gaze, and thought, If he isn’t for real, I’m lost!
She closed her eyes and stroked his hair. His arm went around her waist, and she had to resist bending over and kissing him. Her fingers brushed his cheek and his hair with light, feathery touches as she hummed softly to the tune of Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” while the musicians gave the music life.
At intermission, she asked Jack, “What’s for dessert?”
His arms tightened around her. “If you think I’m moving from here, you’re nuts. You’ve been making love to me for the last twenty minutes, and I don’t want you to stop.”
“I have not. I was only—”
“You have so.”
“If I’d been making love to you, there’d be no question in my mind.”
He sat up. “You’re damned right there wouldn’t be.”
He cut two slices of cheesecake, handed her a slice and opened a bottle of champagne. “We’ll eat your cookies after intermission. How do you like the music?”
“I love music. When I was growing up, I wanted to learn to play the piano, but Daddy said there wasn’t money for lessons. I would listen to the radio and long to play like some of the pianists I heard.”
“You can still learn. All you need, it seems to me, is a piano and a teacher. It’s amazing that, in spite of the apparent differences in our backgrounds, there’s been such similarity in our lives,” Jack said as he finished his cheesecake and lay down with his head in her lap again.
“This morning, I wanted to ask my father how he deals with patient loss. It was the first time I’ve needed him as a father since I’ve been grown. I needed his guidance, sympathy and understanding as a father and as a physician, because whatever he told me, I would believe.
“I telephoned him, and he didn’t wait to find out why I called him. He told me of his plans for a fishing trip, urged me to join him and launched into criticism of my work in South Baltimore. I didn’t bother to tell him how miserable I was, that I needed his guidance, his experience from forty years of practicing medicine.”
He turned and buried his face in her lap. “Oh, what the hell! I wish I hadn’t brought it up.”
She understood then why he had called her and invited her to spend the evening with him. He needed what she gave him, her faith in him and her sympathetic understanding of his compassion for his patients. “Please don’t hold it against him, Jack. One day, he will realize that he failed to share what may become the most important part of your life, and he will regret it. No matter how he acts, he’s proud of you. Any parent anywhere would be proud to have a man like you for a son. I mean that.”
She felt dampness on the tail of her tank top, leaned down and kissed his eyes. “At least you’re precious to me,” she whispered, mainly to herself.
Chapter 5
J ack nuzzled Melanie’s lap, soaking up her sweetness, affection and, yes, loving, for there was nothing else to call it. He hadn’t known such caring since his mother had died weeks after his eighteenth birthday. As Melanie’s gentle stroking made his pain over the little girl’s death the day before more bearable, it reminded him of his mother’s tender and soothing care, and of the fact that almost seventeen years had passed since he’d received such unconditional love. He knew it was his fault, because of the company he kept, but he had only recently begun to notice the self-centeredness of the people with whom he associated. He hoped he hadn’t been like them, people for whom any show of compassion was almost always perfunctory and definitely short-lived.
Melanie’s faith in him seemed unbounded. Yes, his patients believed he could work miracles, but they needed to believe it; she didn’t. His mother had believed in him. She had always told him that he could do anything he set himself to do, and he believed her. She’d said he was gifted with a fine mind, sturdy hands, inner strength and a will to
She closed her eyes and stroked his hair. His arm went around her waist, and she had to resist bending over and kissing him. Her fingers brushed his cheek and his hair with light, feathery touches as she hummed softly to the tune of Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” while the musicians gave the music life.
At intermission, she asked Jack, “What’s for dessert?”
His arms tightened around her. “If you think I’m moving from here, you’re nuts. You’ve been making love to me for the last twenty minutes, and I don’t want you to stop.”
“I have not. I was only—”
“You have so.”
“If I’d been making love to you, there’d be no question in my mind.”
He sat up. “You’re damned right there wouldn’t be.”
He cut two slices of cheesecake, handed her a slice and opened a bottle of champagne. “We’ll eat your cookies after intermission. How do you like the music?”
“I love music. When I was growing up, I wanted to learn to play the piano, but Daddy said there wasn’t money for lessons. I would listen to the radio and long to play like some of the pianists I heard.”
“You can still learn. All you need, it seems to me, is a piano and a teacher. It’s amazing that, in spite of the apparent differences in our backgrounds, there’s been such similarity in our lives,” Jack said as he finished his cheesecake and lay down with his head in her lap again.
“This morning, I wanted to ask my father how he deals with patient loss. It was the first time I’ve needed him as a father since I’ve been grown. I needed his guidance, sympathy and understanding as a father and as a physician, because whatever he told me, I would believe.
“I telephoned him, and he didn’t wait to find out why I called him. He told me of his plans for a fishing trip, urged me to join him and launched into criticism of my work in South Baltimore. I didn’t bother to tell him how miserable I was, that I needed his guidance, his experience from forty years of practicing medicine.”
He turned and buried his face in her lap. “Oh, what the hell! I wish I hadn’t brought it up.”
She understood then why he had called her and invited her to spend the evening with him. He needed what she gave him, her faith in him and her sympathetic understanding of his compassion for his patients. “Please don’t hold it against him, Jack. One day, he will realize that he failed to share what may become the most important part of your life, and he will regret it. No matter how he acts, he’s proud of you. Any parent anywhere would be proud to have a man like you for a son. I mean that.”
She felt dampness on the tail of her tank top, leaned down and kissed his eyes. “At least you’re precious to me,” she whispered, mainly to herself.
Chapter 5
J ack nuzzled Melanie’s lap, soaking up her sweetness, affection and, yes, loving, for there was nothing else to call it. He hadn’t known such caring since his mother had died weeks after his eighteenth birthday. As Melanie’s gentle stroking made his pain over the little girl’s death the day before more bearable, it reminded him of his mother’s tender and soothing care, and of the fact that almost seventeen years had passed since he’d received such unconditional love. He knew it was his fault, because of the company he kept, but he had only recently begun to notice the self-centeredness of the people with whom he associated. He hoped he hadn’t been like them, people for whom any show of compassion was almost always perfunctory and definitely short-lived.
Melanie’s faith in him seemed unbounded. Yes, his patients believed he could work miracles, but they needed to believe it; she didn’t. His mother had believed in him. She had always told him that he could do anything he set himself to do, and he believed her. She’d said he was gifted with a fine mind, sturdy hands, inner strength and a will to
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