A Promise to Remember (18 page)

The loud grinding of an engine filtered in from a distance,
growing closer. It grew so loud, Melanie looked over her
shoulder.

Jake coasted through the cemetery and parked beside her car.
He looked toward her, nodded a greeting, and then removed
his helmet and remained seated on his bike.

"See you tomorrow, Jeff." She stood and folded her small
blanket.

Jake kept his head discreetly turned until she approached.
He nodded again, his face grim. "Hi."

She loaded the blanket into the trunk of her car. "Did you
come to see Jeff?"

"Umm, actually, I'm here looking for you. Sarah said I'd find
you here. She, uh ... says you come out here a lot. She worries
about it."

Melanie leaned against the hood of her car. "No need to
worry." She looked him square in the face. This was none of
his business. "Why are you here?"

He looked at his hands. "Stupid mistake. Forgive me. I wanted
to talk to you about something, but I should have realized this
wasn't the place." He looked toward the headstone, then down
at his feet. The tip of his boot crunched an arc across the gravel,
then retraced the path. Did his chin quiver? "He was such a
great kid."

She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. "Yes, he was."
She wouldn't cry; Jeff still waited too close. "What do you need
to say?"

He took a deep breath and stared at the car trunk. "There's
something I need to tell you."

"Well, tell me, then."

"You remember those pictures in the paper of us?" He looked
at her, then quickly away. "I mean, of course you do, but I have
a friend who's a reporter. I called him, and he interviewed me
this afternoon. The story will run in tomorrow's newspaper."

There was something he wasn't saying. And that something
was not good. "What did you say?"

"Nothing bad-don't get me wrong." Jake kicked a pebble
and didn't look up. °I told him who I was, Jeff's mentor from
church. Told him you and I had coffee in the little cafe and I
showed you my bike on the way out. Explained to him that the
honky-tonk was next to the cafe, and the caption beneath the
picture was completely inaccurate."

"So is he going to run a story saying I wasn't really carousing
in the middle of the day with a mysterious motorcycle man?
Probably too late to stop the damage, but it couldn't hurt."

"Yes, he's going to say that. But ... there's more."

"More what?"

"I don't know why this is so hard." He licked his lips. "Somehow, I feel like you might be upset by the rest of the story, and
I don't want you to find out about it in the paper."

"Find out about what?"

"They are going to print a picture of Blair Phelps and me,
shaking hands."

"Shaking hands?" A surge of heat coursed through Melanie's veins. "Shaking hands? With that ... that ... wrecker of
lives?"

"I made a custom cycle for Blair Phelps' company last year.
The picture is important, because it shows that I have ties to
both families, and yet am sticking up for you. It shows I'm not
just some wild `mystery man' helping you cover your tracks."

"You mean to tell me that other family is paying your
paycheck?"

"They did last year."

"There's some irony for you. The same family that just cost me
my job financially supports yours. I guess we know where that
leaves you, now, don't we?" She jerked open the car door. The
key seemed to stick and would not slide into the ignition.

"Melanie, please. Talk to me." His face was inches from her
window.

The key slid into place. She turned it, put the car into gear,
and shoved her foot onto the gas pedal without ever acknowledging she'd heard him speak.

"Sarah, you're holding my arm so tight I almost think you're
afraid I'm going to turn and run away." Melanie only half joked
as she made her way through the parking lot. In truth, Sarah's
grip was so firm it hurt.

"Maybe that is what I'm afraid of. Ever thought of that?"
Sarah's grip eased a bit, but she did not let go.

A group of teenage girls stood huddled by the front door. "I
see your friends ahead. You can go join them if you want."

Sarah looked at the group but did not release her mother's
arm. "That's okay."

Melanie stopped walking and turned to her daughter. "Sarah,
what's wrong? Did you have a fight with Beth?"

"Sarah, over here!" Beth's voice from the huddled mass of
teenage womanhood answered Melanie's question. Sarah held
up a hand in response but stayed at her mother's side.

"It's just that I know we've been fighting a lot this week,
and I'm afraid you're going to turn your back on God forever
because of me."

Whatever answer Melanie expected, that was not it. "Do
what?"

"You know. I'm kind of like the only witness in your life, and
I've been really bad at it, and I know you're only coming to
church because of the mission trip thing, trying to get everyone
to leave me alone and bother you. And now you're not going to
really get to know God at all because I'm so bad at showing you
what He's like." She blurted out the speech in one anguished
breath.

"What makes you think it's your responsibility to show God
to me, anyway?"

"That's what Jeff always said."

"Jeff?" Melanie's ribs suddenly pushed against her lungs.

"Yeah. He always said it was up to me and him to show you
what God was really like, because you hadn't seen much in the
way of true Christianity in your life. He said it was our responsibility. Now he's gone, and it's just up to me, and I'm not as
good at it as he was."

"Oh, sweetie." Melanie wrapped her arms around Sarah's
shoulders while blinking back the sting in her eyes. "You do a
great job. It's my fault everything has gotten so bad. I'm-"

"Melanie, you're back. I'm so glad to see you. And, Sarah,
don't you look lovely today." Trish moved up beside Melanie
and hugged her arm.

"Sarah, are you coming?" The younger set stood waiting near
the door.

Melanie nodded her head toward the group. "You go ahead.
We'll talk more later."

Sarah nodded and shuffled toward the crowd. She looked
nervously over her shoulder as she joined the group. Melanie
waved some reassurance.

Trish grabbed her arm and started toward the building. "I
hope you don't have any plans for after church, because I have
a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"I'm not telling. You'll just have to wait and see."

Melanie sat through the service, but she was distracted and
had trouble concentrating. She had never realized the burden
that Sarah placed on herself for her spiritual well-being. She
needed to do something to ease that burden from her daughter-she certainly carried enough without all that. She saw
only one problem.

The only way she could think to help was to get more involved
in the church and the study of the Bible. She wasn't sure she
was ready to do that. When the Dirty Dozen walked forward
for the final song, Melanie was relieved to be free of her own
thoughts.

"You seemed a little fidgety today. Thinking about the surprise? Trish stood smiling, waiting.

"The surprise. Yes." Melanie scanned the congregation, looking for a glimpse of her tall daughter's blond hair.

"We're going to lunch."

"Oh, I don't think I can. Sarah and I rode together, and"

"She's coming, too. That's the surprise. A couple of other
women and I have arranged the Johnston support group. We
plan to take good care of Sarah and you, because we know this
is a difficult time, and we know there have been some things
said and done that make it even harder for you. So, right now,
we're packing up our cars and heading to Lorenzo's. We have
one table reserved for the women and another for the teenagers. We're planning to make this a tradition every Sunday
from now on. We don't want the two of you thinking you have
to face any of this alone."

Sarah came bounding down the aisle. "Mom, did you hear?
We're all going to Lorenzo's. Won't that be fun?"

Melanie wasn't sure, but there was no way she could deny
her daughter's enthusiasm. Especially after their talk this morning. A talk that still haunted her. Jake could probably help her understand, but she wasn't quite ready to turn to him again.
She knew she was in the wrong treating him the way she did,
but it was just another pain for her. And she had her share of
those already without adding more.

Andie mixed the small bead of yellow into the brown until it
became a tawny gold. She dipped her brush, worked the paint
into the bristles, and began to painstakingly add the effect of
sunlight to the portrait. This picture had formed in her mind
and refused to leave her in peace until she committed it to
canvas. She sat back and studied her efforts. The rust she'd felt
earlier was beginning to disappear from her work. Her fingers
and wrist remembered their dance, and she actually liked what
emerged before her.

The garage door squeaked open. Oh, no. Blair was home. She
didn't have the energy to face the fight that would ensue if he
found out how she'd spent the last few hours.

She jerked the painting off the easel and rushed to hide it
in the tiny closet, tossing in her old denim smock in one fast
movement. A quick hand wash later and she pulled the door
shut behind her.

By the time Blair opened the door from the garage, she had
managed to throw herself onto the couch and grab the remote.
Somehow, he never seemed to mind if she watched television,
but painting seemed to be another matter. It was absurd. He
came and went whenever he pleased-why should she be denied
a few hours of enjoyments

"Andie?" He appeared at the door of the living room.

She pretended to be absorbed in the news channel and acknowledged him with a silent, upraised hand. He sat in the
chair closest to the door and settled into the silence. When she
chanced a glance toward him, he was staring at the television as if transfixed by rumors of the newest diet breakthrough.
She knew that he, too, was grateful for the excuse not to talk
to each other. Things had gotten progressively worse until even
civil conversation seemed beyond their reach.

Blair finally stood. He picked up the sandals she'd been wearing. "I'll put these in the closet on my way to the study."

Andie trembled. She was so sick of hearing about her failures. Maybe it was time for counseling. No. That would just
give him the opportunity to criticize her in front of someone
else. Maybe separation was the only answer. Then she thought
of her father.

If she walked away from Blair, would she let him down the
same way she had her father? Was she doing that even now, by
her surly attitude? A chill ran down her spine.

The loud buzzing sound cut through the brooding air. Andie's
anger dissipated as annoyance began to grow. Who would be
stopping by uninvited on Sunday evening? She pressed the
button. "Yes?"

"Andie? It's Kyle Ledger. Can I come up and talk to Blair
and you for a minute?"

Oh no. Kyle was not only a member of their church but also
a member of the Santa Barbara police force. "What's wrong,
Kyle?"

Silence. "Um, I'd prefer to talk in person."

Andie buzzed him in, her fingers already growing cold. This
scene felt a little too familiar. She thought of Sam Campbell's
unexpected visit and the news it brought. Kyle's visit could
mean no less. But how? Chad was gone. The toxicology tests
had already been reported.

Andie opened the door and stood watching as headlights
pushed closer to her. She wanted to send them back.

Kyle parked in front of the house and climbed from his car,
carrying a bag in his hand. Even with only the porch light on his face, Andie could see the firm set of his jaw, the way he looked
not at her but at the house. Bad news was definitely coming.

"Who was at the ga-?" Blair's voice trailed off behind her.
A groan like that of some wounded animal escaped his throat.
Still, he stepped out onto the porch to greet their guest. "Kyle,
what brings you here?" His voice sounded strangled.