Read Online What Matters Most by Gwynne Forster - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gwynne Forster
Ads: Link
it’s too much. I’d rather not have this conversation with you over the phone, but since you brought it up, so be it. I am not wasting my time when I care for the sick. I took an oath to do that. I’ve been avoiding you while I figured out an easy, gracious way to tell you that I don’t want to see you anymore.” He ignored the sputters on the other end of the line. “It isn’t working for me. In fact, it never has. I wish you the best.”
“You can’t do this to me,” she screamed, “I won’t let you.”
“You made the mistake of behaving as if you own me. I don’t need to be possessed. I need to be loved, and you’re incapable of loving anyone but Elaine. We’re neither married not engaged, and I have never professed to love you. We were pretty good friends until you decided that my work is…I believe you said, ‘ridiculous.’ My work is who I am, and I do not need friends who tell me to my face that I’m ridiculous.”
“How can you say that? What will all our friends think?”
“You’ll eventually find another guy with a Porsche. Nothing you can say will change how I feel, Elaine. I’m sorry.”
He hung up, his relief almost palpable. Elaine Jackson represented a lesson that he did not expect to learn again. He hadn’t chosen her; she’d chosen him, and it had been convenient to associate with a woman who belonged to his social set, a legacy from his socially conscious father. More like his mother than his father, he had never judged people wholly on the basis of their material trappings. He had always known that his mother would have disliked Elaine, just as he knew she would have loved Melanie. The passing of seventeen years had not lessened his need for his mother’s counsel, understanding, warmth and affection.
The following week, after having performed a long and tedious operation on a man he had known for years, Jack met his father for their usual Wednesday lunch. He wanted to discuss the young girl in his South Baltimore office whose tests showed that she had sickle-cell anemia. His father would know the best course of treatment, but he didn’t feel like a lecture about his office in that neighborhood. So, their conversation centered on the banal. However, Jack knew his father would have a point to make, because he always spoke his mind when something wasn’t going his way.
“I got a call from Elaine last weekend,” Montague said. “She was completely distraught.”
Jack didn’t stop eating the raspberry sorbet that he loved. “Yeah. I can imagine. Discussing my personal affairs with my father is one of the reasons why she had reason to be distraught. The other reason is that I have never loved her. How could I? She’s too calculating and too possessive. Please don’t mention her to me again.”
Montague sipped his espresso, something he insisted on having after every meal except breakfast. “All right,” he said. “But you’re making a mistake. She’s a fine woman.”
Jack struggled to control his facial expression. He honored his father and didn’t want to appear rude. “You would want your son to spend his life with a woman he didn’t love? I don’t believe it.”
Montague threw up his hands. “Enough said. But it’s time you got married and started a family. I want some grandchildren.”
“Now, that I can agree with.” He looked at the bill and pushed it toward his father. “I paid last time.” They embraced at the front of the restaurant, and Jack leaned against the post that supported the restaurant’s canopy and watched his father get into his Cadillac De Ville and drive off. He’d swear that there wasn’t a speck of lint or dirt anywhere on that car, not even on the white walls of its tires. Montague Ferguson would sit on a Harley about as quickly as he’d jump into a seething volcano. Jack shook his head in wonder. If I wasn’t the spitting image of him, I’d wonder about our blood ties.
He had an urge to get to his other office. It was
“You can’t do this to me,” she screamed, “I won’t let you.”
“You made the mistake of behaving as if you own me. I don’t need to be possessed. I need to be loved, and you’re incapable of loving anyone but Elaine. We’re neither married not engaged, and I have never professed to love you. We were pretty good friends until you decided that my work is…I believe you said, ‘ridiculous.’ My work is who I am, and I do not need friends who tell me to my face that I’m ridiculous.”
“How can you say that? What will all our friends think?”
“You’ll eventually find another guy with a Porsche. Nothing you can say will change how I feel, Elaine. I’m sorry.”
He hung up, his relief almost palpable. Elaine Jackson represented a lesson that he did not expect to learn again. He hadn’t chosen her; she’d chosen him, and it had been convenient to associate with a woman who belonged to his social set, a legacy from his socially conscious father. More like his mother than his father, he had never judged people wholly on the basis of their material trappings. He had always known that his mother would have disliked Elaine, just as he knew she would have loved Melanie. The passing of seventeen years had not lessened his need for his mother’s counsel, understanding, warmth and affection.
The following week, after having performed a long and tedious operation on a man he had known for years, Jack met his father for their usual Wednesday lunch. He wanted to discuss the young girl in his South Baltimore office whose tests showed that she had sickle-cell anemia. His father would know the best course of treatment, but he didn’t feel like a lecture about his office in that neighborhood. So, their conversation centered on the banal. However, Jack knew his father would have a point to make, because he always spoke his mind when something wasn’t going his way.
“I got a call from Elaine last weekend,” Montague said. “She was completely distraught.”
Jack didn’t stop eating the raspberry sorbet that he loved. “Yeah. I can imagine. Discussing my personal affairs with my father is one of the reasons why she had reason to be distraught. The other reason is that I have never loved her. How could I? She’s too calculating and too possessive. Please don’t mention her to me again.”
Montague sipped his espresso, something he insisted on having after every meal except breakfast. “All right,” he said. “But you’re making a mistake. She’s a fine woman.”
Jack struggled to control his facial expression. He honored his father and didn’t want to appear rude. “You would want your son to spend his life with a woman he didn’t love? I don’t believe it.”
Montague threw up his hands. “Enough said. But it’s time you got married and started a family. I want some grandchildren.”
“Now, that I can agree with.” He looked at the bill and pushed it toward his father. “I paid last time.” They embraced at the front of the restaurant, and Jack leaned against the post that supported the restaurant’s canopy and watched his father get into his Cadillac De Ville and drive off. He’d swear that there wasn’t a speck of lint or dirt anywhere on that car, not even on the white walls of its tires. Montague Ferguson would sit on a Harley about as quickly as he’d jump into a seething volcano. Jack shook his head in wonder. If I wasn’t the spitting image of him, I’d wonder about our blood ties.
He had an urge to get to his other office. It was
Similar Books
