Jennifer's Garden (9 page)

“They do, indeed.”

It had become a regular stop on her way to Fairhaven.  The roses they grew were sheer perfection; long graceful stems topped with petals of red velvet.  She buried her nose in the bunch, inhaling the rich, sweet perfume.  “I don’t know how he does it, but they are magnificent each and every time.”

“It takes a loving touch to nurture such beauty.”

“And you should know,” Jennifer replied, heartened by the sentiment.  She turned toward her mother.  “Your flowers were always award-winning quality.”

Light blue eyes sparkled in pleasure at the compliment.  Dressed in a simple linen dress, shoulder-length hair combed until it shone a lustrous gray and held back by a pearl-lined clip, Beatrice was elegance personified.  Despite the ravage within her body, she still took the time to make up her face, and receive her guests in proper fashion.

With the staff’s assistance.

Fairhaven was the best assisted-living facility Miami had to offer, their reputation impeccable.  The interior décor was equally lovely as creams, greens and blues were blended together in fabrics and furniture, walls were painted a buttery yellow and dotted by tasteful paintings of the Everglades.  Lighting wasn’t fluorescent, but instead came in the form of lamps and sconces lending a cozy feel to the rooms.  The aim was quiet luxury.  As patients waded through the twilight of their lives, they would do so in style.

The place was top of the line in every way, except one.  It wasn’t home.  It wasn’t where her mother should be.

But Beatrice insisted.  She wasn’t moving in with her daughter, despite Jennifer’s pledge to provide round-the-clock nursing care, a private bedroom and bath of her own.

No.  Her mother remained adamant.  She wanted her independence.  She wanted her own place. 
Even if it was in a nursing home
.

“Come,” she said, patting the cotton blanket.  “Let’s visit.  Tell me all about your new garden.”

Jennifer obliged without thinking, settling into the chair beside her.  “I have a landscaper,” she said flatly.

“Marvelous!”

“Maybe yes,” Jennifer tempered her enthusiasm, “maybe no.”

“What?”

At her mother’s confounded look, she explained.  “He’s a bartender,” Jennifer said, not bothering to conceal her concern.  “On the side of his landscaper business.”

“Bartender?”

“Yes.  We actually met for the first time at Michael’s party the other night.  You remember, the one he held for Catherine’s engagement?  Well, this fellow was there, tending bar.”

“Oh, heavens!”  Beatrice exclaimed, as though this were bad news, indeed.

“It was only a favor to Michael.  He insists landscaping is his first priority,” she assured, placating her mother’s sudden alarm.  “Seems he and Michael are friends.  In fact, it was his recommendation I relied on in my selection.”

Beatrice’s eyes expressed disappointment over the development.  “Doesn’t Michael understand you want a professional job done?  You want design work, not someone who’s going to plant a few bushes here and there.”

Jennifer nodded, her mood pinched by her mother’s concern.  “He does, but Michael swears this fellow is the one.”

“Are you certain?”

No, she wasn’t certain of anything.  “He came by this morning and had some good ideas.  He’s supposed to drop the drawings by tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

Her thoughts exactly.

Beatrice eyed her warily.  “I’d be a bit leery, if I were you.”

“Yes,” Jennifer echoed her mother’s sentiment.  She was bothered, too but time had clipped her wings on this one.  She knew of no one else to call.  “I’m willing to withhold judgment until we see what he comes back with tomorrow.”

As if she had a choice in the matter.

“Do you have someone else lined up in the event his work is unacceptable?”

“Not yet.”  Jennifer’s body sagged at the admission.  “But not to worry,” she assured with a confidence she didn’t feel.  “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone.”

But what Jennifer saw in her mother’s eyes could have been a reflection of her own.  Tension.  They didn’t have time to spare, should his promises prove hollow.

Jennifer dodged her gaze, and landed upon the fresh bouquet of roses she brought today.  Sitting atop the mobile swing-table, the flowers did little to add warmth, cheer.  They were merely a skimp of color to an already well-decorated room.

Her gaze drifted.  The picture frames scattered across her mother’s dresser and nightstand, filled with images of family and friends, didn’t do much either. 

While lovely memories, they were just things.

And things didn’t matter.  Not when illness came to call.

“When will you receive his proposal?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“That’s what he says.”

Her mother didn’t look pleased.  “Maybe I should call someone.  In the event his design falls short.”

Jennifer shook her head.  “Please, let’s wait.”  This was her responsibility and she would make it happen.  “His ideas actually sounded quite good this morning.  He may surprise us.”

Beatrice lifted her brow.

“Tomorrow I’ll have a better idea and if need be, we’ll call someone else.”  Adding more names to the list of prospective hires only added delay.

Somewhat pacified, her mother agreed.  “Okay.  But call me first thing in the morning.  I know several people with possible connections in the landscape design business.”

Of course she did.  Beatrice Hamilton was a venerable institution in the Gables.  If she didn’t know them, they knew her.  Of her.  The woman was a dynamo of action when she set her mind to it.

“Now listen,” she said, and reached for Jennifer’s hand.  “Let’s not talk about that anymore.  Let’s talk about you.”  She ushered forth a grand smile.  “You’re going to make a beautiful bride, my dear.”

Eyes bright and alert, they held the real life in her mother’s fading body and shone without a hint of fear.

Unlike Jennifer.  She was dreading her mother’s passing.

Beatrice gestured for her daughter to take her hand, painfully slender fingers covered in a delicate pastry of skin to which she obliged, closing it in her own.  Jennifer gave a gentle squeeze.

“I’m so happy for you.  Aurelio is a wonderful man, Jenny.”

She nodded, her response locked in the rigid swell of her throat.

Her mother eased her head back against the pillow.  “Like your father.  He was a
good
man...” she said intently.  “And so good to me.  Our life together was filled with love and adventure, everything new and exciting, because we were together.”

As exciting as Africa she wondered, but didn’t dare broach the subject.  Adding to her mom’s burden was something she was loath to do.  This weight was one she must carry alone.

“I know you two will be as happy together as we were,” she said in a wisp of breath, and closed her eyes.

Gone was the rush of panic Jennifer used to experience at the closing of those aging lids, replaced now by tired resignation.  She had long since learned it was a sign of retreat; a relief for her mother to get rest, and not the final goodbye.

Not until she was ready.  Jennifer dropped any pretense of strength and allowed her head to fall.  The spirit was a powerful force.  Journals had been written on the will to survive and she knew it wouldn’t be extinguished until it was good and ready; her mother’s case in point.

She had been the driving force behind her daughter’s success.  When Jennifer’s ambition waned, when her confidence sputtered, it was Beatrice Hamilton who ignited her back to life.  She kept her daughter going, kept her focused, providing soft pillows of compassion when she failed.  Jennifer leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her fragile hand, pausing over the faint scent of gardenia.  There was so much she still wanted to share.  Not only the wedding, but her life, her love...

Children.  Something her mother had wanted so very much but now would never see.  Because cancer had come to call.

Laying there so peaceful, her eyes closed, a sweet smile resting on her lips.  Jennifer frowned.  It was utterly deceiving.  Little by little the cancer was devouring her spirit, consuming her body, until soon there would be nothing left of her.

She pulled away.  She wiped the sudden tears from her eyes and blocked her thoughts.  Stop.

Enough.  It’s what her mother wanted.  Insisted.

But the tears refused to quit.  Afraid her mother would witness the display of weakness, Jennifer brushed the hair from her face, grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and dried her eyes. 
Let it go
, she urged herself.  No magic potion can save her life.  No miracle can keep her with you.  Stop wishing for one.

Jennifer shot up from her chair.  It did nothing to help her mother, or herself.  Breaking down only served to distress.  And she couldn’t do that to her mother, not when she was being so courageous.  “Mom, you need to get some rest.  It’s important to keep up your strength.”

Beatrice barely nodded, but said nothing.

The visits were getting harder and harder on her.  She seemed to lose energy so quickly these days.  The doctor in her knew it was common, to be expected, but the daughter in her railed against it with all her might.

It was the pain that bothered her most.  Her mother was enduring unimaginable suffering to witness her daughter’s marriage, despite countless offers to expedite the process.

But her mother wouldn’t hear of it.  There would be no courthouse wedding or bedside ceremony for her sake.  Her daughter would be married in Hamilton tradition, period.  End of story.

End of story
.  A shiver scurried up her spine.  “Mom,” she whispered, and fought a fresh deluge of tears.  “I have to go.”

Gingerly replacing her mother’s hand onto the bed, Jennifer lifted the pale yellow sheets and tucked them alongside her body.  Leaning forward she added, “I love you.”  Placing a kiss on the top of her head, she hovered a moment to enjoy the scent indelibly etched in her soul.

Once her mother was gone, Jennifer would be alone, and this comforting connection, a thing of the past.

Chapter Eight

Jennifer was still in shock.  The proposal had been delivered as promised—

And took her breath away.  Not only in price, but talent.  Literally miniature works of art, Jackson Montgomery’s drawings depicted a garden paradise as lovely as any fairy tale.

Sitting behind her desk, finished with the last patient, she leafed through the crisp white sheets once again, marveling at his illustrations, extraordinary in both detail and color.  She couldn’t believe her eyes, but true to his word he had drawn a gorgeous Italian-style fountain for out front, water splashing over the ledge, capturing the sparkle of sunlight like an invitation to delight.

Both sides of her property were layered with ginger and palms, the arched lines of their fronds drawn with incredible likeness.  Nearer the house, blooms spanning the colors of sunset lined the front walkway and spilled from window boxes.  Out back, the wall fountain looked exactly as he described.  Surrounded by bright multi-hued tiles, it was framed by rich green vines fanning out along freshly-painted stucco, a rich golden tan that matched the house to perfection.

Inside the clam-shaped basin, the water shimmered aquamarine blue.  Extending outward from this area was a brick patio which he continued toward the pool via a narrow paved walkway, one accented by an overhead trellis full of purple-flowered vines.  She scrutinized it more closely.  Were those the Bougainvillea she had requested?

As he suggested, oversized terra-cotta planters lined the pool and two small, childlike statues playfully dipped their toes into the water.  A hedge of salmon pink and yellow hibiscus separated the back driveway from the yard and on her back porch, he had sketched in a cozy fireplace.

It was remarkable; everything he promised and more.

Earlier that afternoon, Jennifer shared her impression with Michael. 
I told you he was good.  Good, fantastic, but not cheap.

Yes, the drawings were wonderful.  But the price tag was indeed outrageous.  How did he get away with charging so much?  Organizing the drawings into a tidy stack, she was more certain than ever Jackson followed a template.  He must have.

Granted, her custom design didn’t resemble anything of the sort, but there was no way he could create such brilliance on whim.  No way he could produce such incredible detail overnight, after spending all of a half hour on-site.  Impossible, unless the basics were already completed.

Or he had a team of draftsmen on call and at his disposal.

She slid the drawings back into their folder and thought well, I hope he’s heard of negotiation because that’s exactly what I intend to do.  Masterpiece or not, Jennifer didn’t take kindly to being taken.  If Jackson Montgomery thought he had tapped into a vein of gold with the physician community, he had another thought coming.