Just Beginning (3 page)

“So what do you do when you’re not corrupting your little brother?”

She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the change in topic. “I’m a journalist. I freelance.”

“Interesting. Would I recognize anything you’ve done?”

“Last month I did a piece on Joe Scarfili’s work in laparoscopic surgery. Do you know him?”

“Sure. He’s talented.”

“So I learned. That piece spawned a four part series on the inner city clinic he and his wife Gianna run.” Jenny checked her watch. “That reminds me, I’ve got to call her to set up tomorrow’s tour.”

“Where’s the clinic?”

“Detroit. On Connor off of Mack. Not the best side of town. It’s an interesting story, actually.” She smiled as she warmed to her topic. Jenny loved her job investigating other people’s lives, work, and interests, then sharing their stories with her readers. Through her interviews, Jenny had a unique opportunity to briefly enter another person’s world and understand what made them tick and what was important to them. It fascinated her, and she never tired of sharing her work.

“Gianna’s mother died from multiple sclerosis. Her death affected the entire family. Gianna went to nursing school because of it and her father became a champion of the disabled and underprivileged. He started this clinic as a memorial to his wife, and Gianna kept it going after her father passed on.”

“Do they only do immunizations and peds, or can they handle trauma?”

“I’m not exactly sure. If you’re really interested, you could come to the clinic with me tomorrow and find out. I’m sure Gianna would love to meet you.” Gianna was always looking for volunteers—especially doctors.

“What time?”

“Late afternoon. I can let you know after I confirm.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, poked and swiped it a few times before looking up. “I’m swamped the next couple of days. How about joining me for dinner Saturday? You can tell me about it then.”

“Dinner?” As in a date or an easy way to get more info about the clinic without having to worry about being pressured into volunteering?

“Dinner. The main meal eaten in early evening.”

Jenny hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder. No, it felt like a date. With her brother’s doctor. That probably would
not
help her situation with her mom... Then again Mom didn’t have to know. It was one evening, and it might not go anywhere. She peeked at the sexy guy in scrubs leaning against her car. They might realize they have nothing in common. But she’d sure like to find out.

She frowned as if mentally checking her calendar, though she knew very well her weekend was wide open. “What time?”

“I’ve got surgery, and I think I’m on call—I need to double check with my partner. Can I call you?”

“Sure.” She fished a pen from her purse, turned her empty coffee cup sideways, and wrote her phone number on the outside with clear, precise strokes, then ripped a chunk out of the Styrofoam cup and handed it to him. She snatched her hand back to wipe a lingering brown coffee drip off the piece before offering it to him again.

Gabe took the bit of plastic, lightly brushing his finger by hers, and dropped it in his breast pocket. He pushed off the car, leaving her just enough room to move by him. “Great. I’ll get back to you tonight.”

Jenny retrieved her chunk of keys from her purse. “Well... Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

She unlocked her car door and opened it, conscious that he stood watching her. “Can I give you a ride to your car?”

“No thanks. I’ll walk.”

“Okay. Well...bye.”

“Good bye, Jenny.”

She got in the car, twisted the key in the ignition, and rolled down the window. “Have a good nap.”

He nodded and tapped the top of the car twice, as if giving her the all-clear signal.

Jenny drove off, watching Gabe grow smaller and smaller in her rear view mirror. Good thing the parking lot wasn’t crowded; it would have been embarrassing to run into a parked car while he was watching.

On the drive home, she didn’t even try to curb her silly grin. He’d called her Jenny. She’d never thought of her name as anything special. Plain Jenny. Jenny Wren. But Gabe’s deep timber made her name sound like a sensual promise.

She shivered and clutched the steering wheel. She’d met a great guy. He was confident, caring, and sexy as all get out.

And she’d get to see him again Saturday.

Six forty-five Saturday night, Gabe pulled up outside Jenny’s apartment, an old beige brick bungalow that had been converted into two apartments. He blew out a deep breath, wiped sweaty palms on his Dockers, and climbed out of the car.

“What’re you doing here, Harrison?” he muttered. Slamming the door closed, Gabe looked at the house and drummed his fingers on the car roof. It’d been years since he’d had a real date, and Jenny was no Judith he could talk shop with. In fact, work and the kids were all that’d kept him and his ex-wife together. With Jenny, Gabe had neither.

“Come on, man, it hasn’t been that long; how different could it be?” He crammed a restless hand in his pant pocket, rounded the car and walked up the steps. Maybe he should’ve called his son to subtly solicit a few pointers. He laughed at the absurdity.

For cripes sake, Harrison. Get a grip.
He reached out to ring the doorbell. What could Ted teach him he didn’t already know?

Whether you’ll need a condom tonight or not
.

“Shit.” His hand abruptly fell away as the door whipped open.

Bright-eyed and grinning broadly, Jenny pushed the screen door open and looked past him. “Hi. Who’re you talking to?”

His tension drained away at the sight of her. Jenny was dressed in a gauzy top and flowery skirt that fell to just above her ankles, revealing shiny blue toenails and sandals. She’d twisted the sides of her hair into some complicated braid, then left the rest free. Damp ends of her hair curled slightly below her breasts, releasing a fresh lemon aroma that made him want to pull her close, close his eyes, and fill his lungs with the summery, sunshine scent of her.

“I... Nobody. Just reviewing a few things I forgot to do before I left the hospital,” he improvised. “You look great.”

A gentle smile brightened her face. “Thanks. Do you need to call somebody to give them instructions?”

Would that he could. “Naw, it’s fine. Ready?”

“Yup.” She lowered the dark sunglasses perched on the crown of her head, pulled the door closed behind her, and started down the walkway.

Gabe trailed behind, watching her swaying skirt for a moment before tearing his glance away and swallowing hard.
Oh, Harrison, are you in trouble.

He helped her into the car, then rushed around and got in. As he pulled away from the curb, he saw Jenny looking around the interior of the car. He made a quick inspection—nope, no forgotten lab specimen jars sat in the cup holder to gross her out, and he’d thrown out all the clutter before leaving home.

Jenny picked up his travel mug and studied the picture of him, Alex, and Ted taken outside the Hogwarts School gate. “You took the kids to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter? Oh my God. How was it?”

“Impressive. We had a great time. You’re a Harry Potter fan?”

“Who isn’t?” She put the mug back.

He felt her gaze on him, but when he looked at her, she immediately found the dashboard fascinating. He made a left at the light, and out of the corner of his eye watched her checking out his car again.

A slight frown wrinkled her brow—not in disgust but... What was she thinking? Was she having second thoughts? Was he overdressed in khakis and navy suit coat? He’d forgone the tie, but... He made a mental note to ditch the jacket as soon as possible.

He turned down Lakeshore Drive and headed north. Jenny casually—too casually—glanced over her shoulder into the old Volvo’s backseat. What was she looking at?

“What?” he finally asked.

“What, what?” she feigned ignorance.

He studied her for several long seconds before returning his attention to the light evening traffic. “What’s the matter?”

Her mouth opened and then closed as if trying to frame her comment tactfully. “You drive a station wagon.”

“What’s wrong with a station wagon?”

“Nothing. I just expected...”

So that was it. His station wagon didn’t mesh with his doctor image. Relief flooded him and he suppressed a grin. “A BMW? Audi? Mercedes?”

“Well... Yeah.” She squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortably. “I’m not a snob—really I’m not. It’s just that I’d never have guessed a station wagon.”

“Maybe I can’t afford a better car?”

“Does that mean I’m paying for dinner?”

He laughed. “Of course not.” He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m not a very good doctor?”

“And you admit this to your patient’s sister?”

“Gonna sue me?”

“Only if you screw up.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “I don’t need to impress anybody. The wagon suits me fine.”

She bit her lip, hesitating before pressing to the heart of her discomfort. “It’s black.”

“What?”

“The car. It’s black.”

“I like black.”

“No offense, but It looks like a hearse.”

He scowled and reared his head back in surprise. “A what?”

She sniffed the air, as if searching for the noxious scent of formaldehyde or the sweet cloying odor of ripe flowers. “A hearse. You know, those black funeral cars that carry dead people around.”

“I
know
what a hearse is.” Silence filled the car a good five seconds before Gabe could think of a reply. “It does not.”

Eyebrows raised, she tilted her head and winced in apology. “Yeah, it does. I’m sorry, but it reminds me of a hearse. All it needs is the little funeral flag.”

“Very funny.”

“Well, it does.” A cute blush tinted her earnest face.

“At least you’re honest,” he chuckled. “Morbid, but honest.”

What an interesting perspective on life, amusing and spontaneous. Refreshing.

They turned into the Hunt Club and drove down the long asphalt driveway under interlacing maple trees. Four green, freshly resurfaced outdoor tennis courts stood to the left of the entrance, and on the far side of them, farthest from the musty hay and horse smells, sat the club’s pristine pool and red brick clubhouse.

From the big red and white barn straight ahead, a large brown horse with a jagged white mark bisecting his nose bobbed his head over his stall door. He nickered loudly to a fat gray pony standing in the shade, flicking his tail and chewing lazily as a groom sluiced water over his broad back.

Gabe exited the car to the rhythmic
clip clop
of a horse’s hooves tapping the asphalt as a young girl urged her horse into a quick walk across the drive to the dirt corral. Alex had loved taking riding lessons here; she still enjoyed walking through the barns, petting a horse here and there and sneaking the gray fat pony carrots purloined from dinner.

The indoor tennis courts and riding rink were housed in the brown brick building next to the u-shaped stables. Colorful impatiens and daylilies circled the buildings. Altogether, the pastoral environment, secretly nestled in the heavily populated residential area, had a soothing effect on him. This was the kind of feeling he’d always wanted to come home to, but what was the point of creating this haven only for himself?

Standing beside the open car door, Jenny’s wide eyes took it all in. “Wow. This is great. So peaceful.”

Gabe smiled and stood a little taller. Shrugging out of his suit coat, he tossed it in the backseat. He took her elbow and moved her away from the car so he could lock it.

Walking toward the clubhouse, Jenny suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop. She arched a brow. “Wait. You drive a station wagon, but have a membership to The Hunt Club?”

He relinquished her hand to pull open the dark wooden door. With a firm nudge at her back, he urged her through the entrance. “I play a lot of tennis.”

“A
private club
?”

“The food’s terrific.”

Jenny laughed, a light airy sound that brushed away his defensiveness. “I’m sure it is.”

At his request, the hostess seated them on the enclosed patio overlooking the swimming pool and outdoor tennis courts. She took their drink order and left them looking over the menu.

Jenny closed the menu and put it aside. “So when can Michael come home?”

“Tomorrow. He’s done great since the transfusion.” The waiter interrupted him to take their order. When he left, Gabe settled the cloth napkin across his lap. “So, how was your week? Did you get your article done?”

“Part one. I sent it in yesterday.” He listened with interest as she detailed the kind of medical assistance the clinic offered and what the directors hoped to achieve, with special emphasis on how it was largely run by volunteer medical professionals.

She told him about the heartbreaking poverty she’d witnessed and the air of hopelessness permeating the neighborhood. “Hopefully, my article will spur some positive interest in the clinic.”

Her impassioned talk reminded him of similar speeches he’d heard when his parents had solicited donations for their latest cause. “It’s a large project.”

“They want to make a difference.”

“Don’t we all?” He sipped his red wine and then reached for a hard roll. With quick mechanical thrusts, he slapped whipped butter on the bread.

Resting her elbows on the table, Jenny laced fingers around wine glass and tilted her head to the side. “What’re you thinking?”

His attention snapped back to her. “Nothing really. I just hope they haven’t taken on more than they can handle.”

“Seemed pretty realistic to me.”

“I’ve had a little experience with hospital politics. This clinic is a more complex issue than you’ve been led to believe. I don’t think they can do it relying that heavily on volunteers. They need an enormous amount of capital, state or federally funded. Private sector donations aren’t going to cut it.”

“You seem to know a lot about it. Why don’t you help?”