Jennifer's Garden

JENNIFER'S GARDEN

PUBLISHED BY:

BloominThyme Press

Jennifer's Garden

Copyright 2011 by Dianne Venetta

*****

Acknowledgements

When writing a book, you never write it alone.  You always depend on the support and patience of those closest to you.  In my case, it's my husband and two children.  Without their understanding and full-fledged belief in my dream of writing a novel, none of this would have come to pass.  Sure, I would have written stories, passed the time with my garden blog and various creative outlets, but completing an entire novel (or several) would never have become a reality.

And it doesn't stop at the front door.  From the praise and encouragement my mother lavished upon me for creative writing in elementary school to the steadfast and faithful support of my step-mother today, I am buoyed by people who love and care about my endeavors.  This includes a sister who edited and re-edited on my behalf while the other focused her photographic talent on making me look good, plus two brothers willing to engage in my shameless promotion—not to mention a mother-in-law willing to read
anything
I write.  Included among my indispensable and devoted beta-readers are Sheri and Joanie—thank you!

But as the last word slips off the keyboard, it's my family to whom I owe the most gratitude. Thank you one and all.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my daughter.

“Given the proper care and feeding, a woman will bloom in time; her own sweet time.”

Chapter One

Jennifer Hamilton glanced at her mother again, sweeping her pencil across crisp white paper as she outlined the seated figure before her.  “Gosh, it feels good to have a pencil in my hand again,” she said, her fingers never stopping as she sketched in a horizon line, her point of reference to denote distance and space.  “It’s been
years
since I last picked up pad and paper.”  Yet it felt so natural, so second-hand.

Beatrice Hamilton smiled.  “Med school has a way of doing that to a schedule.”

Jennifer sighed.  “And residency, private practice...”  She laughed.  “Sometimes it feels like I have time for nothing else!”

Her mother smiled.  “Wait until you add a husband and children to the mix.  Talk about no time, my goodness!”

The mention of Aurelio Villarreal warmed Jennifer’s mood a degree.  A gust of wind lifted the hair from her neck, its cool air a welcome break from the late afternoon heat.  Casting another glance toward the Coral Gables Mediterranean-style building, Jennifer framed-in the main structure, arced a few lines to represent windows and doorways, emphasizing the contrast between the dark brown of their casings against the vanilla-colored stucco, then lightly smudged the lead for a shadow effect.  A few waves across the top and she had the beginnings of the barrel-tiled rooftop.

Though she hadn’t drawn in years, her ease of motion felt as though she’d never missed a beat, drawing every day of her life.  And the release.  Drawing opened her spirit, unleashed her imagination.  It gave her a sense of freedom, of inhibition.

Next she focused on the trees.  With a few choppy strokes, she depicted the natural fall of oversized palm fronds swaying heavy in the wind, their bowed trunks lazy yet strong—strong enough to endure the hurricanes that whipped through this city every year!  But living in South Florida, one became accustomed to such thrill.

“Time management,” she declared, feathering in the wispy tips.  “I’ll just have to make sure I’m on top of my time management skills.”

“You will be, darling.  If anyone can juggle career and family, I know it will be you.”

Jennifer stopped.  She peered at her mom.  “You’ve always been my biggest fan, haven’t you...”

“Number one.”

Jennifer smiled.  No question, no doubt.  Only love.  Which made her mother’s impending passing all the more difficult.  Thrusting her pencil back into motion, Jennifer didn’t want to dwell in thought.  She wanted to continue, to enjoy their time together and this catharsis of sketching.  It reminded her of days gone by, time lost in the sand wriggled beneath her toes.  Hours and minutes felt the same, afternoons drifted into the ocean as she drew—what she saw, what she felt.

What she wanted.

Scrutinizing the emerging scene, Jennifer was pleased with her progress.  Ready to trace the delicate features of her mother’s face, she settled in for a closer look.  Age had nothing on her mother.  Blue eyes shone bright and her skin glowed, flushed with healthy tones of pink.  Hers was a beauty that persisted in graceful defiance.  Why, if you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was the picture of health.

“Dr. Hamilton.”

Both women turned.

Jennifer stiffened as Dr. Roberts drew near.

Fully gray, balding in the middle, his mouth was set in a stern line.  “They told me I’d find you out here.”  Placing folded hands behind his back, he glanced at the pad in Jennifer’s hand with disapproval.  “If you can spare a moment, I came to discuss your mother’s medications.”

Jennifer rose from the stone bench.  Lowering pad and pencil against her body, she replied, “Yes?”

“We need to increase dosages.”

“Why?”

“According to the nurses, she’s been experiencing more severe pain.  At this stage, I suggest an increase to encourage rest.”

Jennifer hardened her gaze. 
Put her to sleep
, you mean.

“It’s not unexpected at this stage.”

“It’s not what she wants.”

“The nurses are with her twenty-four hours a day.”  He pulled his arms forward and crossed them over his chest.  A wiry man, he barely put a dent in the starched white lab coat he wore.  “I think they know best.”

“My mother knows full well the ramifications of her meds.”

“Under the circumstances—“

From her wheelchair, Beatrice cleared her throat.  “I’m
right
here.”

Jennifer discarded pad and pencil and went to her mother’s side.  “Mom, is it true?  The pain’s getting worse?”

She gazed at Jennifer before responding to the doctor.  “I’m fine, Al.  I told the nurse it was nothing to worry about.”

“Your bones are decaying, Beatrice.  They are vulnerable to serious breakage.”

“My bones are working fine,” she raised her hands, turning them back and forth for inspection, “as you can see.  It was an isolated incident.”

Dr. Roberts frowned and dipped his head forward.  “Your condition is serious, Beatrice.  Breaking your bones can lead to complications.  You of all people should know the risks.”

“I do.”

“What are you talking about?” Jennifer blurted between them.  “What incident?”

He turned and addressed her forthright.  “Your mother injured her wrist while getting into her bed last night.”

Jennifer gripped the padded armrest of her chair.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”  She patted Jennifer’s hand.  “I told you, I’m fine.”  Then to the doctor she said, “As to medication, my current prescription is adequate.”

Adequate?  Jennifer stood.  She didn’t like the sound of that.  And she didn’t like her mother keeping things from her.

“It’s my body and my choice.”

Dr. Roberts shook his head in resignation.

“You heard her, doctor,” Jennifer defended, though part of her wanted to discuss the options, the alternatives.  The thought of her mother in pain didn’t sit well at all.

Wielding his full focus on Jennifer, he asked, “Is this what you want?  Are you okay with what you’re doing?”  He eyed her pad on the bench with naked contempt.  “What you’re asking her to do isn’t helping.”

It took every speck of control she had not to reach out and slap him.  He had no right to speak to her this way. “You heard her,” Jennifer said.  “She understands the clinical repercussions.  Despite what you or I may advise, she’s made her choice.”

He scowled.  “Somewhat under duress, don’t you think?”

Jennifer didn’t appreciate the insinuation, or the nasty smirk forming on his lips.  “She’s made her decision and I intend to respect it.  As her physician, I suggest you do the same.”

He stepped back, clearly displeased with her response.  But both of them knew his hands were tied.  Dr. Roberts would not override the wishes of a physician patient.  “Of course.  But I have a Hippocratic duty to uphold.”

“You’ve said your peace.”  She breathed in deep and slow and added, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to get back to enjoying our visit.”

His glare mocked her, but he said nothing.  When he glanced at her mother, his expression softened.  “Are you sure?”

“This is the best medicine for me, Al.  Being outside in the fresh air, feeling the wind on my face, hearing the sounds of life...  I’ll be all right, really I will.”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I am.”  She angled her head and added, “With my daughter by my side, I’m better than ever.”

Dr. Roberts grunted beneath his breath.  “Very well,” he replied, his voice tight and controlled.  Without another glance toward Jennifer, he retreated back along the manicured path he came.  

Once he was out of earshot, Jennifer withdrew her hands and linked them across her chest.  “I do not care for that man.”

“Don’t let him get to you, Jenny.  He means well.”

She stared after him.  “His attitude is horrendous.”

“He’s very good at what he does.”

“His beside manner sure leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Not everyone can be adored by their patients like you.”