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Prologue

Where It All Began

Jenna

“We need to talk,” Maureen said as we walked across the University of Washington campus. 

Maureen and I had been study partners in our college French class for two years.  At the end of the course we were scheduled to travel to France, which for the two of us would be a dream come true.

Paris.  We were dying to see Paris.  I’d fallen in love with the city as a young teen after watching Casablanca for the first time.  When Ingrid Bergman looked deep into the eyes of Humphrey Bogart and whispered, “We’ll always have Paris,”  I was captivated.

The city of love had beckoned me.  It was the very reason I’d taken six years of French classes—four in high school and now two in college.  I couldn’t wait to see Paris.  I wanted to walk in the moonlight along the Seine, tour the Louvre and see the view of the city from the Eiffel Tower. 

Maureen and I had spent endless hours talking about the trip we planned to take following our graduation in June.  We’d both taken part-time jobs to pay for the trip; we’d sacrificed our weekends, saved and dreamed.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, holding my text books close to my chest.  It was spring—my favorite time of year—and I’d spent a good portion of my French Literature class day dreaming about springtime in Paris.  I could see myself walking along the river, viewing artists busily painting on their canvases while a love song came from a distant accordion, the sweet notes drifting through the air and filling the warm sunshine.

“I can’t go to Paris,” Maureen blurted out.

“What?”  Her words took my breath away.  I was sure I’d heard her wrong.

“I won’t be able to go to Paris the way we planned.”

Dumbfounded, I stopped walking and stared at her.  We’d planned this trip for months, going over every detail, checking prices for flights, hotels, and budgeting our money down to the penny. 

Maureen lowered her eyes.  “I’m pregnant.  Peter and I have decided to get married as soon as we graduate.”

I knew she’d been seeing a lot of Peter Zelinski but had no idea their relationship was this serious.  Maureen had taken on the role of tutoring students as a means of earning extra money for our Paris trip.  Peter had been one of her calculus students. 

I was dating, too.  Kyle Boltz was a first-year medical student and I was beginning to hope we would have a future together.  Kyle had a lot of schooling ahead of him and I would soon be graduating with a nursing degree.  We’d met at a party and we had had clicked.   

“Say something,” Maureen pleaded.

That was the problem.  I didn’t know what to say.  I hadn’t fully assimilated that everything—all our plans, our prep work, the anticipation—had changed overnight.  And, my best friend was pregnant.  This changed everything.

“You should still go,” Maureen added.

“Not without you.” I refused to entertain the thought.  It wouldn’t be the same without my best friend. 

“I’ve ruined everything,” Maureen said, biting into her lower lip.

Giving her a big hug, I did my best to comfort her.  “You didn’t ruin anything.  A baby is far more important than a trip to Paris.  We’ll get there one day.”

Maureen’s mouth wobbled with the effort to smile.

“And I get to be in your wedding.”

“Maid of Honor,” Maureen said.  “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

“Deal.”

Yes, I was disappointed, but we had our whole lives ahead of us.  Paris would wait.

 

CHAPTER ONE

Jenna

I’d waited for this for a long time.

I sat in the small nook with the padded seat in my upstairs bedroom, gazing out the window.  The view of Elliott Bay stretched before me.  I loved this spot, my contemplation area.  I leaned my back against the wall, my knees drawn up as I gazed out over the panorama.  The gray skies had threatened rain earlier in the day.  Despite popular opinion, Seattle wasn’t drenched in drizzle all twelve months of the year.  No matter what the weather, my window on the bay never failed to soothe me.  By contrast this afternoon the sky was blue and bright in the late summer and the waters of Puget Sound as green as an emerald lawn.  The waterfront area of Seattle was filled with tourists, the streets busy with those either departing or returning from Alaskan cruises. 

My mind was spinning with the changes about to take place in my life.  The day before I’d helped Allie to settle into her dorm room.  My daughter was about to spread her wings at college, just as I’d done all those years ago.  Although I’d been looking forward to this day, I worried.  Allie was nothing like her older brother, Paul.  My son had been the man of the house, and was more mature than his years, especially after his father left us.  Allie could be overly emotional at times, and I had to admit, I’d spoiled her, though not to the point she was self-centered and irrational.  I’d wanted her to commute from home the first couple of years of college, but she insisted that she wanted to live in the dorms.  Eventually I’d given in, remembering that my parents had given me that experience to let me soar on my own. 

This move was big for Allie and equally big for me. 

My nest was now empty. 

The silent house had never felt louder.  It was as if I could hear the hollowness surround me.  While I had been looking forward to this time, I wasn’t completely sure what I wanted to do with myself.  I’d spent the last sixteen years as a single mom, dedicating my life, my resources, and my everything to my two children, all the while juggling a full-time career.  It hadn’t been easy being both mother and father, but I was smarter and wiser, especially in the area of men.  I could fix a leaky pipe, clean gutters, and assemble a chest of drawers with instructions written in a foreign language.  I was woman—and I could pound my chest as hard as any man. 

And now, after years of attending sporting events, soccer games, baseball and basketball games as well as swimming meets, I finally had time for myself.  I thought of all the music lessons, the Girl Scout cookie drives I’d organized, and how I’d been class mother for both Paul and Allie in their grade school years.  The last year Paul was in junior high, I’d been President of the PTA.  My kids’ teeth were straight, and they both were grounded and obtained above average grades. 

As I looked out of my window, the sense of elation mingled with worries and doubts nearly overwhelmed me when I dropped Allie off at the college campus.  I watched a green and white Washington State Ferry sail toward Bainbridge Island. 

I refused to let my concerns take away this special moment.  I let the calming view settle my nerves and I turned my focus onto what this new season of life meant for me. 

I’d raised my children, made sacrifices for them, stayed focused on their needs, but now, I could look to the future, and make plans of my own.  Unlike their father, I’d taken my responsibility as a parent seriously.  Kyle had proved to be a sorry disappointment as a husband, but especially as a father. 

I had an entire list of what I hoped to accomplish in the next few years.  For a long time, I’d wanted to find a creative way to express myself.  Zumba class, painting.  I’d been toying with the idea of creating a bullet journal too.  The possibilities were endless.  And trips.  I longed to travel, to see the world, study new cultures, taste the local cuisines.  With France, especially Paris, on the top of the page, of course.  Between my work schedule at the hospital and all the kids’ activities I’d never found time to fit any of these things into my life. 

But I could now. 

Paris.  The more I thought about it, the more I longed to make that trip a possibility.  Maureen and I had put off that dream for far too long.  Like me, Maureen was divorced now, too.  We’d been single moms together all these years. and formed our own support group.  Both of our marriages had gone down in flames and Paris was shoved into the black hole called ‘someday.’  Well, ‘someday’ was now, finally within reach.

I dropped my legs from my perch and reached for the phone, calling Maureen to invite her over for a movie and some “girl” time together.  She was quick to agree, eager to hear how Allie’s move-in at college went.

Before she arrived I had the popcorn popping, and for the fun of it, I’d downloaded Casablanca hoping to remind her of our long-ago dream.

The doorbell rang, and I set aside the remote to answer the door.

Maureen came into the house waving a grocery bag.  “You’ll like what’s inside!”  She was a petite brunette with deep brown eyes that revealed her subtle wit and intelligence.  Her hair was the same shade as her eyes.  She wore it shoulder-length, and I envied how thick it was. 

Through the years I’d come to appreciate Maureen all the more.  We talked often and supported each other through everything that life had thrown our way.  She’d been the first person I called after Kyle left, and when Allie broke her arm. I couldn’t have asked for a better best friend.

She pulled out a container from the bag, revealing my favorite brand of ice cream:  salted caramel, my weakness.

“A perfect addition to a perfect afternoon.”  I took it from her and headed into the kitchen to place it in the freezer.

Maureen trailed behind me.  “How was your hot date?”

My hand paused on the freezer door as I thought back over my dinner with the insurance adjuster.  It had been washed from my mind; an evening I was eager to forget.  “A disappointment.”

“Yellow light?”

Maureen and I had devised our own grading system when it came to men and dating.  A green light meant there was real potential.  A yellow light meant we were waiting to learn more and would proceed with caution.  A red light was a flat ‘NO,’ no questions asked, not happening.  No way.  No how. 

“Red light?”

I gave a sad nod.

“After one date?”

I expelled a lengthy sigh, letting it whistle through my teeth.  What was it with men?  “He thought a dinner at a cheap Mexican restaurant gave him a free license to spend the night.”

“Give me a break,” Maureen said, shaking her head.

I’d dated off and on since my divorce.  My children had always been my priority.  Still, there were times when I needed adult male companionship for my own mental health, yet in all the years since Kyle and I had split, I hadn’t met a man I felt deserved a green light.  Several had looked promising in the beginning, but as we got to know each other better, something always seemed to be fundamentally lacking.  I was beginning to think the ‘lacking’ might be me—that I’d set my standards too high. 

My marriage to Kyle hadn’t helped matters.  I’d come out of it with trust issues and with the fear of making yet another mistake. Now, with both kids in college, I’d hoped to seriously look at my relationships with men. 

“How frustrating,” Maureen said.  Seeing the bowls of popcorn on the kitchen counter, she reached for them and led the way into the family room. 

I loved my Colonial-style house that was set on a hill overlooking Elliott Bay.  Other than my children, it was the best thing I’d gotten out of my marriage.  The family room off the kitchen was where we all gathered to watch television, or to sit by the fireplace on a cold, rainy Seattle day on the comfortable, oversized, well-loved leather furniture.  One year for Christmas, my dad had a gas line installed to the fireplace, so I didn’t need to fuss with building a fire with wood any longer.  All winter long, I had that fire going.  It added a touch of warmth to those chilly nights while Paul and Allie sunk into the big chairs to do their homework.

I had Casablanca primed and ready to play.

Popcorn for dinner and ice cream for dessert.  Now that was freedom.

I reached for the remote.  Maureen had her shoes off and her ankles crossed on the ottoman as she munched on the popcorn.  “You picked the movie?”

“Yup, and you’re going to love it.” I hit the remote and immediately the music leading up to Casablanca begin to play.

Maureen’s smile widened.  “Is this what I think it is?”

I couldn’t keep from smiling.  “Yup, and that should tell you what I’m thinking.”

“Paris,” Maureen cried.  “You want to start planning for our trip to Paris.”  Her eyes shone with enthusiasm.

“At last, our someday is here.”  I could already feel the excitement building inside of me.  Over the years we’d never stopped talking about our trip to Paris, but the timing had never been right.  “I’m thinking we can go next spring.”

“Spring,” Maureen agreed with a single nod.  She was the trip planner, Lonely Planet in human form.  The woman was a hound dog when it came to research.  She could find her way around the internet the way some people could find their way around the Mall of America without a map.  Being a librarian, no doubt helped.  Maureen had majored in library science, and that career was a natural for her.  She’d worked for the last twenty years at the Seattle Public Library.

Next spring would be the perfect time to go.  Paul was working year-round as a server in Pullman while going through college, and Allie was planning for an exchange program that would take her to Japan for six months, leaving the schedule next year wide open for this trip.  Of course, I would need to get time off from the hospital, being certain to get the request in early for my vacation dates.  Several months’ notice would guarantee there wouldn’t be a problem. 

“I’ll look for our planning notes from when we were in college,” Maureen said, showing her excitement.

“You kept them?”  That shouldn’t surprise me.  Maureen was an organizational genius and always had been.  She liked her life structured.  Everything in its place, and a place for everything.  She was a spotless housekeeper.  Dust didn’t dare make a showing in her home.

“Of course, I kept them. Why not?  The Louvre is still waiting for us.”

“And the Sainte-Chappelle.”  I’d looked at breathtaking photos of the stained-glass windows of the chapel countless times, dreaming of the day I would be able to see it in person.

“Shopping on Rue de Rivoli,” Maureen added dreamily. 

“Was that on day five?” I asked.  If I remembered correctly, shopping had been reserved for later in our self-guided tour.

“Day six.”

Naturally, Maureen would remember the minute details.  The woman’s mind was a steel trap.  I sincerely doubted she would need those notes to recollect the details of our original plans.  She probably remembered the flight numbers and our seat assignments if I were to ask.  That was Maureen. 

She had never remarried after she and Peter split.  Like me, she’d dated too, but not often.  Her marriage had only lasted five years.  Peter and Maureen had never been a good mix and they both knew it.  To their credit, they stuck it out as long as they had for the sake of their daughter, Victoria, “Tori.”  A couple of years following their divorce, Peter had remarried and had two additional children, both boys.  He continued to be a good father to Tori, and had remained an integral part of her life, unlike my ex had done with Paul and Allie. 

I’d always hoped Maureen would find happiness with another man.  She deserved it, but I feared she’d lost something of herself in her failed marriage.  I understood, as I feared I had, too. 

Settling back against the sofa, I brought my legs up under me, and held the bowl of popcorn in my lap as the movie started.  I’ll never forget the first time Maureen and I watched Casablanca in college.  The movie had the same impact on Maureen as it’d done with me as a teen.  We’d both cried, and agreed it was the most romantic movie ever made. 

“I love the opening,” Maureen said with a sigh.  “It’s the music.”

Surprisingly, Maureen Zelinski had a romantic heart.  I suspected she hid that fact from her peers at the library.  Only those closest to her would suspect as much. 

I munched on my popcorn, relaxing as I got involved in the movie. 

“Was Allie able to connect with her dad before she left?” Maureen asked.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.  “No.”  It hurt me that Allie’s father had disappointed our daughter yet again.  It demanded effort not to add a derogatory comment about my ex.  Even before the ink on our divorce papers was dry, Kyle had basically abandoned the children and me.  He’d left Seattle Central Hospital where we were both employed, him as a surgeon and me as a nurse.  He’d promptly moved to another state.  It wasn’t long before I learned he’d remarried, and shockingly, it wasn’t to the woman with whom he’d had the affair.  In the years since, he’d divorced and married two more times.  Paul and Allie were his only children. 

To be fair, Kyle had faithfully paid child support, and I was grateful he’d held up that portion of his responsibility.  What hurt most, other than the fact he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped, was the way he’d treated our children as non-entities.  He would send them birthday cards—if he remembered, that is—and send a check at Christmas.  Basically, that was it. 

In the last year, Allie had tried to reestablish a relationship with her father.  She reached out to him, seeking his advice regarding her choice of colleges.  I didn’t discourage her and hoped Kyle would take an interest in our daughter.  Thankfully, he’d responded, and she’d been thrilled.  All the effort, however, had been on Allie’s part and continued to be so.  She’d phoned him right before she left for school and was told he wasn’t available.  I hated to see her disappointed yet again.

“Allie has no real expectations when it comes to her father,” I said, feeling sad at how true that was.

My phone rang, and I grabbed it off the coffee table to check Caller ID.  I didn’t recognize the number.

“You going to answer that?” Maureen asked as the phone continued to ring.

“Nope.  I’ve been getting far too many solicitation calls.”  The numbers that showed up were often local ones that made me think I might be missing a personal call.  I’d fallen for that trick far too often.

“I’ve been getting those calls, too,” Maureen said, and seemed as irritated as me with the interruption by robot calls.  She leaned back against the sofa, munching popcorn. 

After five torturous rings, the phone went to voicemail, but whoever had called didn’t leave a message.  I knew it.  Another sales call.  If I got one more call from that perky Elizabeth, I was going to scream. 

I was about to grab another handful of popcorn when it rang a second time. 

Same number.

Maureen glanced at my phone and over to me.  “Maybe you should answer that.”

“Maybe I should.”  I paused the movie, and reached for my phone, getting it on the fifth ring just before it went to voicemail.

“This is Jenna Boltz,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“Jenna, oh Jenna,” an elderly woman’s voice returned breathlessly.  “I’m so sorry to bother you . . . your mom gave me your number.”

I sat up straight and set aside my popcorn bowl.  “Mrs. Torres?  Is that you?”  She was the widow who lived next door to my mother.

“Yes, dear, it’s me.”

Mrs. Torres was a good friend to my mother, especially since my father had passed.  He’d been gone over two years now and the two widows looked after each other.  Knowing that Mrs. Torres kept an eye on Mom reassured me and I know Mrs. Torres’ children were grateful to have Mom do the same for her next-door neighbor and friend.

“Is everything all right?” I asked. 

“Jenna, your mother has taken a bad spill.  I’m afraid she’s hurt herself.”

I jumped to my feet, my heart pounding so loudly it echoed in my ears.  “How badly is she hurt?  Is anything broken?”

“I . . . I don’t know.  I think it might be her hip.  I hope I did the right thing by calling 9-1-1.  The paramedics are already here.  You mother didn’t want them to take her to the hospital until I contacted you.”

“What?”  I asked in disbelief.  My mother was waiting for my approval before she sought medical attention? 

“The paramedics are talking to her now,” Mrs. Torres continued.  “They’re checking her vital signs and suggested I step back.  Carol wants to talk to you, but they need a few minutes with her first.”

“Of course.”  I couldn’t believe this was happening.  My poor mother.  She’d already been through so much with the loss of my father.  I hated the thought of her being hurt and in pain. 

Seeing the concern on my face, and the fact I was on my feet, Maureen was looking at me with alarm.  Being a nurse, I immediately went into crisis mode.  “Where did she fall?” I asked, wanting as many details as Mrs. Torres could give me. 

“Outside, off the back steps.  She was working in her garden and started into the house.  She must have stumbled.”  Mrs. Torres lowered her voice, not wanting Mom to hear.  “She landed hard on the sidewalk.”

I gasped when I heard she’d landed on cement.   

“We’d been chatting just a few minutes earlier,” the widow explained.  “I was picking a bouquet of dahlias when it happened.”

“Thank God you were there.”

“I went over to her right away and told her not to move.  Carol didn’t think she was hurt at first. Although she was in a lot of pain, she insisted she was fine.”

That was just like my mother.  She wouldn’t want anyone to make a fuss.

“After a few minutes she wanted me to help her stand.  But I could see she’d hurt herself, and that this wasn’t a simple fall.”

I closed my eyes with worry.  “Please tell me you didn’t move her!”

“No . . . oh, no.  I insisted she stay still until I got help.  Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have had the strength to get her upright.” 

I heard my mother’s voice in the background.

“Let me talk to Jenna?”

“While I talk to her,” I said to Mrs. Torres, “please ask the paramedics to take her to Seattle Central Hospital.”

“I’ll do that, dear.  Now don’t you worry.  Here’s your mother.”

“Mom?”

“I’m so sorry, Jenna.”  

“Don’t apologize, Mom.  It was an accident.  Mrs. Torres did the right thing to call for help.  Let the aid car take you to the hospital.  I’m leaving now and will meet you there.”

“Okay.” Mom gasped for breath as if she was in terrible pain, her voice a mere whisper.  My heart clenched. 

My mother was a salt-of-the-earth kind of woman.  I’d been blessed with wonderful parents who had loved and supported me throughout my entire life.  After Kyle and I divorced, I would never have managed on my own without their love and backing.  Losing Dad to a heart attack was a blow that had left our family reeling.  Two years had gone by, yet Mom wasn’t past the fact that she was now a widow.  Grief had aged her.  She was in her mid-seventies and in overall good health, but she missed my father something terrible and had given up many of the very things they had once enjoyed together. 

This past year Mom had stayed home far more than she ventured out, tending her garden and working jigsaw puzzles.  Maureen had tried to get Mom to join a reading group at the library, but she wasn’t interested.  I was grateful that she continued playing bridge with a group of ladies from the church.

Mrs. Torres came back on the line.  “They’re loading Carol into the aid car now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Torres.”

“I wish I could have done more, Jenna.  I feel a bit shaken myself.  Falling is one of my biggest fears. Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”

“I will, and thank you again, Mrs. Torres.”  Poor woman.  Seeing this happen to my mother must have been an ordeal for her.  I would be forever grateful that she’d been outside at the time of Mom’s fall.  I hated to think of how long my mother might have laid on the sidewalk before anyone found her, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Torres.

 As soon as I disconnected the call, Maureen was full of questions.  “What happened?”

I tossed my phone and my charging cord into my purse as I explained.

“I’m coming with you,” Maureen insisted.

“Then follow me in your car.”  I didn’t want Maureen trapped at the hospital because we’d come in one car.  Depending on Mom’s prognosis, I knew I could potentially be at the hospital for several hours.

On the drive over, my mind was working at warp speed, assessing what little I could from the information given me.  Mom had fallen, but from what Mrs. Torres told me, she hadn’t hit her head, which was a blessing in and of itself.  Nor did I know how far she’d fallen.  Had she been up one step or two when she’d taken the tumble? 

I rushed toward the hospital, then parked with relative ease thanks to my employee parking pass, although it was at the farthest spot in the parking lot.  I trusted that Maureen would find parking in the garage or on the street.

After twenty years working in the Intensive Care Unit at Seattle Central, I’d become acquainted with many of the medical professionals there, but I wasn’t as familiar with the emergency room staff, though I did recognize the names of several physicians and nurses as I passed through.

I was directed into the cubical where Mom had been taken.  Relief showed in her face as soon as she saw me.  Stretching out her arm, she grabbed hold of my hand as I stepped to the side of the gurney. 

“Everything is going to be okay, Mom,” I told her, bending over to give her a gentle hug.

Closing her eyes, Mom held onto me as though she never intended to let me go. 

We didn’t need to wait long for the examining physician to arrive.  I wasn’t familiar with Dr. Spencer, though I’d heard his name mentioned before, and always in a good way.  We spoke briefly, and he put in an order for x-rays. 

Patient transport quickly arrived, and my instinct was to accompany her because I knew it would comfort her to have me at her side.  However, the woman at the check-in desk came by, asking me to fill out several pages of paperwork.  Mom’s worried eyes sought me out.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” I promised, walking down the hallway with her before she was rolled into the elevator.

With a heavy heart, I took the clipboard into the waiting room, and called my brother Tom to let him know what had happened.  Tom and his wife, Louanne, lived three hours away in Oregon.  Both of his kids were out on their own now.  I told him to stay put until I had more information.  I found Maureen pacing in front of the emergency department check-in station.

“How is she?”

“Pale, and clearly in a lot of pain.  Her blood pressure’s elevated because of that, and her heart rate is fast, but steady.”  I had sneaked a peek at the chart clipped at the base of the bed and scanned the notes left by the paramedics. 

Maureen came into the cubicle to wait with me.  Mom returned in a relatively short amount of time and ten minutes later, Dr. Spencer reentered the room with the results.  Without a word, he brought up the x-ray on the computer screen for us, and pointed out what was quite noticeable, and what I had suspected had happened:  Mom had indeed broken her hip.  The break was bad, and I knew it would require immediate surgery.

“I’ve put a call into Dr. Lancaster,” Dr. Spencer said.  “He’s the best orthopedic surgeon in the state.”

I was familiar with Dr. Lancaster’s superior reputation as a surgeon.  We’d never worked together, so I was uncertain of his bedside manner.  All I could do was hope that he would be patient and tender with Mom.  For the most part, the surgeons I’d met and worked with had minimal people skills.  They were often brilliant yet found it hard to relate to patients.  Because of this, many chose this field of medicine because it had the least amount of one-on-one patient contact.  They’d perform the surgery, and the patient would never see them again.  In, done, and gone.  Yet I knew Dr. Lancaster to be the best orthopedic surgeon in the area, and I was thankful that Mom would be in good hands during surgery, no matter what his people skills were.

Mom’s hand tightened around my own.  “Everything will be fine, Jenna.  Don’t you worry.”

How like my mother to be reassuring me. 

“Yes, it will,” I said, although tears had gathered in my eyes.  Mom and I were close, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, especially so soon after losing my father. 

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