What Matters Most (21 page)

A frown eclipsed her face. “Every office ought to have a sofa,” she said and winked at him. “Libido, do not raise thy ugly head.”

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked her.

She reached over and stroked his cheek. “I know better than to do that, Jack. I’m just trying to decharge the atmosphere in here. Now, back to the matter at hand. Since your father will demand that the clinic have a board, I suggest that you get ahead of him and select four people that you trust. They, along with your father, would constitute the board. As the director, you would automatically be a member. If I were you, I would present that to your father, before he approaches some of his cronies. He’d be very embarrassed if he had to rescind an invitation.”

“You’re way ahead of me,” he said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d known my father for years. I can think of three offhand—a doctor, a social worker and a university professor—but I want one more who’s not a doctor. We ought to have somebody from the community.”

“What about Alma’s father? He served in Afghanistan, he’s very intelligent, loves his family and people with money won’t frighten him one bit.”

“I thought of him. Do you think he can handle it so soon after his child’s death?”

“He might do it as a memorial to her,” Melanie said.

“Right. I’ll name one of the examining rooms the Alma Powell examining room. Another one is going to be the Tommy Pickett examining room because he’s the reason we’re here and the clinic is being built. Tommy will love that.”

She leaned back in the chair, glanced down at her fingers and said, “I’m glad I know you. I think we’re really going to make a difference.”

“Oh, we will, and that’s all I want.” He realized with a start that he thought of himself and Melanie as a couple. “I don’t think I could do what we’re attempting if you weren’t with me. And I don’t only mean your presence and your help. I mean your support and your caring.”

She raised her gaze slowly and, he realized, reluctantly, and let him see in her eyes her feelings, bare and unprotected. But she didn’t say one word, only looked at him and let him see what was in her heart.

“I need to get some work done,” she said abruptly. “If I sit here with you, I won’t accomplish one thing all day, and it will be your fault.”

He didn’t respond, but watched her open his office door and rush out as if she had to avert an impending disaster. He let her go without comment. They were in his office, and she was on duty. He respected her professionalism, but what he needed from her right then was a good session of pure woman.
Thank God one of them had sense.

At home that night, Melanie mused over the many happenings of the day—the ground-breaking for the clinic, Montague Ferguson’s snub, his rudeness to her, his thank-you for suggesting that the clinic have his wife’s name and Jack’s declaration to his father that theirs was more than a professional relationship. She knew she had endorsed it when she put her arms around Jack, but what else could she do when she could see the hurt in his eyes and almost feel the pain he suffered?

She had to decide whether what she saw as potential happiness was worth the battle. Montague didn’t speak about Jack’s demonstration of affection for her and hers for him, at least not where she could hear him, but she suspected that he would let Jack have a piece of his mind about it.

I’m too far gone, and it’s too late to turn back,
she said to herself.
I should have left when I could. He’s as much a part of me now as my hands and my feet.

After a supper of chicken and avocado salad, a roll and a dish of raspberry and vanilla ice cream, she sat down to write a letter to ET. She couldn’t say why the boy had made such an impression on her. She wanted him to know that she hadn’t forgotten him and that he had a friend in her, albeit a long-distance one. The next day on her way to work, she bought a book and a DVD on the training and care of birds and marked the chapter on falcons, included her letter, wrapped it and mailed it to ET at the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. She suspected that he would respond to something different and exciting.

In the office, the telephone rang. She answered it, but no one responded, so she hung up. It could have been either her father or Jack’s or someone with the wrong number. Certainly, one of their patients would have no reason to waste the cost of a telephone call. Maybe one of Jack’s female friends who wasn’t seeing enough of him. “Heck, if they try it again, I’ll let them hear a thing or two,” she said aloud, for the caller had blocked his or her own phone number.

When Jack came in at a quarter of five that afternoon, she told him about the crank call. “Who do you think is calling here just to annoy us?”

“Beats me. Next time, tell ’em that we’ve put a tracer on all incoming calls, and I’m going to have the culprit prosecuted. That ought to scare the bejeebers out of ’em.”

“Good,” she said. “I’ll call the telephone company first thing tomorrow morning.” When his eyes widened, she said, “What’s the matter?”

“I was only planning to scare them, but go ahead. I’d like to know who it is.”

“Do you have an idea?” she asked him.

“I know it wasn’t my father. He’s always sure he’s right, and he’ll stand up to anybody, male or female.”

“Oh, well,” Melanie said. “As long as they limit the harassment to an occasional phone call, I’ll overlook it.”

“Come here and give me a taste of honey,” he said when she made no move to kiss him.

“Us kissing is bad office behavior,” she said after soaking up the loving he gave her. “Suppose someone walked in here.”

He looked at her and grinned, mesmerizing her. “If that happened, I’d move out of here like a bat out of hell. The front door is locked.”

“Uh…right. Anyway, you behave.” Even as she said it, she inched toward him, and within seconds he thrust into her parted lips. Suddenly giddy, she reeled out of his arms and rested her back against the wall. “Th-that’s the reason why w-we have to k-keep this sort of thing out of th-the office.”

“If you were sweeter to me, I’d behave,” he said, obviously satisfied with himself.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and, as she left his private office, threw over her shoulder, “Yeah, right. I believe that. I’ve also walked across the Atlantic Ocean from New York to London.”

“You’re saying you don’t believe me?”

“Is that what I said? It’s five o’clock, so get ready. I’m unlocking the door.”

As soon as she opened the door, a tall, heart-stopping man walked in with his arm around a shorter, less-compelling figure of a man. “I thought you’d never open,” the tall one said. “I’m Drake Harrington, engineer for your clinic. My worker cut his hand and, as you can see, it’s bleeding badly.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Harrington. Come right back here,” she said to the injured man and called Jack. “I have an emergency in room A. Have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Harrington. I’ll get you some coffee.”

“I’d love some coffee,” Drake said in one of the deepest and most musical voices she’d ever heard, “but my worker is the one in pain.”

“I’m not sure the doctor would recommend that he drink anything hot at this point, but if he says it’s okay, I’ll give him some. What do you want in yours?”

“Milk, no sugar. Thanks.” He looked around. “I wouldn’t expect to find this kind of place in this neighborhood. It speaks well for Ferguson.” He sipped the coffee. “This is good coffee.” She brought him a blueberry scone. He tasted it and trained his large, sleepy, hazel-brown eyes on her. “I didn’t realize I was hungry. This is great.”

“We used to have some that were far better, but the woman who made them for us is in Memphis with her sick daughter. When she comes back, you’ll see how good a scone can be.”

“Well, I shall certainly look forward to her return.”

Jack walked into the waiting room along with his patient. “It’s good to see you, Drake. How are you?”

“Right now, I’m greatly relieved to see Lon smiling, and I’m glad to see you.”

“Lon will mend properly,” Jack said, “but I hate to tell you that he shouldn’t use that hand for a week until that cut has completely healed. I wanted to put it in a sling, but he says he can manage not to let anything hit it. If you have any problems, let me know.”

“My thanks. How much do we owe you, buddy?” Drake asked.

“Whatever your insurance pays. Drake Harrington, this is Melanie Sparks.”

Drake looked from one to the other and smiled. “I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. Sparks. Bring her with you when you come to see us weekend after next, man.” He directed his attention to her. “I hope you’ll come. It’s wonderful this time of year in Eagle Park.”

She felt Jack’s arm ease around her waist. “If she’s reluctant, I’ll persuade her. Give my good wishes to your brothers, Henry and that darling little girl.”

“Tara,” Drake said. “She twists every man, me included, around her little finger.”

“She certainly got to me,” Jack said. “See you weekend after next.

“You
will
go with me to spend that weekend with the Harringtons, won’t you?” Jack asked her after Drake left with Lon. “They’re a charming clan, three brothers, their wives, a crotchety old cook who’s like a father to the brothers and one charming little girl who told me she has a new brother. Each of the men has his own home, but I gather that they congregate around Telford, the oldest, who lives in the family home. And trust me, that house is some mansion.”

“So they’re rich.”

“Yes, they are, but they don’t wear it on their sleeves, and they don’t act like it. When Drake Harrington walked in here, did you size him up as a rich man? I enjoyed being with them. For the first time, I realized what I missed by not having brothers or a close male friend.”

She wouldn’t tell him that what Drake Harrington reminded her of was perfection in mankind, though she’d never be attracted to a man that handsome. “No, I realized he was one of the builders, but I didn’t think about wealth. He accepted that mug of coffee as if he’d never had a porcelain cup in his hand. All right, I’ll go with you, but you’ll have to tell me what to expect so I’ll know how to dress.”

“I guess you take pants, sport shirts, a sweater, a casual jacket for day and a dress for evenings. Telford’s wife looks as if she dresses for dinner.”

“Thanks. I get the picture. Say, the waiting room’s filling up. We’d better get busy.”

“Right. Who’s first?”

It made Jack uneasy that his father had said nothing more about his relationship with Melanie. He didn’t know what to make of it. Montague Ferguson was like a diva waiting in the wings for an opportunity. He didn’t get one, so he made one. Montague intended that his only son would marry a descendent of the “Talented Tenth,” and Melanie Sparks was both too dark and too poor to fit that mold.

“Hello, Dad,” Jack said, having seen his father’s phone number on his caller ID. “How’re things?”

“Just fine.”

“Glad to know it. I have four names of people I want on the clinic’s board of directors, five with you, and as the clinic’s director, I’d serve on the board. That makes six. We should probably have seven, to ensure a majority vote on every issue.”

To his surprise, his father said, “That’s great. I hadn’t gotten that far. I knew we needed a board, but I hadn’t gotten so far as to choose the members. Who are they?”

Jack named his choices and his father said, “That’s a good mix, but who’s this Rodney Powell? Do I know him?”

He gave his father a brief description of Rodney Powell and added, “There must always be a member of the community of this board. We’re not going to have a group with no vested interest in the area guiding the clinic’s work.”

“Mmm. Well, you’d better put that in the by-laws. Get your lawyer to take care of it. I hope the man is able to hold his own in the group.”

Jack didn’t comment. His father wasn’t pleased but had chosen not to contest Jack’s decision, which meant something else that Montague considered more important was in the offing.

“Uh…I’m giving a formal dinner for eighteen people at the Marriott Waterfront Hotel Saturday evening, and I want you to come.”

So that was the reason for the call. “Since it’s formal, I assume I may bring my date?”

“Well, I’ve got an uneven number of women and men, and I’d rather you didn’t. I hate a dinner party with more women that men or the other way around. So come solo. I’ll expect you at seven.”

“I suppose you know this louses up my own plans for the weekend.”

“I’m sorry, son, but I appreciate your helping me out.”

He didn’t like it, and he definitely did not look forward to spending the evening with one of his father’s old friends, a society biddy who’d outlived her options.

He dressed appropriately in a tuxedo, added red accessories and black patent leather shoes. To his annoyance, his father met him at the door with a vapid-looking, long-necked woman of about thirty, bedecked in a pink chiffon evening gown and more jewelry, including diamonds, than a young woman could wear without appearing vulgar.

“Miranda Lucas, this is my son, Dr. Jack Ferguson, the cardiologist.”

He glared at his father, not out of disrespect, but honesty. It was the only way that he could express himself short of turning on his heels and leaving. To express his resentment, he talked mostly to the woman on his right throughout dinner, since his date’s only response seemed to be “Really?”

After dinner, a small combo played dance music, and when he could no longer avoid it, he danced with the woman and had to admit that she knew her way around the floor. He noticed that a photographer took pictures of practically every person present, but he declined to pose for one. He knew the pictures would be on the society page of the
Afro American
and in several magazines.

Near the evening’s end, he spoke with the woman, whose name he’d already forgotten, told he her was glad to have met her and wished her a good night. He hadn’t brought her there, and he had no intention of taking her home. If that meant he was rude, so be it.

Montague caught up with him before he reached the elevator. “You’re leaving? You’re not taking Miss Lucas home? What’s come over you?”