling as she held the door open.

  “Uh-uh,” he stammered.

  She looked at the flowers. “Are those for me?”

  He stuck out his hand. “Uh-huh.”

  “Jeffrey Wilcott, the one thing you have never been is speechless around a woman.”

  “I know. It’s crazy.” He swallowed hard and tried to shake off his momentary paralysis. “You look absolutely amazing.”

  “Not too bad for a thirty-eight-year-old, huh?” She took the roses from his hand and walked toward the kitchen. Their aroma moved with her. “These smell wonderful.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She pulled a vase from the cabinet. “You did very well.” She arranged them neatly, placing each one with care. She took them out to the sunroom and set them on a table by the sofa. “Now I can enjoy them all day.”

  He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring. “Are you ready to be wined and dined?”

  “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

  “You always did like to eat.”

  She grinned at him. “Some things even age doesn’t change.”

  All eyes followed Claire and Jeffrey as they entered the historic house on Edisto Island. Claire noticed the attention they were receiving, but she was more interested in absorbing every detail of the stately mansion. A massive crystal chandelier hung in the center of the majestic foyer, and a sweeping staircase curved around the wall as if Scarlett O’Hara herself might descend it. She had left this kind of extravagance behind when she had left Jeffrey.

  A buxom woman glittering with sequins and diamonds descended on Jeffrey. “Jeffrey darling, so wonderful to see you.” She gave him an overenthusiastic kiss on the cheek and put a pudgy, gemencrusted hand to her heaving cleavage. “I haven’t seen you since your father’s funeral. We’ve missed him so much on the island, you know.”

  “Thank you, Bernice.”

  “Who is this lovely lady with you?”

  “This is Claire Webber. Claire, meet Bernice Pageant, our hostess for this evening.”

  Claire removed her arm from Jeffrey’s and shook Mrs. Pageant’s hand.

  “Claire’s an old friend of mine.”

  “She’s too lovely to be an old friend, Jeffrey.” They all laughed.

  “I’ll rephrase that before I introduce her again.”

  “You’ll have the plantation ready for the tour, won’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t think of missing it. It was one of my father’s passions.”

  Jeffrey extricated Claire from Bernice’s grasp and ushered her into the main parlor. Whispers and stares followed in their wake.

  Jeffrey steered Claire through the crowd, introducing her to colleagues and acquaintances and a few friends. But after studying them again he realized he really didn’t have any friends. A lot of women through the years, but never any friends. Claire had been the only real friend he’d ever had. He watched her as she charmed the women and intrigued the men. How could she smile and be so enchanting, he wondered, after all she’d been through? After all he’d put her through.

  She tugged at the sleeve of his tuxedo. “I thought this was a party.”

  “It is.”

  “You’re not smiling.”

  “Sorry, my mind just drifted for a minute.”

  “Mine’s been drifting to the food. Can we get some?”

  He raised one eyebrow and took her arm. “Let’s feed that beast, shall we?”

  They ate and talked and then moved outside into the magnificent garden dominated by a lighted white tent. A big band was playing songs of the forties.

  “Come on. This is the best dance music in the world.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the dance floor.

  “Jeffrey, you know I can’t dance.”

  “You could dance if you were willing to let me lead.” He gave her a wink.

  “You remember I wasn’t so good at that, huh?”

  “I remember a lot more than you might think.”

  The lead singer crooned out the words: “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places . . .” Jeffrey took her in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of her head. And for the first time—ever—she actually followed his lead.

  When the music ended, he ushered her to a bench at the edge of the tent. “I’m going to get us something to drink, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll wait right here.”

  Jeffrey made his way through the crowd and toward the open bar. “Two Perriers, please.”

  “Dr. Wilcott! I heard you might be here.”

  Jeffrey turned toward the soft feminine voice. The blonde twenty-something gave him a smile, the edge of her arm brushing up against his sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” He diverted his attention back to the bartender.

  Her voice oozed awareness of her own sex appeal. “I went to your office to see you and found that you had taken a leave of absence for a while.”

  He took the two green glass bottles from the bartender’s hands and looked at her. “You came to my office?”

  “Yes.” She turned her body into his, allowing it to brush against him.

  For a moment, just a brief second or two, Jeffrey felt something awaken inside him. All the habits and desires that had been sub-merged to months of crisis and anxiety came surging to the surface. This young woman—this girl—wanted him, and he liked the way that made him feel.

  But when he turned back to her, there was something in her face that startled him. He’d seen that same look on many women before through the years. Someone else’s date or mistress or wife, it didn’t matter. If they desired him, they made it known.

  And in that moment he wondered what it was they saw in him that made it okay. Was he a man who might as well be selling his body on some sleazy street corner or running an escort service or wearing a sign around his neck that said, “Available and Cheap?”

  “Would you excuse me, please?” He set the bottles down on the bar and headed quickly to where Claire waited in the tent.

  “You all right?” Claire asked as she took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “You’re perspiring.”

  “I have had a discovery tonight.” He took her arm and steered her toward the patio.

  She tugged at him, forcing him to stop outside the double French doors that led back into the house. “What have you discovered?”

  “That I hate these things.”

  She leaned back and looked into his face. “Want to get out of here?” “Please.” He bent down and kissed her softly on the cheek. “Let’s ditch this joint.”

  Giggling like schoolchildren, they retrieved their coats and stepped out into the frigid winter air. Claire pulled the collar of her long velvet coat up around her neck as they walked back to the car.

  He reached for the car door. “No, let’s walk,” she said.

  “It’s not too cold for you?”

  “No, I like it. My coat’s plenty warm.”

  They strolled in silence for a few minutes, down the long drive-way. “How are you doing?” Jeffrey asked at last. “I mean, really doing?”

  Claire heard the faint sound of an ambulance siren and waited to speak until it passed. “How am I doing? I’m not sure. I just get up each morning hoping I can breathe and praying that one day the pain w
ill go away. You know, I heard somebody say that grief never goes away, it just explodes less often. I’m praying for the less often.”

  “Well, you seem to be doing remarkably well. Your strength amazes me. Almost superhuman, somehow.”

  She laughed. “You know, Jeffrey, when you left—”

  “I know, Claire.” He gazed out over the lights reflecting in the water. “I’m so sorry. I hope someday you’ll forgive me for how I left you and Jacob.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Hush, no more apologies. When you left, I was forced to figure out how to survive. And I did. I came to terms with myself. I realized that what you said back there was true.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That I never learned to let you lead. And I didn’t. I was so self-sufficient. I thought I could do it on my own. Why wouldn’t you look for someone that needed you?”

  “You can’t blame my affair on yourself.”

  “I don’t,” she said flatly. “Trust me on that one. But I did learn there were things in me that needed to change. Things in my heart. Things in my head. So, one day, driving in my car on the way to work, I made some decisions.”

  “Decisions?”

  “Yeah. Decisions about my life. And decisions about you. For the first time, I surrendered. I gave up the illusion that I was in control. I gave up the notion that I knew how to run my own life—or yours.”

  “Yeah, but somebody needed to run my life,” Jeffrey admitted. “I was a spoiled young kid who thought he was going to be a big-time doctor and have the entire city of Charleston bowing to the god of his scalpel.”

  “How’d that work for you?”

  “We’re still working out the spoiled part. I’m not so sure I’m a big-time doctor, but plenty of people—mostly women—have worshiped at the shrine of my surgical prowess.”

  “Make you feel powerful?”

  He lowered his head. “Yes, it has, if you want me to be completely honest.”

  “I like you being honest.”

  “A lot of doctors think they’re gods, you know. They heal. They mend. They hold knowledge that only the chosen possess. But so many of them are bankrupt, and I’m not talking about their finances.”

  Claire smiled gently. “You know what I’ve learned, Jeffrey? We’re all bankrupt in some regard. We’re all broken. We all need to seek out the only one capable of truly fixing us.”

  Her eyes followed the movement of the light from the street lamps that lined the driveway. “I have grieved so much over Jacob. I’ve screamed. I’ve cried. I’ve beaten the ground until my fists were bruised. But then something comes over me, a peace, a place of comfort that I can’t conjure up. A place that only heaven can bring to earth.” She shook her head. “I’m not superhuman, Jeffrey. But somehow I managed to get through to the next day. And then one day I found myself smiling. And then one day I actually laughed. And one day—someday—I’m going to feel alive again. I know it. I just know it.”

  “I know it too.” Jeffrey stopped, turned to her, and touched the tip of her nose. It was frigid beneath his finger. “But you might not live to see tomorrow if I don’t get you warmed up.”

  When they pulled up in front of her house, Jeffrey got out of the car and walked around to open her door.

  “Thank you for the wonderful evening, for the food and the dancing and the conversation,” she said. Her heels clicked on the concrete walkway.

  “Can I ask you a question, Claire?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you never remarry?”

  She stood there pondering in the moonlight. “I’m not sure. Probably because I wanted to raise Jacob without being preoccupied with someone else and his needs. And now that I realize I had so short a time with him . . .” Her voice caught. She turned the key in the lock. “Well, let’s just say I’m grateful for the decision I made.”

  “You are an extraordinary mother.”

  The tears spilled over and coursed down her face. He reached down with both hands and wiped them away. “Thank you for the evening.”

  “Thank you for helping me feel alive.”

  chapter thirty-five

  Mary Catherine had felt strangely alive the last few days. Even though Nate was hounding her with phone calls, serenading her outside her window, and pledging undying devotion through love notes stuck on her car, she remained unmoved. She had done a search of his e-mails only to discover that he had been playing this charade for months. One or two of them hinted that he might have loved her at some point, but greed and duplicity had clouded and ultimately destroyed what could have been a happy life. She almost wished now she had never been born to wealth. Maybe a nest egg, but not a multimillion-dollar inheritance.

  She stumbled into the hallway, shook off her umbrella, and squeaked her way down the hall to the classroom, shivering as she went.

  Charmaine was there early, as usual, wiping off the dry-erase board. She had stayed late a couple of evenings and helped Mary Catherine decorate the class for Thanksgiving. And once Thanksgiving was over, no doubt she’d help decorate for Christmas too.

  “Ooh, it’s so nasty out there.” Mary Catherine shook off her heavy raincoat and hung it on the hook by the door.

  Charmaine set down the eraser. “How was your evening?”

  “How was my evening?” Mary Catherine frowned. “My evening was as perfectly boring as the last six months of evenings. Coco and I ate cereal for dinner, watched HGTV for three solid hours, and then we went to bed. And how was your evening?”

  “Oh, you know—same old, same old.” Charmaine shrugged.

  Mary Catherine sat down in her chair. “And what does the same old, same old look like at Charmaine’s house?”

  The girl fidgeted with her hair and straightened her skirt. “Oh, nothing that would be of interest to either one of us. So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Oh, I doubt Thanksgiving will be much of anything special. I might go out and spend it with Esau at my family’s plantation.”

  “You have a plantation?” Charmaine’s eyes grew round.

  Mary Catherine felt herself flush. “Well, sort of. It was my father’s house—it’s been in the family for years. Anyway, Esau takes care of the place. He always cooks a big meal for any of us who want to come. I suspect my freeloading brother will be wanting me to take him. It’s a free meal, after all.”

  “You have a freeloading brother?”

  Mary Catherine laughed. “Let’s just say he’s slightly misguided. So, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Charmaine shuffled her foot. “Ah, not much. My grandparents died a couple of years ago, and my mother is going somewhere with her boyfriend, I think.”

  Mary Catherine felt her concern rise. “And your father?”

  Charmaine laughed. “My father? Mrs. Bean, I’ve never met my father. Truth be told, I’d be surprised if my mother even knows who he is.”

  Mary Catherine reached over to take Charmaine’s hand. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I had no idea.”

  “It’s no big deal,” she said. “So, I bet Esau makes some great turkey and dressing.”

  Mary Catherine knew where this was going. She stood up and walked over to the board to write out the day’s lessons. “You know, he makes so much more than we can eat. You think maybe you’d want to go with us?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your Thanksgiving, Mrs. Bean. I know those are really special family times.”

  “Well, if you insist . . .”

  “But I really would love to.”

  Mary Catherine turned around. “Then it’s settled. You, Charmaine, will be spending Thanksgiving with me. Now, I can’t promise it will be uneventful. My family has a way of making events happen.”

  “I love eventful.” Charmaine almost danced.

  Mary Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. “Lucky for you.”

  Jeffrey drove to work through a driving rain but barely noticed. His evening with Claire still lingered in his thoughts. Even wi
th the tragedy of Jacob’s death, these last few months held their own kind of sweetness. The changes he had been making in his life had brought him a freedom he’d never known before.

  And last night had been another turning point. He had recognized, finally, the fatal flaw that had plagued his whole life—the ego, the narcissism. And although the awareness shamed him, it brought him a certain comfort as well. At least he knew now that wherever he was headed, it was away from where he’d been.

  Jeffrey walked into the office to get the rundown for the day’s patients. “Nice evening?” Dr. Nadu asked.

  “Yes, it was, actually.”

  “I am delighted to hear it. You both deserved a nice evening after the last six months you’ve had.” Dr. Nadu left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “I don’t deserve anything,” Jeffrey said to the silence.

  Jeffrey heard the door open again and turned around, expecting Dr. Nadu. “What have you forgotten?”

  “Look at what that butcher of yours did to me!”

  It wasn’t Dr. Nadu. It was Penelope Jackson, one of his clients. One of his most dependable clients. “Penelope, hi. Uh, what’s wrong?”

  She lifted up her top and exposed two rather large yet lopsided breasts. “This is what’s wrong! See anything odd?!”

  The sudden exposure left him speechless for a moment. Then his doctor instinct kicked in, and he studied the damage more intently. “Who did this surgery?”

  “If you had been there, it would have been you. But no, you apparently had to come off and save the world instead of taking care of your faithful clients. This was that Jordan lady. You’d think a woman would know how to make another woman’s breasts the appropriate size.”

  “Jordan isn’t supposed to do surgeries.”

  “What? She told me Dr. Frederick was booked, and I told her I couldn’t wait, so she agreed to do it for me.”

  “You should have waited,” he said flatly.

  She started to cry.

  “Calm down.” Jeffrey manipulated her right breast, trying to determine why it had drooped so much lower than the other one.

  She stood diligently, holding her blouse over her head, her body heaving slightly from her sobs. The door opened again.