Spock awoke a few hours later. It was early, and it was still dark outside. He rubbed his sore eyes—he was unaccustomed to the aftereffects of tears. Taking a few deep breaths, he assessed his own emotional state. The tightness in his chest was gone. He was hungry and thirsty. He also craved movement, physical exertion.
Nyota remained next to him, sleeping peacefully, curled up under multiple blankets, nested comfortably with both pillows. (When had she stolen his?) Her deep, slow, even breathing and movement underneath her eyelids indicated REM sleep. He might have contented himself by observing her for longer, but his own physical discomforts demanded attention. Slowly, he rolled off the bed and set his feet to the floor, careful to minimize his noise and movement as he grabbed a small gym duffle and hygiene items. His feet found his slippers, and he quietly exited the room and made his way to the hallway bathroom. There he washed his face, combed his hair, and changed from pajamas to his Starfleet Academy sweatpants and sweatshirt. Putting his pajamas and slippers into the duffle, he exchanged them for his socks and running shoes. On his way back through the hallway to the stairwell, he deposited the duffle in Nyota's room—he could retrieve it later. Finally he slipped his communicator into his front pocket.
He needed to maintain physical conditioning, and he had not exercised vigorously in a few days. He decided to take a run along the biking and walking trail that he, Margaret, and Nyota had walked the day before. The scenery had been pleasant. The course was evident. It would be difficult to get lost.
Quietly Spock descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. He drained a glass of water and grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. The banana was sweet, sweeter than he usually liked his food, but today he craved it, and it satisfied him. He disposed of the peel and was ready to grab his cap and gloves when he passed the door to the study.
He paused. Inside hung the portrait that had undone him yesterday, and he willed himself to confront it. He stepped inside the room and rounded the corner. There Amanda smiled at him in the dim light of dawn that began to glow faintly through the window. This morning her smile reminded him of the one she shared with him on the day the ministers of his primary school announced the student rankings—that is, when Sarek had not been looking. Spock had ranked first. It was a pleasant memory for Spock, not because of his achievement, but because it had made Amanda happy.
A bit of sadness fluttered his heart, but the memory's pleasantness lingered, too. He remained relaxed and, he noted, his respiratory rate remained consistent.
Spock tore a sheet of paper from a pad on Allen's desk, wrote a brief note, and left it on the kitchen table where Nyota, Margaret, and Allen would find it easily. He then turned and quietly walked through the foyer and exited through the front door, walked to the street, then began a slow jog. When he reached the trail's access point, he broken out into a full run. Despite the frosty air, it felt good. The effects of the cold would diminish as he worked up his own body heat. He felt his joints and muscles loosen when he passed the second kilometer.
The sun broke the horizon, sending an orange glow onto the dark bark of the oak trees that dominated this part of the trail. He passed the small waterfall where Margaret had taken his and Nyota's picture. It was hard to see, being obscured by the long shadows of early morning. But the dogwood trees' red bark added interest against the tan and brown grasses that surrounded them.
Slowly other joggers, walkers, and cyclists began to populate the trail from other access points as Spock ran on. He blurred by oncomers, and his speed overtook several moving in the same direction from behind. Although his Vulcan ears and eyebrows did not attract attention, as his cap covered them sufficiently, his swift pace, long strides, and red Starfleet Academy sweatshirt prompted several people to attempt a second look. But by time they did, he was long gone.
After 10 kilometers, he looked for an appropriate place to take a break. He was approaching a small park to the right, so he exited the trail and walked to a short stone retaining wall where he lifted one leg to the top to stretch it out, then repeated the stretch with the other. He was about to work on his ankles next when a splash of color caught his notice. Farther into the park a garden with several flower beds, pathways, and wooden benches stood out. In one of the beds a gardener tended several varieties of hearty, late-blooming varieties that shared the last of their season's splendor. A fountain anchored the middle while brick-paved walkways spoked out to buildings around the perimeter of a generous greenspace.
Medical personnel in their lab coats and scrubs mingled with others in civilian clothes. Most ambled slowly and quietly, stopping to admire a bloom, ornamental grass, or groundcover set in an artful grouping of boulders.
Spock noted that most of the garden was devoted to roses, his mother's favorite flower. She had managed to grow a couple hot-weather varieties on Vulcan. With this cooler climate, Spock wondered about the varieties that grew here. As he approached to inspect them more closely, he noticed a plaque next to the fountain. It looked like it had been recently installed.
Dedicated To The Memory Of
AMANDA GRAYSON
Visionary, Benefactor, Friend
His eyes went wide before he caught himself. What was this? What connection did his mother have with this garden? He stared at the plaque as he considered the possibilities, but found he had insufficient information. He stood there for several minutes, contemplating.
"Did you know her?" came a voice from behind. Spock turned his head. It was the gardener.
The irony did not escape him. "Yes, I did," he replied, turning his attention back the plaque. Perhaps he could find out more. "Do you know why she is memorialized here?
A flicker of recognition sparked across the gardener's face. Something about this visitor was familiar. He walked around to get a better look at Spock. The Starfleet Academy sweatshirt confirmed it. "You're her son!"
"Yes, I am."
The man's expression was one of pleasant shock. "Amanda's son…this is an honor," he said brightly. "Hello, I'm David Swenson. I knew Amanda in prep school. She was a very, very good friend."
Spock thought for a moment. The name was familiar. "Mother made mention of you," he said slowly. "You once accompanied her to a function called a 'prom'?" Amanda told him that proms were a rite of passage for Terran school-aged adolescents as they approached adulthood. She compared it to an embassy ball without the diplomacy. Although, she had slyly noted, social politics were often involved, including, in some cases, the selection of future mates. But that had not been true in his mother's case.
Hearing the mention of a prom from a Vulcan struck Swenson as funny, and he chuckled. "Yes, I did. I'm surprised she would have mentioned it." He extended his hand toward a bench. "Here, have a seat. I'll be happy to tell you about the garden. I could use a break."
Spock did so. Swenson seemed pleased.
"Never in a million years would I have expected to meet you here," he said. "It looks like you were just out for a jog."
"I was," Spock said. "My presence here is quite by accident."
"Ah, maybe not," Swenson said thoughtfully, "I don't know what your beliefs are, but maybe you were meant to find this place."
Spock considered running the statistical probabilities in his head, but decided to follow advice Nyota often gave him in Terran social situations: Just go with it, Spock.
"Now, about our garden…," Swenson began. "As you can see, there are various clinics around us. They are all subclinics of the Mayo Clinic system. But these clinics, in particular, deal with the toughest cases, the ones where the patients are not expected to survive for long, so most of the treatments are palliative.
"Your mother had a big heart. She saw how hard dealing with a grave illness was on the patients' families. She wanted to give them a pleasant retreat while their loved ones were under treatment here. So she decided to create a garden filled with beautiful flowers, someplace where these people could step out for just a bit and find a place where they could think about something other than sickness and death for a while.
"She went before the Mayo administrators and got permission to put the garden on this property. She got donations of flowers and bushes from garden centers and avid gardeners throughout the town. She got the whole school involved, plus volunteers from a couple gardening societies to lay out, plant, and maintain it. Once she got going on this, there was no stopping her."
He smiled. "Even after she left for school at Berkeley, she continued to raise funds for the upkeep. Eventually there were enough credits to create a perpetual trust fund for this garden and for a couple of others. Volunteers like myself keep them in good shape."
Then the man closed his eyes. "We always called this place 'Grayson Garden,' although it never had a formal name. But after…you know…," his voice cracked slightly, hesitating to mention Vulcan's destruction directly. "It seemed fitting that we name it after her."
Spock nodded, scanning the beds. Amanda had worked on many such projects during her life on many worlds, even on Vulcan itself. Her efforts were an asset to Sarek's career, winning respect from Vulcan's diplomatic hierarchy. Swenson's eyes watered. Spock noticed.
"Sir, are you indisposed?"
"Sorry," he replied. "She was a great woman. I owe your mother my life."
"How so?" Spock asked, curious. "If my query is too intrusive, please disregard it."
Swenson looked upward. "Amanda Grayson was the angel who came into my life when I was really messed up…," he began, then he shook his head. Amanda's son was Vulcan and probably needed a more straightforward approach.
"In my younger days, I had a lot of problems," he began again. "My family was dysfunctional, so there was no support at home. I was depressed. I had no direction in my life. I felt like I was always on the outside." He stopped. He did not want to offend his Vulcan visitor. "Sorry, stupid emotions."
Spock could relate to feeling "on the outside," but did not say so. "Apologies are unnecessary," he said. "Turbulent emotional states are common in human adolescents."
"Well, that's one way of putting it. My turbulence got to the point where I was close to suicide," Swenson continued. "Now, I don't know why or how, but somehow your mother must have known or sensed something because she took me under her wing. Long story short, she made sure that I knew that at least one person cared about me and how I was. She checked in with me every day. She became a friend, which is something I needed the most.
"She was popular, but she never dated anyone. So I have no idea why she asked me to go to the prom with her as her friend. But that was a real turning point for me. If Amanda Grayson thought I was worth bringing to the prom, then I had to be worth something, and, from that day on, I set out to make something of myself. Eventually I went on to college where I met my wife. Now I have a wonderful family, and I am the head dietician here at the Clinic. So when I heard that she…well…." He turned to Spock. "I am so sorry for your loss."
"I grieve with you on yours," he replied, using a common Vulcan reply of sympathy. "I believe that she would have appreciated your work here," he added.
Months of memorial services had taught Spock that most humans appreciated such sentiments, though this sentiment was simple truth. Amanda had often emphasized the value of service to others. Clearly her own commitment to such endeavors began well before she met Sarek. Spock noted that his mother was always true to herself. Even if he could not emulate it, it was a quality he always admired in her.
Suddenly his communicator beeped. He retrieved it from his pocket. "Excuse me, Mr. Swenson," he said flipping the device open. "Spock here."
"Spock, where are you?" It was Nyota. She sounded worried, really worried.
Spock, for once, did not know exactly where he was. He threw a questioning glace at Swenson.
"You're at Mayo Clinic D-3."
Nyota heard the information. "Ashayam! Are you hurt? What happened?"
"I am well. I have been running to maintain physical conditioning standards. I am resting."
"Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"
"You did not find the note on the kitchen table?"
"What note?" she asked. Spock sensed that she was relieved, but annoyed.
In the background, Allen's voice interrupted. "Uh, Nyota, it was stuck here under my plate."
Then Margaret's muffled voice. "How could you not have seen that? Didn't you look before you stuck your plate there?"
Then Nyota. "Uh, never mind.… When are you coming back?"
"I will start back shortly. I am approximately 10.2 kilometers away. Assuming a pace of—"
"—Spock, don't worry about calculating the time. Just get back safely, OK? We were worried sick!"
Swenson smiled at the interchange. Spock kept his expression neutral to mask shy embarrassment.
"I shall make it a priority," he stated, closing the device.
The two sat in silence for an awkward moment.
"Girlfriend?" Swenson asked, eyebrows raised.
Spock looked at a point off in the distance.
"Terran?" he asked again.
Spock reluctantly nodded confirmation. It was illogical to hide the obvious truth.
Swenson chuckled. "Then you better get going, Young Man, before you get in trouble!" He winked. "And was that Maggie Grayson I heard?"
"Maggie?"
"Margaret. She and Amanda used to tease me and call me 'Davey,' so I called them 'Maggie' and 'Mandy.' Tell Maggie that Davey sends his regards, and I'll be sure to call her and Allen sometime soon."
"I shall."
"It was a pleasure meeting you."
"I found our meeting edifying as well, Mr. Swenson." Spock stood up, and Swenson did the same. Spock lifted his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Sir."
The older man smiled. "And every bit of luck and success to you."
Spock turned and returned to the trail for the run back.
