Never say never, p.1
Never Say Never, page 1
Yahrah St. John
Never Say Never
Never Say Never
Copyright © 2015 by Yahrah St. John. All rights reserved.
First Smashwords Edition: 2015
Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental
Prologue
“I’m never going to fall in love again,” Sabrina Parker vowed to her best friend, Deanna Griffin, as they packed up the five-bedroom stucco house Sabrina had shared with her ex-husband, Tre Matthews, and nine-year-old daughter, Jasmine. Now that her divorce was finalized, Sabrina was free to leave Baltimore for good.
“Never say never,” Deanna replied. “You have no idea what life has in store for you.”
“You have met my lying, cheating ex-husband, Tre, haven’t you?” The words sounded funny coming out of Sabrina’s mouth. It was hard to believe that after ten years of marriage, she was a single woman again.
“Of course, I have,” Deanna said, “but there’s no reason to give up on men altogether. There are some good ones out there.”
“I wished I believed that, but I don’t anymore. Fairytale endings are just that—fairytales.”
“You may feel that way now, but are you sure this is what you want,” Deanna said as she extended her tape for the linen they were packing away, “to leave your home and your friends?”
Sabrina was sad at the prospect of saying goodbye to her dear friend. She had known Deanna and her husband, Aaron, since she and Tre first moved to Baltimore for Tre’s new job; he had landed a spot as a labor attorney with Dean and Vickers. The two couples were often together at tai-kwon do matches, dance classes or PTA meetings; and as Sabrina’s marriage began to fall apart, Deanna had been a real lifesaver, offering sound advice and a sounding board for Sabrina’s anger. Still, when it came down to it, Sabrina had to get out of Dodge quick before she turned into a vengeful man-hater.
“Trust me, Deanna, I have to do this.”
“I don’t understand, Sabrina. With Tre’s infidelity, you could have easily gotten the house and a whole lot more. Why are you running away to Savannah with your tail between your legs?”
“I’m not running away,” Sabrina replied testily, snatching the tape out of Deanna’s hand and taping the box herself. “I don’t want anything from him.”
“Why?” Deanna bent down and stared at Sabrina. “You earned it. You’ve taken care of him and Jasmine for nearly the last ten years. He owes you.”
True enough, Sabrina had sacrificed a lot to become the perfect housewife and mother. She’d given up completing college and having a career all in the name of fulfilling Tre’s idea of what a good wife should be. And what did it get her? A cheating husband. Thank God she found that hotel receipt or Lord knows how long she would have continued playing the role of ‘50s housewife.
“He owes me nothing except child support,” Sabrina said as she went downstairs for a cool drink. “I won’t let him forget his obligation to provide Jasmine with the best life possible, but as for me, I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”
Deanna followed close behind. “I have to hand it to you, Sabrina. If the shoe were on the other foot, I most certainly would have taken Aaron to the cleaners.”
Sabrina opened the fridge and pulled out a Pepsi can and cracked it open. Spinning around, she replied, “I could have done that. And don’t get me wrong—I thought about revenge, but then that would be giving Tre too much power over me and those days are over.” Sabrina handed Deanna a soda.
“Good for you!” Deanna set down the soda on the ceramic tile counter and clapped her hands. “Hell, I’ve never seen you like this. So … so …”—Deanna searched for the words—“so self-assured and confident. Tre didn’t know how good he had it.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sabrina feigned a smile. “Even I didn’t realize how much I allowed Tre to control my life—our life. I don’t know if that was the beginning or the end of us, but mind you, I do have a heart and I can’t bear to live in the same town and watch him and Melanie start a life together.”
Deanna patted Sabrina’s shoulder and smoothed her straight ebony locks. She adored Sabrina’s long, thick hair that fell so generously below her shoulders. She’d often wished her short mousy-brown hair would grow that long, but it never would. She envied Sabrina’s petite five-foot-two frame too. Deanna had to content herself with the fact that at thirty-eight, she still had a size-eight figure at least.
“I loved him, you know.” Sabrina’s voice caught in her throat.
“I know, Sabrina.” Deanna rubbed her friend’s back. “So, what’s next?”
“Home to Savannah.”
“How does Jasmine feel about that?”
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “She absolutely hates the idea. You know how much of a daddy’s girl she is. I think she thinks I’m doing this to punish him.”
“Aren’t you?” Deanna smiled devilishly.
“No!” Sabrina denied the truth.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” said Sabrina emphatically. “No matter how much I hate Tre, I would never deprive my daughter of her father, but I have to make a fresh start.” The only reason she’d stayed in Baltimore this long was so Jasmine could finish out the school year.
“Well, Aaron and I are going to miss you terribly. You’ve been such an important part of our lives.”
“We’ll keep in touch,” Sabrina offered.
“Yes, of course, but it won’t be the same.”
“How ‘bout I promise to call every week, how’s that?”
“I would love that.” Deanna hugged her dear friend. “I wish you all the best in Georgia. I know that you’ll do well. You may not even realize it, but you’re much stronger than you think.”
Sabrina squeezed Deanna’s back in return. “Thanks, Deanna, you’re a peach.”
“Well, what do you think, Dr. Winters?” asked the excited real estate agent, eager to make a sale on the two-story five-bedroom home that had stood empty on the outskirts of town for well over a year. No one had been able to sell it, but now it looked like this wealthy Boston doctor was ready to make an offer.
Spacious, with plenty of sunlight and noisy neighbors a discreet distance apart, the Tybee Island house was exactly what Malcolm was looking for. There was a fireplace in the living room, a master suite upstairs, a kitchen with an island and a laundry room. The carport was perfect to put his Jag. And the place came complete with a white picket fence, big front porch and lots of wide-open space. Sure, it needed a lot of work, but Malcolm looked forward to getting back to basics and working with his hands rather than having his life revolve around his medical career.
Glancing out of the large bay windows in the front parlor, Malcolm thought back on his former lifestyle. As a cardiologist for Boston Medical, he’d rarely had time to eat or sleep, let alone take on a large project such as renovating an old house. If he wasn’t in surgery performing a coronary artery bypass or in the catherization lab, he was consulting and evaluating cardiac cases under his jurisdiction at the hospital.
But that was then and this was now. He was determined to make a go of his new life. “I’ll take it,” he replied brusquely.
“Great!” the agent exclaimed. “Let’s fill out the contract and I’ll present your offer to the sellers.”
“How long do you think it’ll be?” Malcolm asked as they continued walking through the rambling old house. From what he could see, the plumbing was shot, the electrical wiring had gone to hell in a handbasket and the fireplace was backed up to holy heaven.
“Not long. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. The owners are quite eager to make a sell.”
He could see why. “Excellent. You can have the papers sent to me at Parker House.” Malcolm was staying at the bed-and-breakfast Michael had once said was one of the best in Savannah. The location was ideal because it was close to the clinic, less than ten minutes away.
Now he could try and begin building a life here in Savannah and forget the deadly mistake that had cost his twin, Michael, his life.
Chapter 1
“Nurse Turner, can you please hand me that chart?” Malcolm requested as he leaned down over her desk in the front reception area of his new clinic. He’d just returned from his meeting with the real estate agent and was excited about his new purchase.
“Sure thing, Dr. Winters.”
Malcolm hazarded a smile. Thank God for Nurse Turner, Malcolm thought as he glanced over the patient’s chart. Fifty-two years old, Grace Turner was a registered nurse with over twenty-five years’ experience. When he’d originally asked the employment agency to send over qualified nurses, he’d received babes in the woods straight out of nursing school. Malcolm had quickly had a word with the agency owner to make it clear that he needn’t bother with sending anyone under thirty. That’s when the man sent seasoned RN Grace Turner. Stea dfast and dependable, Malcolm could rely on her to handle the patient load without any messy complications.
At Boston Medical, he had encountered many an intern or resident who thought they could slide their seductive fannies into his view and earn themselves a different rotation or an attending physician’s position. Little did they know that he was not for sale. Well, he’d never have to worry about issues like that with Nurse Turner.
“What’s on our slate for this morning?” Malcolm inquired, looking up at the chalkboard that held the day’s patient list.
“A broken arm, an upset stomach, a prenatal checkup.”
Good, thought Malcolm. Life as a family practitioner was much simpler. Gone were rounds and consultations first thing in the a.m. or a triple bypass surgery at one a.m. Accepting this position was the best thing he’d ever done.
Now he would have time to enjoy the finer things in life without being interrupted by a page from the hospital, without trying to battle death day in and day out.
Life as a cardiologist hadn’t been easy. Malcolm had learned to live with the fact that someday his patients wouldn’t always make it. Someday he couldn’t save everyone. But he sure tried.
Head of his class at Dartmouth, Malcolm had specialized in cardiology. A successful internship at Boston Medical, followed by a prestigious surgical fellowship, had left little doubt that his career was on the right path. Too bad it left little room for a social life. He dated rarely. And sex? Well, any number of women would certainly oblige a physician’s needs, but none had ever thrilled him, except Halle Davis, a beautiful statuesque BAP, born into wealth but determined to prove she was more than a pretty face. They’d met in undergrad at Dartmouth and continued dating throughout his internship, but once his residency came, their once solid relationship hit the rocks. The long hours drew their toll on Malcolm physically as well as emotionally, so much so that Halle had enough and ended their five-year courtship abruptly to marry a financier.
But Malcolm never looked back. His career prospered when he successfully treated Senator Andrews’s heart condition and performed a triple bypass—it catapulted his surgical career.
But why hadn’t he seen that he was doing too much? He was blinded by trying too hard to win the respect of his colleagues, who he figured probably believed a thirty-six-year-old black man could never be a good surgeon. He’d been so quick to prove them all wrong. How could he been so self-involved?
“Dr. Winters?” Grace asked, looking up at him. “Are you ready for your next patient?”
“Certainly. I’ll be there in a moment.”
The clinic fell into Malcolm’s lap when Dr. Baker, Cuyler-Brownsville’s oldest family practitioner, retired. He handed his entire client roster over to Malcolm, including allowing Malcolm to rent the property until he could buy Dr. Baker out. The clinic came complete with three exam rooms, office, storage room and a reception/waiting area.
Malcolm wrote some notes down in the chart. He’d had quite a few nonexistent cases recently. He could only hope they would ease up once the town’s curiosity was cured.
“So, who else do we have?”
“We have a former patient of Dr. Baker’s presenting with pre-heart-attack symptoms.”
“Show him into my office immediately.”
Malcolm wasted no time getting right down to brass tacks. After reviewing the patient’s chart, he didn’t see any need to pretend that all was well. “Mr. Gibson, I see here that you’re a smoker.”
“Yes, Dr. Winters. I’ve tried giving up the habit, honest I have, but I haven’t had any luck.” Mr. Gibson chuckled wryly.
Malcolm did not share in his amusement. “Your luck may be running out, Mr. Gibson, if you continue to abuse your heart in this fashion. The heart is not meant to take this sort of treatment.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded Mr. Gibson for a long moment.
His patient was not easily embarrassed and did not look away. “That may be the case, but who’s to say it’s the smoking? Couldn’t it be something else?”
“You’re correct,” Malcolm answered, sitting upright again, “which is why I want to do a complete blood workup. I also want to do a cardiac stress test.”
“Isn’t that one of those treadmill tests you see on TV?” Mrs. Gibson queried, speaking up for the first time. She was a timid-looking Caucasian woman. Short, petite with mousy-brown hair. She seemed like the quiet type. Malcolm had almost forgotten she was in the room. Mrs. Gibson was the sort of woman who lived in the shadow of her husband. He wondered what she would do if she had to live without him. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get that chance.
“Yes, it is. And it detects the heart rate, rhythm and blood pressure. It helps us better determine coronary artery disease and is less invasive than an angiography. I’d also like a stress echocardiography done as well. This will show me images of your heart at rest, Mr. Gibson, and during the peak of the exercise.”
“Sounds like a whole lot of mumbo jumbo to me, Doc Winters.” Mr. Gibson wasn’t sure he believed in all this medical hocus pocus. If it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go, was his motto. But he would do this for his wife.
“I know it sounds like a lot, but all these tests are needed to make an accurate diagnosis,” Malcolm replied, writing out a prescription and handing it to Mr. Gibson. “Speak with my nurse at the front desk and she will set up the tests at the hospital. Then we’ll reconvene in a few weeks and review the results.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mr. Gibson replied, standing up and shaking Malcolm’s hand. “You know, Dr. Winters, you really are a nice man. You need to find yourself a wife to settle down with.”
Malcolm didn’t comment. He merely smiled kindly. A wife and kids. He wasn’t ready for that kind of life-changing commitment. Maybe one day. Then why, asked his inner voice, did you buy a house complete with a white picket fence and five bedrooms if you don’t want a family? That was a good question, Malcolm thought as the Gibsons were leaving.
He sighed from relief when they were completely out of the room. Just what he needed starting off his new life in Savannah—
his first heart patient in a year!
Driving into Savannah was cathartic as the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms and azaleas filled the air, reminding Sabrina that she had indeed come home. The moss-laden homes and large oak trees that lined the brick-paved historic district and park squares were just as fragrant as she remembered since she’d last visited with Tre. That trip was ten years ago, before Jasmine was even born.
Sabrina had tried repeatedly to convince Tre to visit again, but he considered anything south of DC hick country and had steadfastly refused to come. He complained about the food, too, claiming that Southerners ate so much fatback no wonder most of them were overweight. And he was a possessive guy. If he wasn’t visiting Savannah, neither was his wife! He made sure she stayed put in Baltimore, along with him.
Sabrina caught Jasmine’s yawn as she emerged from her two-hour slumber. Stretching out her arms, Jasmine perked up at her new surroundings. “Are we there yet?”
“Yup, this is my hometown, baby doll. This is where your mama was raised.” Sabrina brushed hair off Jasmine’s forehead.
Jasmine glanced out of the window in wonder. “Can I have some ice cream?” She pointed to the ice cream shop on the corner of the block.
“You may certainly not. You haven’t even had dinner.”
“But I’m hungry. And we’ve been driving all day.”
Sabrina breathed in deeply. Jasmine was severely testing her nerves. They’d already stopped off at Denny’s. “I promise I’ll get you something to eat when we get to my parents’ house, okay?”
“I don’t even remember what they look like,” Jasmine commented. Her grandparents had last seen her when she was three, when they came to Baltimore for a visit.
A hot tear trickled down Sabrina’s cheek, nearly blinding her as she drove. It was her fault that Jasmine didn’t have a relationship with her own grandparents. She should never have let Tre insist on their never visiting, but all that was about to change. Savannah was filled with lots of aunts, uncles and cousins. Sabrina was thinking that Jasmine was about to get more family than she knew what to do with when, suddenly, the unthinkable happened. She got a flat.
