What Matters Most (4 page)

Jack drove to the doctors’ parking area. “I’m getting the help I need,” he said to himself, his thoughts still on Melanie, “but I’m also having a struggle that I
don’t
need. She stayed with me to the end, two and a half hours overtime, and was cheerful every minute. That means she’s loyal. If I’m not careful…” He didn’t let himself finish the thought. He got a doughnut and coffee in the hospital’s cafeteria and consumed it on the elevator en route to the operating floor.

Later that morning, he walked into his Bolton Hill office suite and stopped short. “Hello, Elaine. Is there a problem?” She knew he didn’t socialize in his office or where he worked.

She rushed to him, but he stepped back from her, reminding her that she was in his office waiting room. “What’s the purpose of this, Elaine? I’m late for my ten-thirty appointment.”

“Oh, darling. Just tell me you don’t intend to go through with this silly notion of opening an office in a run-down area of South Baltimore.”

He stared at Elaine Jackson. She had never paid attention to anything about him other than his red Porsche and the size of his wallet. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting my work to say that.” Infuriated, he turned to his receptionist. “Give me two minutes and then send Mrs. Blount into my office. Ms. Jackson is leaving.”

“Yes, sir.” He did not imagine the triumphant expression on his receptionist’s face, and he wondered what had passed between the two women.

After his office hours the next Wednesday, Jack met his father for lunch as he usually did on that day, and it depressed him that his father would not rejoice with him about his success the previous night, his joy in having treated all those people with their varied problems and ailments. He was dog-tired, but he felt better than he ever had about his work as a physician.

When his father arrived, Jack stood and embraced him. “How are you, Dad?”

“I’m fine, because I don’t overtax myself. What about you?”

“I’m tired, but I’ve never felt better or been happier in my life.”

Montague’s left eye narrowed, and his fingers rubbed across his chin. “Is that a reason for you to brush off Elaine? She’s a fine woman, and—”

Jack held up both hands to stop him. “She called you after she left my office? She knows I don’t want her coming to see me where I work. She’s never been in that office before. And how did she know about my South Baltimore clinic?
I
didn’t tell her.”

“Well, as I said, she’s a fine woman—”

Jack leaned forward, put his forearms on the pristine white tablecloth and balled both fists. “Listen to me, Dad. I am neither married to nor engaged to Elaine Jackson, and I am beginning to realize that I never will be. No man wants a woman who runs to his father and tattles. I don’t mind telling you, Dad, but I’ve lost my appetite for lunch.”

Montague ground his teeth, a sure sign that he was seething with anger. “You’re being pigheaded as usual, and you’re going to regret it.”

“I doubt it, but if I do, I’ll put my tail between my legs and run and tell you,” Jack said, his voice laced with sarcasm. The waiter cleared his throat.

“I’ll have the special, thank you,” Jack said and returned the menu to the waiter.

“But you don’t like crayfish,” Montague said.

“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”

He suffered through the meal and said goodbye to his father. Deciding that he had probably exhausted his supplies the previous night, he stored his Porsche at home, got on his Harley and headed for his other office. He hoped that none of the patients would see him, since he didn’t plan to open on Wednesdays.

He arrived at the office around three o’clock, opened the door and stopped short. Melanie sat on a stool beside an open cupboard with pen and pad in hand, apparently taking inventory. He’d only seen her in nurse whites, and that had been enough to hook him. But in those tight, low-slung jeans, red T-shirt and sneakers, she was lethal.

Stunned, he stared up at her. “You’re taking inventory?” he asked in a voice that sounded dry. “That’s what I thought I’d do.”

She looked down toward him, but not at him. “I hope you don’t mind, Dr. Ferguson, but I got up thinking about that crowd in here last night and all the stuff we used up. I was just about to call you and tell you we’re running low on supplies. What are we going to do?”

Not what will
you
do, but what are
we
going to do. Nothing could have told him with such certainty that she was with him all the way. He sat on the edge of her desk and tried to shift his attention from her to what she’d said. “How long have you been here?”

“Since around ten this morning. Why?”

He shook his head in wonder. She had worked five hours with no expectation of overtime pay, only because she wanted to help provide the best possible care for his patients. “So you didn’t work on any term papers today, did you?”

She kept her mind on what she was doing, or so it seemed, because she didn’t look at him. “It’s okay. I didn’t want you to come here tomorrow and not find any swabs or cotton balls or…or whatever. You know.” Her right hand shook nervously.

He thought about Elaine and her demand that he close the office and stifled the urge to lift Melanie from the stool and hug her. His father wouldn’t approve, and he doubted that his friends or his well-heeled patients would understand. But this woman gladly gave her free time to help ensure his success.

He wished Melanie didn’t look past him all the time, although he knew it was because she was afraid to make eye contact with him. Damned if he’d make it easier for her. The same bug that bit her had got him, and he was handling it, wasn’t he?

“Ms. Sparks.” She looked at him then, and he felt his heart take a tumble. “Can you figure out a way to work forty hours a week, including Tuesday and Thursday evenings? Then, you won’t need to take any other work.”

“I don’t know.”

“When do you study?”

“On the bus, the train, while I’m eating, whenever I can. But that’s okay. It gets done.”

“Do you want to work with me full-time?” Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to ask if she wanted to work
for
him, and that didn’t make sense. “Melanie—” He hadn’t addressed her by her first name before. “Look at me. I am not going to change into a pumpkin.”

She looked at him, straight in the eye. “It might be a good thing if you did.”

“What?”

“If I worked for you, Dr. Ferguson, my life would be easier. Much easier.”

“Then so be it. You figure out the hours and let me know. And call me Jack.”

She seemed to contemplate the idea for a moment, as if deciding whether to do it. Suddenly, her face relaxed into a dazzling smile. “All right. Is this an example of your overbearing behavior?”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Believe me, I can do better. Much better.”

“I can buy some of the supplies we need at a supermarket,” she said, ignoring his reply, “but most of it has to be sterile.”

“I can’t let you do that, Melanie. You don’t have a car. I’ll call my supplier and read the order to him. If you can come around noon tomorrow to receive it, we should be in good shape, thanks to you.”

“All right, but if there’s a problem, call me.”

Together, they finished taking inventory in about an hour. It occurred to him that she might be late for school. “What time is your class, Melanie?”

She glanced at her watch. “Six-fifteen. Oh, my goodness. I’d better go. Can you close up?”

“Sure.” He phoned the taxi company. He was glad that he’d opened an account with the car service. “Are you going home first?” She nodded. He walked her out to the taxi. “Take her home, and then wait and take her to Towson University.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said.

Jack looked at Melanie to thank her, but the expression on her face nearly weakened his knees. She may have been grateful, but her facial expression said something more intimate. “Thank you…. I…uh…thanks.”

He started back inside to close up the office but turned when he felt a tug at his hand. He looked down and saw a little girl of about five years old.

“Hi, Doctor. My mama sent you this.” The child handed him a plastic bag. He took it and hunkered beside her. “Tell your mama thanks. What’s your name?”

“Keshani Jordan. That’s my mama leaning out the window.” She pointed across the street.

“Oh, yes, Keshani. I remember you. You’re feeling better?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He looked up, saw the child’s mother, smiled and waved. The woman waved back, and he waited until the little girl crossed the street and went into the house. The bag didn’t weigh much, and he couldn’t imagine what was inside. He placed it on his desk, opened it and saw six exquisitely embroidered linen place mats with matching napkins. He looked through the names and addresses of his patients until he located Norma Jordan. He saw the address and made a note to write her a letter of thanks. He looked at the inventory list, phoned in the necessary items to his supplier, got on his Harley and headed home.

What a day it had been. He looked forward to Vernie’s smile and a warm greeting and a good meal. What was missing was a woman’s sweet warmth. He needed love as he’d never needed it before.

Melanie jumped out of the taxi, went inside the house and raced up the stairs. She dressed quickly and grabbed her purse and schoolbag. Downstairs, she took a frozen pizza from the freezer, turned on the oven to preheat, set the table for her father, locked the front door and ran to the waiting taxi.

“That was quick,” the driver said, “but you didn’t have to break your neck. The doc put it on his tab.”

She hardly heard him. If her father had been at home to make his demands, she might have missed school in spite of Jack Ferguson’s kindness. Jack. Such a strong, masculine name, and oh, how it suited him, she thought. Don’t go there, her common sense preached, but she already knew that ignoring Jack Ferguson would take more willpower than she had just yet. If he weren’t so kind and so gentle, despite his bossiness, not thinking of him would still be difficult. Lord, that man was something to look at.

When she’d walked into his office and gotten her first look at him, she had nearly swallowed her tongue. Her body had even warned her,
Girl, just give him whatever he wants. Don’t even bother to try holding back. It’s useless.
Thinking of that moment brought a smile to her face.

She enjoyed getting to school in comfort, for once, and sailed into the classroom fresh both physically and mentally. When she got home around ten-thirty that night, her father sat in front of the television with a glass of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, sounding as cheerful as possible considering her weariness after the long trip home.

“The pizza wasn’t as good as usual. There’s a new pizza shop about six or eight blocks down Fairmont. Get ’em there.”

“Yes, sir.” She went to the kitchen hoping that he’d left her a slice, but he’d dumped in the garbage what he hadn’t eaten. She warmed three rolls, got a piece of cheese and a glass of tomato juice and went to her room. If he didn’t see her, he’d be less likely to go on a rampage.

The next morning, after preparing her father his breakfast, making the beds and cleaning the kitchen, she packed her uniform, white shoes and stockings in a small bag. She dressed in a dusty-rose linen shirtdress and went to work. She was required to work that day until eight o’clock in the evening, but she knew she’d be there longer. She stopped at a supermarket and purchased a coffeemaker, coffee, tea, sugar and milk and a bag of fresh blueberry scones. On impulse, she bought a bunch of flowers—snapdragons, lilies and roses—and made it to work by ten-thirty. She had planned to be there by ten.

The telephone rang so frequently that she feared she wouldn’t have time to create a folder for each of the patients that the doctor had treated. She needed to finish before five o’clock when the office opened. However, when Jack arrived at one-thirty, she’d only done half of them.

“Hi,” he said, his face all smiles. “Say, these flowers are beautiful,” he remarked of the arrangement, “and they give the office a welcoming touch. I didn’t think of it. Did you have lunch?”

“Not yet. I’m trying to get these files in order before we open this afternoon. We’ve had a lot of calls this morning.” She wished he wasn’t so close.
I’m not a nervous woman, but this man makes me feel as if I’m in the middle of a tornado.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m useless when I’m hungry.”

“But I—”

“No buts.” He looked at a couple of the files. “This is wonderful, but would you mind staggering the tabs a little bit? And while you do that, I’ll start entering the essentials in the computer—after we have lunch, that is.”

“Oh, no. You shouldn’t use your time doing that.”

“I probably wouldn’t in my Bolton Hill office, but this is different, Melanie. It’s not about money, but about doing what I can to help people in need.” He covered her hand with his, which made her nervous. Her gaze flew to his and locked. She got the feeling that he wished he hadn’t touched her, still his demeanor shifted from impersonal to intimate, though against his will. It appeared as if he was backtracking when he shook his head as if denying something. She tore her gaze from his, unwilling to let him see what she felt.

“Can we go to lunch?” he asked her, his voice soft and solicitous.

She laughed, as much to ease the moment as for any other reason. “I see the bossy Jack just took a walk.”

Jack didn’t know of a decent restaurant in the neighborhood, so he walked to his car, opened the front passenger door, looked at Melanie and waited for her to get in. Then, he did what he’d do for any woman riding in the front seat with him. He leaned across her and fastened her seat belt. He didn’t have to do that, and when he heard her sharp intake of air, he realized that he probably shouldn’t have. He closed the door, walked around and got in.

“What do you like to eat, Melanie?”

“Anything. Well, almost anything.” Her wrinkled forehead suggested that she might have an idea. He was about to ask when she said, “It’s been ages since I had a pastrami sandwich. Do you like them? Blake’s on Franklin Avenue serves the best. It’s not far.” He couldn’t imagine Elaine asking to be taken to a place that served pastrami sandwiches. She’d want lobster or filet mignon. “I love pastrami,” he said, “and if they serve it with a good old-fashioned sour pickle, I’ll be a happy man.”