Excerpt - What Matters Most

Melanie Sparks opened her bedroom window wide and breathed. The crisp April night air couldn't banish her problems, but she needed the psychological effect of clearing her head it seemed to give. If her father thought that challenging her every time she came home could break her, she'd show him. Nearly exhausted from typing students' term papers, studying during the day and attending evening classes at Towson University in Baltimore—a two-hour trip by bus between her home and the university— Melanie just wanted to go to bed and stay there. But challenges were merely invitations to hang tough.

Melanie had wanted to be a nurse since she was seven years old. Now, at age thirty-one, the coveted degree was finally within reach…provided she could pay her tuition. And with the prize so close, she was not going to allow anything to get between her and her bachelor's degree and certification as a registered nurse. She had been tired, but the thought was as calming as a warm bubble bath.

She arose early and prepared breakfast for her father and herself. Her father hated to eat alone, but he was not by anyone's measure pleasant company, so she finished as quickly as possible and went to her room to work on the student papers. It wasn't fun, but it was plentiful, and the money supported her, and allowed her to attend nursing school. And best of all, she didn't have a boss. Unfortunately, she didn't make enough to pay for her tuition.

She dashed out of the apartment en route to school that evening and ran down the stairs to avoid seeing her father, who stepped off the elevator just as she reached the staircase. She knew that, if he saw her, she would be late for school. He always found a way to delay her with questions that didn't require an answer, or he nagged her to get a full-time job and forget about school.

At the university, she ran into Greta, one of the few students with whom she maintained a friendly relationship, a young woman whose situation appeared to be as desperate as her own. She didn't make friends since she dared not bring them home. That evening, Greta's face bloomed with a rare smile.

"Guess what, Melanie? I got a job, a real one. And I only work four hours a day. Now, I'll be able to pay my tuition. Girl, I feel like dancing."

"I'm happy for you. At least one of us is sure to graduate. I don't even want to think about how much I owe."

In her enthusiasm, Greta grabbed Melanie's arm a little too tightly. "I'm going to work at a clinic in a senior center. They didn't need a registered nurse, and since I'm a licensed practical nurse I got the job."

"We have to talk," Melanie said. "I'm an LPN, too. But if I don't get to class, old lady Harkness is going to have my head."

"Good luck," Greta called after her.

Melanie stopped. "Don't worry. Even if I have to work two jobs seven days a week, I'll be in that line when the dean starts passing out sheepskins."

"Wait a minute. Check the bulletin board. That's how I found my job."

Melanie thanked Greta and headed for her class.

After the lecture, she went to the student lounge, looked on the bulletin board and made a note of the ads that interested her.  She was so busy, she missed the nine-thirty bus and got home an hour later than usual. As she'd expected, her father was on the warpath.

"You comin' in here later and later. I wanna know what's goin' on besides this school you claim you goin' to."

"I was checking out jobs, Daddy." She figured that would calm him, but rather than take a chance, she grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter and went to her room. Peace and quiet meant more to her right then than a full stomach. Two of the ads were good prospects, and she put the listings on her night table.

As soon as her father left for work the next morning, she telephoned a Dr. Ferguson, whose answering machine said to leave a message or to call him after two o'clock in the afternoon. She left a message asking him to call her before four o'clock. The other ad seemed less appealing. Although she didn't have a class that evening, she wanted to speak with the doctor before her father came home. She had never made so many mistakes typing papers as she did that day. Suppose he didn't call.

When she answered the phone at a quarter of three, she could barely catch her voice. "Hello."

"This is Jack Ferguson. Who am I speaking to?"

"Oh! Thank you for returning my call, Dr. Ferguson. I'm Melanie Sparks, and I'm answering your ad. I'm a licensed practical nurse, but I don't have much experience. I'm studying at Towson University three evenings a week, and I should have my degree by the end of the school year. But right now, I need a job."

"Thank you for responding to my ad, Ms. Sparks. I must say I like your honesty. What days are you in school?"

Here we go, she thought and worked hard at hiding her nervousness when she told him, "Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings and Saturday mornings. In the day, I work at home typing term papers and theses, but it doesn't pay enough."

"I imagine it doesn't." The more he talked, the more interested she became in knowing if the man was anything like the warm and comforting voice. "I have an office in the Bolton Hill area," he said, "but I'm opening one in Southwest Baltimore, and I need a nurse in that office."

"And you can't get a registered nurse to go there because it's not the greatest neighborhood." Her hopes began to rise. "If you're willing to take a chance on me," she told him, "I certainly don't mind working there. And after I graduate in June, you'll have a registered nurse."

"I like what I'm hearing, Ms. Sparks. But before we firm this up, I think we ought to meet. Can you come to my office at ten tomorrow morning?" He gave her the address.

"That's quite a distance from where I live, but I can make it by ten."

"Good. Take a taxi, and I'll reimburse you."

She thanked him, hung up and leaned back in the old chair. Such a kind and reassuring voice, and such a deep, velvet voice. She wondered how old he would be and what he looked like. The voice that she heard most often—her father's—was neither kind nor velvetlike, but cruel and harsh from guzzling beer.

"Ms. Sparks, Dr. Ferguson will see you now." A glance at her watch told Melanie that it was exactly ten o'clock. She had expected a long wait, and the doctor won points for punctuality.

"Dr. Ferguson, this is Ms. Sparks," the brusque receptionist said.

The man stood, and walked toward her with his right hand extended in her direction, smiling as he did so. And what a smile! She knew she was not easily flustered, and she did her best to summon her composure and return the smile. The touch of their hands produced what seemed like electricity, and both his eyebrows shot up. She had no idea what happened to hers, so she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. She hadn't expected such a man, and the prospect of working so closely with him flashed through her mind.

Jack Ferguson thought he'd moved toward Melanie Sparks, because she was closer now, but he wasn't sure. He touched her hand to shake it and felt a shock run through his body. She reacted to him as he reacted to her. But hell, he needed a nurse, and they'd just have to work around it. She found her voice first, that same soft, sweet voice that he remembered from the afternoon before and had anticipated hearing again.

"I'm glad to meet you, Dr. Ferguson," she said, without an inkling of any physical reaction, and he relaxed. He had either misread her or she was a consummate actress. In any case, she lessened the tension, and that suited him. He told himself that he was capable of ignoring the tall, dreamy-eyed and perfectly stacked woman who would be working with him in his office, because he had to have a nurse.

He let a smile float over his face, or at least he hoped he had. "Please have a seat, Ms. Sparks. Thank you for coming. How much was your taxi fare?" He didn't want to forget that. She told him, and he opened his desk drawer, counted out twice as much and handed it to her.

Melanie looked first at the seventy-five dollars in her hand and then at Jack Ferguson. "That will take care of your fare back," he answered her silent question. "Mind telling me why you don't hesitate to work in that neighborhood? There's a lot of crime around there."

The neighborhoods around South Baltimore were worlds apart from upscale Bolton Hill. "Dr. Ferguson, I grew up in a poor neighborhood, not unlike South Baltimore, so I'm used to it and to the people who, like me, are working hard to make it. I've wanted to be a nurse most of my life."

He crossed his legs at the knee, leaned back and made a pyramid of his fingers. "My office is open from five to eight on Tuesday and Thursday evenings." He quoted a salary, and she felt her eyes widen.

"That's more than fair, Dr. Ferguson."

He relaxed visibly. "Then it's a deal. You'll get an advance for the cost and cleaning of your uniforms and your transportation to and from the office."

Working in an office where, often, it would be only the two of them could be a problem. She knew nothing about him, and his apparent gentleness and kindness could be an act. She wasn't cynical. But to be forewarned was to be forearmed.

She leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs, feeling comfortable with herself. She looked around at the opulent space. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, Dr. Ferguson?"

"Not at all. What's on your mind?"

"You have a posh office here in a rich neighborhood. Why would you open another office in one of the poorest sections of the city? You certainly won't make money down there." His smile and relaxed manner told her that he welcomed the question, though she sensed that he was not used to being challenged. Obviously, she'd earned his respect.

"No one was more surprised than me, Ms. Sparks, when I decided to open an office in South Baltimore. But I'm more proud of it than of all my accomplishments. It didn't happen by accident, and definitely not on a whim. A couple of months ago, well after midnight, as I was leaving the hospital, and old woman reached out to me, asking me to help her grandson. S...