Lessons of a Lowcountry Summer Read Free

continue. What I need to ask is, will you have the time to do both?”
    â€œI believe I will.”
    â€œAnd if you don’t?”
    â€œI refuse to consider not being able to do both. Instead of delivering my disks to you by messenger, I’ll attach them to e-mails. I love the personal contact of writing too much to give it up right now.”
    â€œAnd I don’t want you to.”
    William gave Hope a long, penetrating stare. She was one of the most intelligent and confident women he had ever met. And if she hadn’t worked for him, he would have considered asking her out after she had discharged him as one of her clients.
    Hope lingered long enough to have a second cup of coffee. She gave William the envelope with the letters and disks and promised she would have another batch completed before the end of the week. She checked her watch. It was minutes before nine.
    â€œI have another appointment.”
    William paid the bill and escorted Hope out of the diner and onto the sidewalk teeming with New Yorkers. “Where are you headed?” he asked.
    â€œUptown.” She slipped on a pair of sunglasses to ward off the rays of the bright Manhattan sunlight. “My driver will be here soon.” Seconds later, a sleek black car cruised up to the curb.
    William opened the rear door, smiling at Hope after she slid gracefully onto the leather seat. He nodded, closed the door, and stood motionless, watching the car as it moved into the flow of uptown traffic. There was no need to wish Hope luck with the radio show. She had something more precious than luck.
    She was blessed.
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    Hope stared up at the ceiling . She did not think she would ever get used to the degradation she felt during an internal examination. Just lying on her back, heels in the stirrups, legs and knees spread, and someone peering into her with a light was tantamount to helplessness. The sound of the doctor removing his latex gloves signaled the end of her ordeal.
    Dr. Booth stood up. Deep grooves furrowed his lined forehead. “As soon as you are dressed, I’ll see you in my office.”
    Why, Hope thought, did the doctor’s statement sound like a pronouncement of doom? Words he had said to her many times before were delivered in a monotone void of emotion. Sitting up, she ripped off the paper gown and retreated to a small dressing room.
    A sixth sense told her that there was something wrong. Within seconds she recalled the letters from women who had written about being diagnosed with ovarian cancer, delivering a stillborn, miscarriages, mastectomies, and so many other women’s health problems. Most times she had to remind them that medical personnel offered healing; clergy, salvation; and mental health professionals, hope.
    And if there was something wrong with her, who would be there to offer her the hope she would need?
    Â 
    Hope sat at one of a quartet of bistro tables shaded from the sun by a large black-and-white umbrella and took a sip of herbal tea. Her right hand shook slightly as she lowered the china cup to a matching saucer. “I’ve been diagnosed with endometriosis.”
    Dr. Booth had described the origin, symptoms, and treatment options, while she’d sat numbed by the possibility that she might not be able to bear a child. She’d never imagined that she would not have children.
    Hope’s best friend, Lana Martin, a registered nurse turned professional herbalist, went completely still, her hazel eyes widening. “What has he recommended?”
    â€œHe’s increasing the dosage of my hormone therapy. I have to take the Pill every day for the next four months to stop my period. I’m scheduled for a follow-up visit early October. At that time he’ll assess whether I’ll have to undergo surgery to remove the endometrial lesions. The last alternative is a hysterectomy. His other recommendation was to ‘go home and have a baby.’ ”
    Lana shook her head