What Matters Most (10 page)

“You mean we’re going in this?” she said when he led her to the Porsche. “Gosh, I’ve never been within a mile of one of these.”

He put their picnic supplies in the trunk of the car, fastened her seat belt and went around to the driver’s door. “I’m in the mood for three scoops of ice cream in a cone,” he said, as he got into the car. “I feel as if someone peeled years off me.”

She heard what he said, and she understood its meaning, but she doubted that he did. Nonetheless, the confession gave her comfort. He felt young, and after that, his singing as he headed toward Reisterstown Road didn’t surprise her.

“We’re in luck,” he said. “A string quartet is performing this evening. I hope you like Mozart.”

“I love chamber music. In fact, I love music.”

“You haven’t asked where we’re going. Your confidence in me is enough to rattle a man’s nerves. We’re going to Owings Mills. It’s one of my favorite small towns. I once considered building a house there, but it’s a long trip to my office, so I thought better of it.”

He found a place near a tree facing a small lake and neither too close to nor too far from the music stand. “There may be mosquitoes, Melanie, so it’s a good idea to apply this insect repellent lotion on any exposed parts.” Her laughter wrapped around him like warm sunshine. “You laugh at the damnedest things. What’s amusing?”

“What exposed parts did you have in mind?”

His expression was nothing less than withering. “That top you’re wearing isn’t exactly hugging your neck. Mosquitoes will kiss your neck as quickly as I will, and they love those veins around your ankles.”

“Yes, sir.” She accepted the lotion and rubbed it on her feet, ankles, arms, neck, hands and chest. “A mosquito bite aggravates me for at least a week, sometimes longer.”

He spread the blanket, put the food down, went to the car and returned with two stools and two pillows.

“You went to a lot of trouble.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Jack. You’re…”

“I’m what?”

“I don’t know exactly, but whatever you are is very nice, indeed.”

He placed the two stools side by side and motioned for her to sit down. He remained standing, looked down at her and said, “You can’t possibly understand how important those words are to me.” She patted the stool beside her, and he sat on it, but facing her. “All day, I’ve been feeling kind of like a chicken whose feathers have been plucked. I don’t understand it, because it’s a new feeling for me. I also don’t like it. And then you say something like that, and I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof.”

She patted his hand. “You just needed a hug.” She was getting used to that expression in his eyes, but familiarity didn’t lessen the heat that it sent roaring through her veins.

“You’re right, and I still need one.”

She couldn’t help grinning at his sudden small-boy demeanor, and she didn’t try to stifle the words that tumbled from her lips. “Will I do?” she asked and opened her arms to him.

“You’re the only one who
will
do, as you put it.”

She hadn’t expected that, and she could barely contain the joy she felt. She put her arms around him and rested his head against her breasts. “Anybody as sweet as you are deserves a hug.”

He raised himself up straight, evidently to see her face. “Are you telling me you think I’m sweet?”

She was suddenly unsure that she wouldn’t regret what she’d started. However, she’d promised herself always to be honest, so she nodded her head. “Uh-huh.”

“Look here, Melanie. I don’t want any head nods. Do you or don’t you?”

“I do, and quit pushing me.”

“I’m not…Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I hope I’m not usually so self-centered.”

She changed the subject as soon as she could find a good topic. “By the way, when I went to see the Waters family at noon today to take the biscuits and candied sweet potatoes, Mr. Waters told me you sent them a baked ham.”

“I can’t take credit for doing anything special, Melanie. It cost me a phone call and a few measly dollars. You went to them. That meant something.”

The string quartet assembled onstage and began tuning their instruments. Jack looked at his watch. “It’s almost seven o’clock. I have a little battery-powered light for us to eat by. If you’re hungry, I’ll set out the food.”

“Want me to help?” she asked, not because she wanted to, but it seemed appropriate.

“No. I want to pamper you, and that means you sit over there and decorate that stool.”

She put one of the pillows against the tree trunk, rested her back against it and stretched her feet out in front of her. “I am in no mood to reprimand you for being bossy,” she said. “Besides, I’m not used to pampering, and I find that I like it.”

When she tried to remove her jacket, he said, “If you take that off, I’d better put some of this lotion on you, otherwise you’ll be full of mosquito bites.” He eased the jacket off her, saw the tiny straps of the tank top that covered her shoulders and said, “I’d better take care of this right now. Sit up straight.” She did, and he spread the lotion on her neck, back and arms. Looking her in the eye and pointing to her cleavage, he said, “You want to put it there yourself, or are you going to let me do it?”

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, for her whole body reacted to the memory of his warm mouth pulling at her nipple. “I think you had a reason for suggesting that our outing be in a public place, didn’t you?” she said. When he didn’t answer, she took the lotion that he held in his hand and began applying it.

“Why didn’t you want me to do it?” he asked her.

“I like your hands, Jack, but if I didn’t have a sense of propriety, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t be.” He positioned the pillow behind her back, dragged the other stool closer to her and put the picnic basket on top of it. He set out their plates, glasses and utensils on the blanket and opened an odd-looking heavy plastic bag.

“What’s in that?” she asked him.

“Madam, I can offer you warm spinach-bacon quiche, crab cakes, hot cheese biscuits, a green salad, cherry tomatoes and pinot grigio wine. The hot food is in this bag, and the cold things are in that one.”

“Oh, Jack, you’re so thoughtful. I’ll have some of everything.”

He served them as the musicians began the sweet strains of Mozart’s “Divertimento in B-flat.” She hadn’t realized that darkness had fallen, and when she glanced up, she saw the moon and the stars. Some of the most beautiful music ever written replaced the night sounds and the whispers of human voices, washing over her like waves of heavenly contentment. Lost in the moment, she chewed the delicious crab cake and sipped the wine that Jack held to her lips.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked her, his tone so urgent that it shocked her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re crying. What’s wrong?” His fingers brushed away the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.

“I didn’t realize it,” she said, dabbing at her face with the handkerchief he gave her. “I don’t think…I know I’ve never been as happy in my entire life as I am right now. As much as I dreamed of a beautiful life when I was a child and later as a teenager, I never imagined an evening like this.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Nothing you’ve said to me has touched me like this.”

She smiled, and then she laughed, because she didn’t want to change the mood. “I haven’t tried the quiche yet. If it’s as good as the crab cake, I may sob. You’re going to get me the recipe for these cheese biscuits, aren’t you?”

“I promise to do my best. You know how cooks are with their secrets.”

“If the cook is stingy, we can work it out. Cooking is like chemistry. You put together the ingredients that work and avoid those that don’t. How are you at chemistry?”

His laughter surprised her, because she hadn’t thought that he was back into a light mood. “As you can see, I don’t control it. Oh, you’re not talking about us, are you?”

She tweaked his nose. “Definitely not, and you know it.”

He poured more wine into their glasses. “You’re right about these biscuits. I could eat a dozen of them.” Patting his flat abdomen, he asked her, “How do you feel about love handles?” and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“Never been attracted to them. It’s the washboards that send my imagination into orbit.” She reached over and zipped up the bag that contained the warm biscuits. “The salad and tomatoes are delicious, too,” she said.

“Well, I certainly get that message. We can eat the dessert during intermission, unless you want it now.”

“I’m stuffed. Let’s wait,” she said. He closed the picnic basket, put the food away, pulled her off her stool to sit on the blanket and lay down and rested his head in her lap. She looked down into his face, at his barely parted lips and searing gaze, and thought,
If he isn’t for real, I’m lost!

She closed her eyes and stroked his hair. His arm went around her waist, and she had to resist bending over and kissing him. Her fingers brushed his cheek and his hair with light, feathery touches as she hummed softly to the tune of Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” while the musicians gave the music life.

At intermission, she asked Jack, “What’s for dessert?”

His arms tightened around her. “If you think I’m moving from here, you’re nuts. You’ve been making love to me for the last twenty minutes, and I don’t want you to stop.”

“I have not. I was only—”

“You have so.”

“If I’d been making love to you, there’d be no question in my mind.”

He sat up. “You’re damned right there wouldn’t be.”

He cut two slices of cheesecake, handed her a slice and opened a bottle of champagne. “We’ll eat your cookies after intermission. How do you like the music?”

“I love music. When I was growing up, I wanted to learn to play the piano, but Daddy said there wasn’t money for lessons. I would listen to the radio and long to play like some of the pianists I heard.”

“You can still learn. All you need, it seems to me, is a piano and a teacher. It’s amazing that, in spite of the apparent differences in our backgrounds, there’s been such similarity in our lives,” Jack said as he finished his cheesecake and lay down with his head in her lap again.

“This morning, I wanted to ask my father how he deals with patient loss. It was the first time I’ve needed him as a father since I’ve been grown. I needed his guidance, sympathy and understanding as a father and as a physician, because whatever he told me, I would believe.

“I telephoned him, and he didn’t wait to find out why I called him. He told me of his plans for a fishing trip, urged me to join him and launched into criticism of my work in South Baltimore. I didn’t bother to tell him how miserable I was, that I needed his guidance, his experience from forty years of practicing medicine.”

He turned and buried his face in her lap. “Oh, what the hell! I wish I hadn’t brought it up.”

She understood then why he had called her and invited her to spend the evening with him. He needed what she gave him, her faith in him and her sympathetic understanding of his compassion for his patients. “Please don’t hold it against him, Jack. One day, he will realize that he failed to share what may become the most important part of your life, and he will regret it. No matter how he acts, he’s proud of you. Any parent anywhere would be proud to have a man like you for a son. I mean that.”

She felt dampness on the tail of her tank top, leaned down and kissed his eyes. “At least you’re precious to me,” she whispered, mainly to herself.

Chapter 5

J
ack nuzzled Melanie’s lap, soaking up her sweetness, affection and, yes, loving, for there was nothing else to call it. He hadn’t known such caring since his mother had died weeks after his eighteenth birthday. As Melanie’s gentle stroking made his pain over the little girl’s death the day before more bearable, it reminded him of his mother’s tender and soothing care, and of the fact that almost seventeen years had passed since he’d received such unconditional love. He knew it was his fault, because of the company he kept, but he had only recently begun to notice the self-centeredness of the people with whom he associated. He hoped he hadn’t been like them, people for whom any show of compassion was almost always perfunctory and definitely short-lived.

Melanie’s faith in him seemed unbounded. Yes, his patients believed he could work miracles, but they needed to believe it; she didn’t. His mother had believed in him. She had always told him that he could do anything he set himself to do, and he believed her. She’d said he was gifted with a fine mind, sturdy hands, inner strength and a will to succeed. But when he’d needed her encouragement most, during those awful days and nights of his first months at college, when he’d tried to be a good student while his classmates fought for popularity, she’d slipped away from him. Suddenly. Like the explosion of a cannon.

In those days, his father had wallowed in his own grief, seemingly forgetting that his son—an only child—had lost his mother. Yes, today he walked tall and sometimes performed what his colleagues at the hospital referred to as miracles. He wasn’t a fool, and not much frightened him. He knew himself, and he knew he excelled at what he did. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t vulnerable, that he didn’t need love, affection and a woman’s tenderness.

Melanie’s hands stroked and caressed his back, and, whether she intended them for his ears or not, her whispered words came to him clearly:
At least you’re precious to me.
He didn’t comment; when she wanted him to know it, she’d say it loud and clear. He slipped his arms around her waist, hugged her, kissed her belly and sat up.

“Do you think you can manage the office next week? I have to attend a convention. I’m conducting a workshop on the diagnosis of certain circulatory ailments, and I haven’t found a doctor who’s willing to fill in for me at my South Baltimore office. They’d happily take my Bolton Hill patients, but…well, you know the story.”

“What will I do if someone really needs a doctor?”

“Send them to General, but phone first. I’ll give you a message that should make their admittance easier, and you have my cell-phone number.”