years earlier had been both physically and mentally uncomfortable, but she offered no objections. There had been no time for modesty. It was non-existent on both sides.
The month that followed the holiday party included several discrete mid-day trysts in her apartment. She wasn’t proud of her indiscretions, but had no regrets. Allowing her hormones to take precedence over decorum had happened before and she was sure it would eventually happen again but, for now, she felt a need to take care of business, refocus, and concentrate on her career without the distracting complications of a romantic partner. She also knew the time would come when she could no longer self-regulate her personal physical needs. It just meant the process would repeat itself and the hunt for a new lover would eventually begin once again. She was just a mile away from ending one more indiscretion. She was about to have the same one-sided conversation she had with previous lovers. It seemed simple enough, but something was different. She could feel it.
Chapter 13
February 24, 1990
La Jolla, California
A strong Saturday afternoon ocean breeze swept up the hillside, gently rattling the bay window in Celia’s apartment. Sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, she was focused, scripting a new sales presentation on her brand new IBM 386 computer. After five years in the field as a sales manager, her promotion to head of sales training for Signal Pharmaceuticals two weeks earlier meant a huge salary increase and placed her on an accelerated program for senior management. Her work schedule was suddenly predictable, and her days of traveling and overnight stays were mostly over. Finally, she could take firm control of her new life.
At 6 P.M., Celia felt her energy level deteriorating, her concentration waning. She needed a break. She grabbed a jacket and walked outside to the patio deck, the same place she always retreated to when stressed. The views from her apartment always brought her a sense of peace and serenity, and she needed another of those moments. She looked out at what had become a very dark Pacific Ocean. She took a few minutes, scanning the flickering lights from the homes below that blanketed the surrounding hillsides, before turning away to curl up in her favorite patio chair. She had a decision to make. When the ocean breeze predictably turned harsh, she retreated inside, still mentally rehashing the news from her gynecologist the previous morning. His report was not unexpected. Her knee-jerk reaction at being officially pronounced pregnant was to have an abortion. Now, nearly thirty-six hours after her initial shock, her motherly instincts and an elementary review of her financial projections were clearing the way to a more pragmatic and personally acceptable plan.
Her single life had been a whirlwind, laced with lows and highs. The peaks had always outnumbered the valleys, amply compensating her for the less spectacular moments that came with being alone. The death of her mother during her senior year in college followed just months after her father’s accidental death. Until now, the loss of her parents was a void she managed to work around. She longed for their guidance. For the first time in her life, she felt completely alone. She was her own counsel, the sole architect of her future. While she did not intentionally seek it, motherhood was beckoning, and a radical change in her life was staring her in the face. She abandoned her thoughts of not telling Emil Lundgren that he was the father of her unborn child, but her sense of fairness finally prevailed. She would wait a few months to be sure her pregnancy was stable before breaking the news but would not ask for financial or emotional support. How he chose to deal with her decision was up to him. She had no intention of disrupting his marriage.
Pouring what she knew was most likely her last glass of wine for a very long time, Celia sat down on the sofa and picked up a spreadsheet she created to help her assess her financial future once again. It was now her personal roadmap. Her baby was due in late August. She would arrange to take a brief leave of absence, hire a live-in nanny, and keep her career on track. The numbers worked. While it would be a stretch financially, she could make it. Outside, the winds picked up as an offshore winter storm began to pelt the coastline with rain. She fell asleep, comforted by the thought she would never treat being single and pregnant as an obstacle. She would embrace it. There was no other choice.
Chapter 14
June 13, 1991
Austin, Minnesota
Chronologically, Dr. Jeremiah Trent had had no trouble admitting to being old. He knew that most, if they knew his date of birth would automatically label him as old, but he never conceded age had anything to do with how he lived his life. The locals would back him up. Physically, everyone around town knew he could match men half his age. Mentally, his colleagues often bragged for him, telling others that he had few peers and that his historic and distinguished medical career would be remembered long after he passed. Trent thought little of their opinions. His only concern at this stage of his life was staying alive, and he was doing all he could to cheat death.
An avid runner and long distance swimmer, Trent honed his aquatic skills daily at Eastside Lake, swimming the length of the one-mile span and back again six days a week. On alternating days, he preceded his swims with a brisk five-mile run down the gravel road that ran from his house to the highway and back. Sunday was his only day off from his physical regimen. The day was always set aside for his church duties as an elder at Austin’s Presbyterian Church.
After his early morning swim, Trent sat alone on his favorite park bench next to Austin’s City Hall, allowing the mid-day sun to warm the all too familiar aches that were a permanent part of an unwanted territory others liked to call old age. Austin was a quiet little town, population just over ten thousand. He looked up and down both ends of Main Street, but not much was happening. Par for the course, he said to himself. He closed his eyes, listening for a few minutes as a few wispy breezes danced through the park, rattling the leaves of several large oak trees that towered behind. Other than mid-winter, he had followed the same daily routine ever since he retired as Chief of Staff of Rochester’s Mayo Clinic nearly twenty years earlier. Early summer was his favorite time of the year. The cold was over, and the heat not so hot as to prevent him dressing in his favorite attire. Wearing clean faded jeans, his favorite cowboy boots, and a long sleeved western shirt, he looked like a cowboy dressed for church. It made him feel good. He leaned back on the corner rail of his bench, stretching his lengthy legs outward to the front edge of the sidewalk while scanning the passersby. At this stage of his life, simply relaxing and enjoying the scenery was always a pleasant option but not for long. He stood, bent over and touched his toes, then jaywalked across the street to Hahn’s Rexall drug store. He wanted a newspaper.
Bob Hahn tossed a greeting from behind the prescription counter. “Morning, Doc!”
Trent waved and headed straight for the newsstand. “Where’s the Tribune?”
“Ya know, it’s not in yet. One of my customers said they saw the delivery truck broke down just outside of Albert Lea. Can’t say when it will get here. If it comes in, I can have my delivery boy bring one on his way past your place if you want.”
Trent smiled and shook his head, waving off the offer. How anybody could make money offering a courtesy delivery of a two-bit newspaper stretched his imagination, but it was exactly why he preferred living in a small town. The people were genuine, not caught up in the latest fads or trying to impress others with their money or knowledge. He picked up a copy of the Austin Daily Herald. With only a handful of pages, it was mostly local news and no match for the Minneapolis Tribune, but it had a good cartoon section and a daily crossword puzzle that he occasionally challenged just to kill a bit of time. He resigned himself to the fact that this would be one of those days. He threw a quarter on the counter. “See you tomorrow!”
Trent walked outside, returning to his favorite bench. The headline proclaimed the election of Boris Yeltsin as president of the Russian Soviet Federated Socialist Republic. Winning with 57% of
