Choices

Choices

by V. L. Jennings

rev. 12/23/2013

Copyright V. L. Jennings 2011-2013

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Prologue

In a flurry, she sped from her locker where she’d locked away her purse and briefcase. In her haste she didn’t even have time to stop at Starbucks for her favorite macchiato coffee creation, which was delightfully topped with whipped cream and caramel sauce. Or purchase the banana-nut muffin that would’ve melted in her mouth. No, she was on a deadline, already behind as it was.

The report was due yesterday, and there was no time to tarry. She plopped down on a chrome bar stool in a huff. Eight o’clock in the morning, Amy settled behind the counter and placed her palms face down on its cool marble. With one eye, she peered into her microscope. Wondering about the response time of three potent antibiotic drugs and the attack response on an organism versus two, she was discovering that three drugs were necessary to battle an infectious agent ravaging a person’s body. The person’s blood toxicity would have to be doggedly assessed—at least once a week—thereby indicating how much I.V. treatment was necessary, to eliminate overdose and drug interaction swiftly. Interesting . . .

Ahem . . .

Nodding to herself, Amy didn’t hear the footfall of the Head of Infectious Disease, Dr. Dan Reynolds. Startled, a forefinger pushed up dense, black Versace rims and turned to the voice that approached her.

Apparently you didn’t read my e-mail, notifying you of the resident here for training, Dan said.

Uh, no, I’m sorry, she offered. I was trying to complete my research by tomorrow and I apologize for cutting it close a day. I knew it was my time for rotation, though. I’m ready. Quickly she squirmed from atop the stool.

His arm squared and formed a fist, to anchor the other. A knuckle formed at his lips while the resident eyed the pricey lab and its specialized equipment. Impressed, he gasped when he recognized her voice. Amy Daniels!

Amy gave her consideration to the hissing sound that emanated from his mouth, and gaped in distinct horror. Her face paled to gray putty when her gaze met that of Jace Jordan. Yes, she knew there was a resident to train this month but as busy as she had been she didn’t even glance at the fellow’s name.

They were in the midst of an eye battle these two, and Dr. Reynolds divided a gaze between them. He wondered what was going on and why things didn’t progress amicably. Slightly amused at the sight before him he crossed his arms against his chest, figuring someone would make a move—and soon. Boy he desired to ask if they knew each other previously, but decided with the rapid decrease in temperature and storm clouds brewing about he’d better not upset the balance of nature. Still, as the attending, Amy felt a responsibility to set an example and stuck out her hand first. Hi, Jace, how’s it going?

He nodded curtly, paused interminably, and belatedly shook her appendage like she had the flu. Dr. Daniels.

Whew! There was no mistaking the chilliness in his reception, and she shivered at its iciness. Jace was formal and without warmth. Burr-rr! Am I in Siberia?

Dan took his cue and said, Okay, well, I’ve got some records to complete. If you need anything, Jace, I’m sure Amy can handle it for you.

Jace gave a nod and bobbed his hand. "Thanks, Dr. Reynolds . . . I’m sure."

He was wearing Armani—a brown suit, taupe shirt, tie and shoes of the same hue that draped his broad frame to perfection. Woodsy, jasmine cologne assaulted her nose, and his hair was cut close—a Caesar—tapered into a bald fade. His rounded chin was framed by a neatly-trimmed goatee, and Jace, the man, stood before her now. And at twenty-eight, he was large, striking and gorgeous.

Amy gulped hard. Enrolled at Atlanta University in its training program, her primary job is for Disease Control. Researching infectious diseases and their medicinal agents, her work was phenomenal, and she was one of the top investigators in her field. Reclusively she ventured to work and back; barely had time to socialize. Only meeting her father weekly for dinner, her mother monthly for lunch, she never laid an eye on her sister at all.

Jace noted her hair had grown to mid back, and it was highlighted with golden caramel streaks. Parted to one side, it was slickly pulled into a ponytail, sporting natural wavy locks that swirled at its length. In a fashionable designer suit it was hunter green and linen, with a silk blouse the color of sage. Suede, hunter green flats styled her feet, and her fragrance was powdery Glo. Amy was in a word, stunning, and at thirty-four she didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

Yeah, she blew his breath away; was more striking than ever. The streaks added color and vibrancy to her already exquisite face and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers. And yeah, her eyes were as warm and brown as honey—just like he’d remembered. Visibly moved, a frown encompassed his handsome features, and he trembled from suppressed anger. Writing and calling her every week for two years, she would chat from time-to-time, but overall she was aloof and distant. Then, one day she sent a scribbled note, saying, Forget about me—us, Amy. Why? How could she be so cold and impersonal? With one hand he crumbled the notice, and hurled it across the room devastated, knowing he was powerless to change things as they stood.

Well, other women were never viable options for him and he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Amy. And thinking back, sure, he saw he was to work under Dr. Daniels. He just didn’t realize it was Dr. Amelia Daniels—the esteemed colleague he’d studied so meticulously in med school while in New York. So, what would he do now? Quit his training? Here he stood before her with the scars of a broken heart beginning to mend. He’d have to work with her in close proximity for a whole month. Can I do it? In his mind it was a done deal. Then, heh, he’d forget about Amelia Daniels. For good.

Amy’s business decorum jarred him from his fog. But she was merely conforming to the emotional boundaries he’d set. Coolly she flicked her fingers and said, Come, this is where you can stall your things. She sped him around the corner, down the white-tiled floor to a locker room. They went to number four-oh-two and she gave him the combination. Usually I see patients at seven each day, she said. But today I was to begin at half past.

As he hung his suit jacket inside, her eyes caught him donning the lab coat she’d sent him years ago. Jace Jordan, M.D. was emblazoned in black against a stark white contrast. Nostalgia shot through her and she winced away in pain. Touched that he would retain such an offensive reminder, she pretended not to notice but licked parched lips in apprehension. Masking her hurt she asked, Shall we begin?

But he was too quick and saw the tears she’d tried to blink away. He didn’t want to get invested in any of her games. His eyes fell to a wall clock and thrusting his hands in his pockets a Lead the way was all she was going to get.

So she led him to the second floor, to the exam rooms that housed patients for the morning. She showed him the computer in their home base office, and they scanned the notes for patient #1. Her mind was on the task at hand. But simultaneously her thoughts were on memories of long ago.

One

Atlanta, Georgia, 1996

The kids were young, and Amy vividly recalled how fond she was of them. It was fun, mentoring a boy and a girl she could call family—the replica was so much like the original. Rarely did they argue and for the most part they played games; had so many good times together. Each had extremely busy fathers and equally engaged mothers always on the go as a common denominator. So the emotionally bereft ragamuffins required plenty of love and attention, which she was all too eager to supply.

On this particular night, his eyes were transfixed upon her every movement. Indeed, Jace was captivated in wonder. Amy, in the kitchen, was fixing his favorite food—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn and cornbread. The whole space reeked of it, and the very walls sweat droplets from the heat therein. Leisurely he shuttered his eyes and smacked his lips in scrumptious anticipation.

It’s ready! She yelled, and a finger placed a reddish-brown lock of hair loosely behind her ear. Amelia Davis or Amy as her friends and family so affectionately called her, almost stumbled upon him as a steam roller, and set down two full plates on a mahogany dining room table. She disappeared into the kitchen again, and returned with two glasses of orange juice. It was always funny to him, that she’d insist they have nutritious drinks no matter the time of day.

Jace’s sister Joslyn blew in like a breeze and they whispered, snickering to themselves while plopping down at the table. She rolled her eyes at them, and returned with a 7-UP and a heaping plate of her own. After sitting in her seat, and once she’d had their undivided attention she nodded, and they prayed silently for their food. The time was eight when they sat to eat.

D’ya think your parents are having a good time? Amy queried, crunching down a bite of corn.

With a mouthful of more gravy than mashed potatoes Jace spouted, Yeah. Joslyn nodded in agreement, slurping her orange juice, just as engrossed in feasting. Tickled, Amy smiled to herself at their antics. They’re attractive kids.

And they were. Jace and Joslyn Jordan were the offspring of Lester and Janelle Jordan. Lester, a vascular surgeon and Janelle, a housewife and socialite were among Atlanta’s finest. Their house was as majestic as their reputations, and they were involved in every community and charitable event around. A Saturday night, the Jordans were out on the town—dinner and a play—to return sometime before midnight.

At twelve, Jace was the color of ginger. Inheriting his father’s dark waving hair, his eyes were hazel in color and dark, long lashes fringed them perfectly. Joslyn, his sister, was just as exquisite and at ten, her coloring was as spicy her brother’s. Their faces were perfectly shaped ovals with baby fat still gracing their cheeks. Their noses were pert, their lips full but not overmuch. Braces had straightened their smiles to tiny ivory blocks, a little on the Chiclet chewing gum side, and because of their youthful appearance, they were at the stage where their teeth were two-thirds the size of their head. To onlookers, they could’ve passed as twins but for their obvious age difference. Her hair was long and fine as spun silk, two glorious plaits falling gracefully to mid back. And like Salt-n-Peppa the two made a great set—adorable.

Lester, whose parents were both bi-racial and upper middle-class, was born and bred in Atlanta. Soft, wavy, jet-black hair adorned his honey coloring and his eyes were slate in hue. Standing in at five-feet eleven, one hundred-ninety, he had his choice of any woman and he loved his women in chocolate flavors—dark, medium, and rich.

Janelle was such. The dark-chocolate beauty had shoulder length locks—as silken as it was—with baby hair that framed her slender face and neck. Tall and slim, eyes deep amber were as captivating as any Bengal tiger’s and yes, she was breathtaking, having her pick of the litter as well. A Louisiana-bred beauty, she was the product of a Caucasian industrialist and an African American ICU nurse. Recovering from a car accident they’d met during his recovery, married just a year later. Janelle, their only child, was indulged madly, and as spoiled as she was no suitor was ever good enough, that is, until she met Lester Jordan. Tripping into him on a Halston stiletto at Einstein’s, the two were inseparable ever since.

The Jordans and Davises were best friends. James, Amy’s father, and also a vascular surgeon, forged a surgical group with Lester from the ground up—Vascular Designs, Inc. Founding a booming practice ten years ago, and after taking on three additional partners along its bumpy way, it blossomed into a multi-million dollar business annually. And things were looking in a word, good.

James and Valerie Davis had two daughters, Amy and Alena. When fifteen, Amy became a sitter for the Jordans—a perfect arrangement for all. Amy needed the cash, and the Jordans were happy to oblige.

And it was an agreement ending tonight.

Departing for college tomorrow, Amy along with her parents would settle her into an apartment in New York City. They’d planned to be gone a week, and Alena would stay with an aunt until they returned.

Amy’s smile was wistful when she reflected on her day. Delightfully she nibbled a piece of cornbread, and her fingers that grasped her fork kissed her cheek at the memory; then dove-in for more mashed potatoes. Having ticked the time away with her boyfriend, Julian, the moments they shared were pleasant, but she didn’t know if she loved him. A high school football hero—a wide receiver—he was on a full scholarship to UGA. Amy, on the other hand, put her future in the hands of NYU. She mused—she could’ve gone to UGA but didn’t want to be so close to Julian. Merely dating six months, he wanted to get married. Amy declined, needing to think clearly and study without distraction. After a year she would decide then.

"Wanna watch Purple Rain with me?" Jace asked, interrupting her thoughts. He had gulped down his last bite of chicken, slid his plate from the table’s edge, and rapped his fingers along its smooth polished surface to await her reply.

"Are you kidding? Amy chided and scooped more corn. What do you know about ‘Purple Rain’? You’re not even old enough to watch it!" she teased.

His face scrunched and adamantly he pressed, I’m old enough!

No, you’re not! I’m gonna tell Mommy! Joslyn cried. Giggling, she jumped-up from her seat, and pushed it swiftly under the table. She could barely suppress her merriment, at how much trouble her brother would be in once their parents knew the truth. She couldn’t wait to spill the proverbial beans. Quickly she laid a napkin the color of burnt saffron in her chair, nice and lady-like, smoothed its edges down like tissue paper and sped from the room in great haste.

Jace ran after her to bully her, scraping his chair on the mahogany floor in the process. He didn’t want her to say anything about it so he needed to convince her or else. Trailing his voice along the corridor he ordered, "You better not . . . !"

Amy had to chuckle at them and stood, tossing her napkin on the table. She reached for their plates and stacked them along with hers to clear the dishes. Never did she ask them to help. In her eyes they were a tad young and would work them once they’d turned thirteen. At least it’s what she’d told herself. Swiftly she moved, and didn’t mind the task of raking them into a trash discreetly hidden under a coral and fawn granite-topped island, or rinsing them, to place in a stainless steel dishwasher under the sink. The scents of warm cinnamon and crust filled her nostrils and she realized they didn’t have dessert—peach cobbler. It was warming nicely in the island’s center.

Grinning to herself, she knew she had admirers but never ones so young. But immensely she enjoyed the solitude in the kitchen at this moment and decided to wash the dishes altogether. She hummed chords to no particular tune and filled the stainless steel basin with a dash of Dawn. The bubbles began to rise as dough, and drolly she smiled at her love for soapy water—done with her chores by nine-thirty.

Amy entered the den and the kids were laughing at a sitcom, their eyes pasted to a 42" TV screen. She didn’t wonder about the grandness of this mansion since it mirrored her parents’ so impeccably. A home away from home, crystal chandeliers and mahogany wainscoting dressed each room and corridor, with creamy wallpaper that adorned ornate golden figures. And in the entire manse, this was the only lived-in room that was equipped with modern furnishings. Aside from that, Janelle’s extravagance oozed from every single space, littered with Louis XV furniture and Queen Anne chairs that were heavily brocaded in golden fall colors. It was almost stifling, but Amy had come and go for so long it seemed weird without them. Sighing in finality, she dropped her derriere down on a tan leather sofa that was littered with brick-colored, fuzzy square pillows and eyed Matthew Perry, getting into the Friends re-run.

Swiftly Jace moved from a cream-colored recliner and claimed a seat beside her to ask, Are you really leavin’ tomorrow?

A nod. Yep!

Are ya scared to be away from home?

Amy noted concern creased his tiny brow and suppressed a giggle. Her thoughts about his doting were cute, and she didn’t want him to feel belittled. Kinda, but I’ll be back; to see everyone again. Jace nodded and glanced at the television, but his interest in the show was waning. Seriously he pondered Amy’s departure, and hoped to see her again real soon. Really, he wanted her to stay in Georgia. He didn’t think it was safe for her in New York City, so far away from her kin. Who would protect her?

Meanwhile, Joslyn’s gaze was stuck to the screen as a Post-it, as if staring at a black and white twirling swirl, caught-up in the lives of her favorite characters. On weekends the kids were allowed to stay up till ten, at which time Amy snuggled them as bugs in a rug in bed. Joslyn snickered at her cleverness—she’d sneak and listen to her walkman for another hour. Inwardly she smiled, she had it all worked out.

By then it was ten, and as a mother wolf gathered its pups Amy started to their rooms, stopping first at Joslyn’s. In her adjoining bath, Joslyn brushed her teeth and shrugged into pink flannel pj’s. Next, she scurried to a bed fit for a princess, fuschia satin, with loads of feminine-colored pillows. She bounced beneath its covers as a baby hare and bubbled, I’m gonna miss you, Amy. Giving her as big a hug that her tiny arms could muster, Amy was always like a big sister. Oh, and she thought she was pretty, too.

I’ll miss you, too, noggin, and I’ll send you a postcard from time-to-time, how’s that? Her fingers smoothed away fine hairs that framed her spicy-colored face, and her lips met her brow tenderly. She stood, and tucked her in soundly while Joslyn snuggled under the covers and said her prayers. Fiercely, they embraced again. With a forefinger and a half-grin, Amy stroked the tip of Joslyn’s nose. Goodnight, honey. Sweet dreams.

Goodnight, Amy. Have a nice flight.

Thanks. ’Night now!

Amy switched out the light and closed the door. Entering Jace’s room she found him already in bed. It was obvious he’d had his way in decorating this room, which exuded an out-doorsy scene. Rich, forest-greens, tans and reds amalgamated luxuriantly, and oak wood furniture adorned the space ruggedly. One had the sense of a fishing expedition, and mallard ducks were either framed on walls or sat proudly on display. Even with his age, the scheme settled nicely on Jace, who appeared so much older than his age. Usually a taciturn fellow, he emitted a sweet disposition but managed to reveal a glimmer of mischief from behind his warm green gaze. Sitting on the bed’s edge she made him say his prayers. After giving him a hug she waggled a finger and ordered, Now, I want you to look after your sister. She’s gonna need you!

His arm curled around her neck and he was reluctant to release her. He took-in her lavender scent and closed his eyes. Okay, okay. A pause. You will write, right?

You betcha! she exclaimed, while she withdrew from his locked embrace. I’m sending postcards every chance I get! As she gazed into his hazel eyes, she saw a pleading expression and she couldn’t ignore his beautiful, large puppy-dog expression and felt compelled to add, "I promise."

Jace nodded and held her again. Amy kissed his forehead and said, G’night, Jace.

’Night, Amy, was his tender reply. He watched her walk to the door and turn out his light, closing the door behind her.

Whew! Amy went through the house, shutting off lights and such until she’d found herself back in the den. She stretched-out her legs on the sofa and her palm claimed the remote. Deftly a finger flipped through numerous cable channels and decided on True Lies, after which she drifted to sleep.

Her fingers gently rocked her shoulder, just until she roused. Amy, darlin’ we’re back, Janelle’s subtle summons piqued