The Choice (5 page)

She stopped smiling when she caught sight of Molly sleeping in the corner. A quick peek was enough to remind her that the end result hadn’t changed and that maybe, just maybe, she could have done a better job of convincing him that it was his duty to help her. As she replayed the evening, she felt a wave of embarrassment. She knew she’d been rambling, but after being knocked down, she had lost her focus, and then her frustration had rendered her completely unable to stop talking. Her mother would have had a field day with that one. She loved her mother, but her mother was one of those ladies who never lost control. It drove Gabby crazy; more than once during her teenage years, she’d wanted to take her mother by the arms and shake her, just to elicit a spontaneous response. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked. Her mother would have simply allowed the shaking to continue until Gabby was finished, then smoothed her hair and made some infuriating comment like “Well, Gabrielle, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, can we discuss this like ladies?”

Ladies
. Gabby couldn’t stand that word. When her mother said it, she was often plagued by a sweeping sense of failure, one that made her think she had a long way to go and no map to get there.

Of course, her mother couldn’t help the way she was, any more than Gabby could. Her mother was a walking cliché of southern womanhood, having grown up wearing frilly dresses and being presented to the community’s elite at the Savannah Christmas Cotillion, one of the most exclusive debutante balls in the country. She had also served as treasurer for the Tri Delts at the University of Georgia, another family tradition, and while in college, she had apparently been of the opinion that academics were far less important than working toward a “Mrs.” degree, which she believed the only career choice for a proper southern lady. It went without saying that she wanted the “Mr.” part of the equation to be worthy of the family name. Which essentially meant rich.

Enter her father. Her dad, a successful real estate developer and general contractor, was twelve years older than his wife when they’d married, and if not as rich as some, he was certainly well-off. Still, Gabby could remember studying the wedding photos of her parents as they stood outside the church and wondering how two such different people could have ever fallen in love. While her mom loved the pheasant at the country club, Dad preferred biscuits and gravy at the local diner; while Mom never walked as far as the mailbox without her makeup, Dad wore jeans, and his hair was always a bit disheveled. But love each other they did—of this, Gabby had no doubt. In the mornings, she would sometimes catch her parents in a tender embrace, and never once had she heard them argue. Nor did they have separate beds, like so many of Gabby’s friends’ parents, who often struck her as business partners more than lovers. Even now, when she visited, she would find her parents snuggled up on the couch together, and when her friends marveled, she would simply shake her head and admit that for whatever reason, they were perfectly suited to each other.

Much to her mother’s endless disappointment, Gabby, unlike her three honey blond sisters, had always been more like her father. Even as a child, she preferred overalls to dresses, adored climbing in trees, and spent hours playing in the dirt. Every now and then, she would traipse behind her father at a job site, mimicking his movements as he checked the seals on newly installed windows or peeked into boxes that had recently arrived from Mitchell’s hardware store. Her dad taught her to bait a hook and to fish, and she loved riding beside him in his old, rumbly truck with its broken radio, a truck he’d never bothered to trade in. After work, they would either play catch or shoot baskets while her mom watched from the kitchen window in a way that always struck Gabby as not only disapproving, but uncomprehending. More often than not, her sisters could be seen standing beside her, their mouths agape.

While Gabby liked to tell people about the free spirit she’d been as a child, in reality she’d ended up straddling both her parents’ visions of the world, mainly because her mom was an expert when it came to the manipulative power of motherhood. As she grew older, Gabby acquiesced more to her mother’s opinions about clothing and
the proper behavior for ladies,
simply to avoid feeling guilty. Of all the weapons in her mother’s arsenal, guilt was far and away the most effective, and Mom always knew just how to use it. Because of a raised eyebrow here and a little comment there, Gabby ended up in cotillion classes and dance lessons; she dutifully learned to play the piano and, like her mother, was formally presented at the Savannah Christmas Cotillion. If her mother was proud that night—and she was, by the look on her face—Gabby by that time felt as if she were finally ready to make her own decisions, some of which she knew her mother wouldn’t approve. Sure, she wanted to get married and have children someday just like Mom, but by then she’d realized that she also wanted a career like Dad. More specifically, she wanted to be a doctor.

Oh, Mom said all the right things when she found out. In the beginning, anyway. But then the subtle guilt offensive began. As Gabby aced exam after exam in college, her mom would sometimes frown and wonder aloud whether it was possible to both work full-time as a doctor and be a full-time wife and mother.

“But if work is more important to you than family,” her mom would say, “then by all means, become a doctor.”

Gabby tried to resist her mother’s campaign, but in the end, old habits die hard and she eventually settled on PA school instead of medical school. The reasons made sense: She’d still see patients, but her hours would be relatively stable and she’d never be on call—definitely a more family-friendly option. Still, it sometimes bugged her that her mother put the idea in her mind in the first place.

But she couldn’t deny that family was important to her. That’s the thing about being the product of happily married parents. You grow up thinking the fairy tale is real, and more than that, you think you’re entitled to live it. So far, though, it wasn’t working out as planned. She and Kevin had dated long enough to fall in love, survive the ordinary ups and downs that break most couples apart, and even talk about the future. She had decided that he was the one she wanted to spend her life with, and she frowned, thinking about their most recent argument.

As if sensing Gabby’s distress, Molly struggled to her feet and waddled over, nuzzling Gabby’s hand. Gabby stroked her fur, allowing it to run through her fingers.

“I wonder if it’s stress,” Gabby said, wishing her life could be more like Molly’s. Simple, without cares or responsibilities . . . well, except for the pregnancy part. “Do I seem stressed to you?”

Molly didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. Gabby knew she was stressed. She could feel it in her shoulders whenever she paid the bills, or when Dr. Melton leered at her, or when Kevin played stupid about what she’d expected by agreeing to move closer to him. It didn’t help that, aside from Kevin, she didn’t really have any friends here. She’d barely gotten to know anyone outside the office, and truth be told, her neighbor was the first person she’d spoken with since she’d moved in. Thinking back, she supposed she could have been nicer about the whole thing. She felt a twinge of remorse about spouting off the way she had, especially since he did seem like a friendly guy. When he’d helped her up, he’d seemed almost like a friend. And once she’d started babbling, he hadn’t interrupted her once, which was sort of refreshing, too.

It was remarkable now that she thought about it. Considering how crazy she must have sounded, he hadn’t gotten upset or snapped at her, which was something Kevin would have done. Just thinking about the gentle way he’d helped her to her feet made the blood rush to her cheeks. And then there had been a moment after he’d handed her the napkin that she’d caught him staring at her in a way that suggested he’d found her attractive as well. It had been a long time since something like that had happened, and even though she didn’t want to admit it, it made her feel good about herself. She missed that. Amazing what a little truthful confrontation could do for the soul.

She went into the bedroom and slipped into a pair of comfy sweats and a soft, worn shirt she’d owned since her freshman year in college. Molly trailed behind her, and when Gabby realized what she needed, she motioned toward the door.

“You ready to go outside?” she asked.

Molly’s tail started to wag as she moved toward the door. Gabby inspected her closely. She still looked pregnant, but maybe her neighbor had a point. She should bring her to the vet, if only to be sure. Besides, she had no idea how to care for a pregnant dog. She wondered if Molly needed extra vitamins, which reminded her again that she was falling behind in her own resolution to lead a healthier life. Eating better, exercising, sleeping regularly, stretching: She’d planned to start as soon as she’d moved into the house. A new-house resolution of sorts, but it hadn’t really taken hold. Tomorrow, she’d definitely go jogging, then have a salad for lunch and another one for dinner. And since she was ready to get on with some serious life changes, she might just ask Kevin point-blank about his plans for their future.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Standing up to the neighbor was one thing; was she ready to accept the consequences if she wasn’t happy with Kevin’s answer? What if he had no plans? Did she really want to quit her first job after a couple of months? Sell her house? Move away? Just how far was she willing to go?

She wasn’t sure of anything, other than the fact that she didn’t want to lose him. But trying to be healthier—now that, she could definitely do. One step at a time, right? Her decision made, she stepped onto the back deck and watched as Molly padded down the steps and headed toward the far end of the yard. The air was still warm, but a light breeze had picked up. The stars spread across the sky in random, intricate patterns that, aside from the Big Dipper, she’d never been able to discern, and she resolved that she’d buy a book on astronomy tomorrow, right after lunch. She’d spend a couple of days learning the basics, then invite Kevin to spend a romantic evening at the beach, where she’d point to the sky and ever so casually mention something astronomically impressive. She closed her eyes, imagining the scene, and stood straighter. Tomorrow, she’d start becoming a new person. A better person. And she’d figure out what to do about Molly, too. Even if she had to beg, she’d find homes for every one of those puppies.

But first, she’d bring her to the vet.

Three

I
t was shaping up to be one of those days when Gabby wondered why she’d decided to work in a pediatric office. She had the chance, after all, to work in a cardiology unit at the hospital, which had been her plan all the way through PA school. She had loved assisting in challenging surgeries, and it seemed like a perfect fit until her final rotation, when she happened to work with a pediatrician who filled her head with ideas about the nobility and joy of caring for infants. Dr. Bender, a gray-haired medical veteran who never stopped smiling and knew practically every child in Sumter, South Carolina, convinced her that while cardiology might pay better and seem more glamorous, there was nothing quite as rewarding as holding newborns and watching them develop over the critical first years of life. Usually she nodded dutifully, but on her last day, he’d forced the issue by placing an infant in her arms. As the baby cooed, Dr. Bender’s voice floated toward her: “In cardiology, everything is an emergency and your patients always seem to get sicker, no matter what you do. After a while, that has to be draining. It can burn you out quick if you’re not careful. But caring for a little fella like this . . .” He paused, motioning to the baby. “This is the highest calling in the world.”

Despite a job offer in cardiology at a hospital in her hometown, she’d taken a job with Drs. Furman and Melton in Beaufort, North Carolina. Dr. Furman struck her as oblivious, Dr. Melton struck her as a flirt, but it was an opportunity to be nearer to Kevin. And on some level, she’d believed that Dr. Bender just might be right. He’d been right about the infants. For the most part, she loved working with them, even when she had to give them shots and their screams made her wince. Toddlers were okay, too. Most of them had darling personalities, and she loved to watch as they cuddled their blankets or teddy bears and stared at her with guileless expressions. It was the parents who drove her crazy. Dr. Bender had failed to mention one critical point: In cardiology, you dealt with a patient who came to the office because he or she wanted or needed to; in pediatrics, you dealt with a patient who was often under the care of neurotic, know-it-all parents. Eva Bronson was a case in point.

Eva, who was holding George on her lap in the exam room, seemed to be looking down her nose at Gabby. The fact that she wasn’t technically a physician and was relatively young made many parents believe she was little more than an overpaid nurse.

“Are you sure Dr. Furman can’t squeeze us in?” She emphasized the word
doctor.

“He’s at the hospital,” Gabby replied. “He won’t be in until later. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’d agree with me. Your son seems fine.”

“But he’s still coughing.”

“Like I said before, toddlers can cough for up to six weeks after a cold. Their lungs take longer to heal, but it’s perfectly normal at this age.”

“So you’re not going to give him an antibiotic?”

“No. He doesn’t need one. His ears were clear, his sinuses were clear, and I didn’t hear any evidence of bronchitis in his lungs. His temperature is normal, and he looks healthy.”

George, who’d just turned two, was squirming in Eva’s lap, trying to get free, a bundle of happy energy. Eva tightened her grip.

“Since Dr. Furman’s not here, maybe Dr. Melton should see him. I’m pretty sure he needs an antibiotic. Half the kids in his day care are on antibiotics right now. Something’s going around.”

Gabby pretended to write something in the chart. Eva Bronson always wanted an antibiotic for George. Eva Bronson was an antibiotic junkie, if there was such a thing.