What Matters Most (29 page)

She told him goodbye and dashed out to the supermarket. She purchased a duck, a box of wild rice and a bunch of asparagus, two leeks, a bag of oranges, sour cream and four cans of chicken stock. At the corner florist, she bought a bouquet of orange chrysanthemums and yellow marigolds and hurried back to her apartment. She had everything else she needed at home.

She told herself that a dinner of leek soup, roast duck l’orange, wild rice, asparagus, green salad and sour-cream lemon pie should do it for a short-notice invitation. Half an hour before Jack’s expected arrival, she remembered his father’s love of corn bread, mixed some, poured it in her old iron skillet and put it into the oven. If father liked it, chances were great that son liked it, too. She finished dressing in a long black skirt and a dusty-rose sleeveless, silk-jersey top that had a deep cowl neckline. Not too sexy, but not prim, either. She let her hair down, dabbed some perfume behind her ears and looked at her watch. Seven o’clock. The doorbell rang, and she raced to answer it.

She opened the door, saw the lights glistening in his eyes and the grin playing around his mouth and raised her arms to him. His kiss didn’t fool her. In spite of its brevity, it communicated warmth and love, and after nestling close to him for a second, she took his hand and led him to the kitchen.

“I have to stir this sauce for a while,” she explained, “then I’ll treat you like a proper guest.”

“I don’t want to be treated like a guest, proper or not. Where’s a vase?”

She glanced down at the long-stemmed red roses in his hand. “Oh. I didn’t see those.” She handed him a vase and a pair of kitchen shears. “Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you. Would you clip the ends at an angle before you put them in water?”

He did that, and put the vase and a bag containing wine on the table. “Melanie, let’s straighten something out right now.” She turned toward him. “Oh, don’t stop stirring that stuff. I wouldn’t want to cause you to ruin it. Are things all right with us? Would you cook dinner for me if you were mad at me?”

She returned her attention to the saucepan and proceeded to stir. “No, I wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t enjoy your kiss so much, either. Are you still hurt?”

“Not as much as I was. I’m…Being here with you eases it a lot.”

She pushed the sauce to the back of the stove, covered it and poured two glasses of wine. “I can’t drink anything stronger than this. If I did, you probably wouldn’t get a decent dinner. Next time I fix dinner for you, I promise to plan it properly.”

“I don’t really care, Melanie, as long as we’re together.”

She looked at him for a long time and realized that he meant what he said. “Okay, go sit at the table, and I’ll serve the meal.” She ladled soup into two bowls and carried them to the dining room.

“Would you say grace, please?” He held her hand while he said it, and from his solemn expression, she had a feeling that he also said an unspoken prayer for them.

“I’ve always liked leek soup, and especially on a chilly day like today. This is delicious.”

She removed the bowls and served the remainder of the meal. “You
are
a good cook,” he said, savoring the food. “Say, what’s that? Corn bread? How’d you know I love corn bread?” He bit into a piece. “Melanie, this is just like my mother’s corn bread. I haven’t had any this good since she got too sick to cook. I could make a meal of this. Why’d you decide to give me corn bread?”

“Well, I figured that if your father loves it, you’d love it, too.”

He rested his fork on the side of his plate, stopped chewing and looked hard at her. “How did you know my dad loves corn bread? It’s his favorite thing to eat.”

“I had lunch with him today at the Harvard club.”

“Come again. You did what?”

She repeated it, and added, “When he brought me home, I hugged him and kissed his cheek. I also promised him some of my corn bread.”

“Wait a minute. How the hell did that happen?”

“Never mind. I’ve decided that I want to go to Paris with you when you give that lecture. Nobody should have that kind of recognition without someone dear to share it with. When do we leave? I’m applying for a passport Monday morning before I go to work.”

“Slow down, Melanie. I had decided not to accept.”

She let an expression of horror cover her face. “You told them you wouldn’t accept, that you wouldn’t go?”

“Well, no, but I was planning to.”

“You can’t do that. It’s an opportunity that you deserve or they wouldn’t offer it to you. Why would you do that?”

“Triumph is no fun alone, Melanie. I didn’t feel like going to all that trouble if I didn’t even have anybody to…to so much as take a photograph.”

“I didn’t think of that, Jack. And I won’t play games with you, either. The truth is that your father invited me to lunch today and told me you weren’t going to accept. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t know why you decided not to go, but when he told me that, my heart sank. He asked me to talk to you, but the minute he told me, I decided that you were going if I had to ride a horse through Baltimore dressed like Lady Godiva.”

A smile creased the side of his mouth. “Lady Godiva was nude.”

“That’s what I meant. Will you go and take me with you?”

He got up, went around the table, kissed her lips and returned to his dinner. “What are you going to do with the remainder of this corn bread?”

“You’re going to take it to your dad. Are we going to Paris?”

“I love my dad, but I sure as heck am not giving him this corn bread, and if you think I am, you’re nuts.”

“Okay, so you won’t give him the corn bread. I’ll make some in the morning, call him and he can come and get it. When are we leaving for Paris?”

“What are we having for desert?”

She cleared the table and brought the pie and pie plates to the dining room. “I had no idea you were so stubborn. When are we going to Paris?”

“I don’t make important decisions when I’m eating. Digesting food takes the blood away from the brain, makes one lazy and lethargic, mentally as well as physically.”

She served the pie. “You’re full of it, buddy, and you’re not getting off so easily. I’ll ride that horse right through Southwest Baltimore, and my contract does not give that as grounds for firing me.”

As if he hadn’t heard her, he tasted the pie, savored it and looked toward the ceiling. “I knew I was clever when I hired you. If I’m guaranteed corn bread and this pie whenever I ask, we’ll go to Paris, and I’ll give the lecture.”

Joy suffused Melanie, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. “That’s blackmail, Jack, but I’ll agree to most anything if you’re reconsidering. Please call your dad, and tell him you changed your mind.”

“He’s not worried. When he asked you to talk to me, he knew you would and that I’d do whatever you asked me to do. And he knew it, because he knows I love you. Why’d you hug him?”

“Because I…I don’t know. I was feeling happy, and I realized I liked him a lot and that he loves you.”

“Sure he loves me. He just doesn’t know how to show it. You can teach him.”

“Would you please get me a weather forecast for the time we’ll be in Paris? What are the dates?”

Three weeks later, she sat spellbound in the grand ballroom of the Paris Marriott Champs-Elysées Hotel as three hundred and fifty doctors of every race and culture stood applauding Jack’s lecture. Realizing that she was probably the only person present who remained seated, she pushed herself upright, wiped the tears from her cheeks and clapped her hands. At least fifty percent of what he’d said was beyond her comprehension, but she understood that he said it with authority.

“Let’s take the boat ride down the Seine,” he said later, walking with her back to her room in the five-star hotel. “I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour.”

“You were wonderful,” she told him. “You were like an Adonis bestriding the earth. I’m so sorry your dad wasn’t in that audience.”

“So am I.”

She smiled, proud of her foresight. “Not to worry. I grabbed a DVD for him.”

“I didn’t know they filmed it. Thanks. He’ll keep it forever.”

After the boat ride down the Seine, he took her to the Eiffel Tower. As they strolled along, she enjoyed watching women of all ages salivate, coveting him, and then looking at her as if she wasn’t good enough for him. Her heart raced when he looked down at her, smiled and eased his arm around her waist.

“Tomorrow, if you like, we’ll go to the Louvre, Notre Dame Cathedral and maybe do some people-watching at the Café de la Paix across from the Paris Opera.”

“I don’t care what we do, as long as we’re together,” she said, deciding that it was time for him to show his colors.

“Why don’t we have a drink around five?” he asked her. “That’ll give you an hour to rest.”

“I have a little balcony. We could sit out there, look at the Arc de Triomphe and have the drinks.”

“Right. I’ll send up some stuff.” He held her hand, staring down at her until she thought she’d catch fire.

Shortly before five o’clock, she adjusted her short red dinner dress, slipped on her only pair of three-inch-heel slippers and refreshed her perfume. The waiter brought drinks and hors d’oeuvres. “Thank you, ma’am, but Dr. Ferguson took care of the tip.”

“I remember that dress,” Jack said when she opened the door. “You look like an angel and a siren in this thing. How’m I going to keep my wits if I have to handle both you and the alcohol?”

She closed her left eye in a long, slow wink. “Forget the alcohol. Just deal with me.”

He glanced at the bed. “The balcony is a good idea.”

“You’ve been here five minutes, and you haven’t kissed me,” she said with a pouting expression on her face.

“Ever hear of prudence? I’m wrestling with it right now.”

“Hang prudence,” she said. “I want you to kiss me.”

He put the glasses back on the tray, lifted her into his arms and rimmed the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. She sucked it into her mouth, and within seconds he bulged against her. She had him the way she wanted him, and in no time, he lay above her gazing down into her face.

“If you want me, take me. I’m yours,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

She took him into her body and gave herself into his care as he drove them to ecstasy. “I love you so much,” she whispered after he’d taken them to their own secret place, possessing her totally time and again, draining her of her last bit of energy.

At least half an hour passed, and then she said, “I’m still spellbound, Jack. After hearing your talk and seeing all those doctors—old enough to be your father—hanging on to your every word. You were far from the Jack I know, a powerhouse of a mind. I am so proud of you.”

“Then why were you crying?”

“Maybe because I thought of what you almost missed, or because I was so happy that you had your moment in the sun. Or because you seemed…untouchable. I don’t know. It was wonderful.”

“My dad said you had refused to come here with me originally because I wouldn’t commit to you. That hadn’t crossed my mind, because in my heart and my head, I committed to you the night you came to the hospital to be with me while I waited to hear what happened to Alma. She was the first patient I ever lost. From that night on, I belonged to you. Will you marry me, Melanie? I love you, and I will take good care of you and our children.” He got on his knees. “Will you be my wife?”

“Oh, yes, Jack. I’ve loved you since that day you came to the office and found me taking inventory.”

“That was three days after we met.” He put his mother’s diamond engagement ring on her finger.

“I know. It was ordained.”

Epilogue

O
n Christmas Eve of that same year, Jack Ferguson stirred the coals in the fireplace of his living room and looked at the massive Douglas fir tree that stood near the window with its myriad lights and trinkets dazzling all who saw it. His bride of three weeks put an iron skillet filled with corn bread on the hot coals at the edge of the fireplace and banked the coals around it. Montague Ferguson walked into the living room with a tray of drinks and sat down.

“I’d say we should have let someone cater Christmas dinner, if it wasn’t for the fact that Melanie is such a great cook.” He put an arm around his daughter-in-law. “But you won’t have to clean up after dinner. Vernie will take care of that. I hope you’re planning to give me some grandchildren.”

“Try not to meddle, Dad. Pressure leads to stress, which leads to—”

“I know. I know. But I can hope, can’t I?” Montague said. “Melanie, did you call your father?” She nodded. “Good. This is Christmas, and a time for love.”

That night, after Jack made long, sweet and satisfying love to her, Melanie lay in her husband’s arms. “My period is late, so I took the test and it was positive.”

“Good Lord! When?”

“I took it this morning. What’s the matter?”

He pulled her into his arms, and his tears soaked her face and her hair.

“I love you so much,” he murmured.

“I know, darling, and I love you with all my heart.”

WHAT MATTERS MOST

An Arabesque novel

ISBN: 978-1-4268-2258-2

© 2008 by Gwendolyn Johnson-Acsadi

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