A Promise to Remember (29 page)

He flicked up his middle finger and screamed at her. "Watch
it, lady. You'll kill someone driving like that."

She had almost been responsible for the death of another
teenage boy. Oh, dear God, help me. She pulled into the closest parking lot, a hardware store, and laid her head against the wheel. She needed to regain her composure before she attempted any more driving.

Oh yes. The bracelet. She lifted her head and completed
the removal. There was no doubt now. Blair had been caught.
The only question that remained was what she was going to
do about it.

Remembering her resolve to quit acting as a doormat, she
decided to confront him. She would demand the complete truth.
Was Blair in love with someone else, or was he using this other
woman to numb his grief? Did he blame Andie and want to
punish her?

She drove home, her eyes constantly scanning the side of the
road for pedestrians-that was one near-miss she didn't plan
to repeat. When she parked in her garage, she'd never been so
thankful to arrive safely home.

The sun set and the full moon appeared in the star-filled
sky. Their beauty would normally inspire her to want to paint
something. Tonight they screamed at her like a lie. Tonight she
just saw how tiny they were. A pinpoint of hope in a void so big
she couldn't help but get dizzy beneath it. She'd never really
looked into the emptiness before, truly looked, but tonight when
she did, she recognized it. It was her. Her home. Her marriage.
Her life. Empty and cold, and not even the glint of Blair's gift
could warm it.

Sometime during the 2:00 a.m. movie she fell asleep on the
living room sofa. At six, she awoke to the sound of movement.
The door from the garage squeaked open. Andie turned her back
to the hallway. She heard the sound of Blair's footsteps going up
the stairs. In a few minutes, she heard them return. "Andie?"

She didn't answer. She heard his footsteps growing closer.
He touched her shoulder. "There you are. Must have been a
good movie."

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he raked
his hands across his bloodshot eyes. "Sorry I'm so late getting
home. I worked until almost two o'clock, then fell asleep on the
couch in my office. I'm going to get some sleep. You can make
it to church without me today, huh?"

"Sure."

He stumbled from the room, apparently unaware-or perhaps he just didn't care-that she was angry. May, time for n
neu' plan.

"You'd better hurry and get dressed or we'll be late." Sarah looked
across the breakfast table, hope shining in her eyes.

Melanie took a sip of coffee. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll
skip church today."

"Mo-o-om." Sarah drew the word out into three syllables to
fully demonstrate her displeasure.

"Sa-r-rah." Melanie lifted the paper so she didn't have to see
the spark fading in her daughter's eyes. It would only fan the
flames of guilt. The story on the latest natural disaster in Africa
looked interesting, but Sarah's sad face superseded it.

"You've been up for three hours. How can you suddenly be
too tired to get ready for church? This is not about tired."

"I said I'm tired, and that's the end of it."

"Sure it is." Sarah shoved her chair back from the table and
stormed from the room, leaving her half-eaten bowl of cereal
behind.

Melanie bit back the demand that her daughter return to the
table, finish her breakfast, and clean up the mess. As much as
she wanted to do it, the feeling that she was somehow the one
at fault kept her quiet. Still, there were ways to behave. Proper ways. And Melanie had seen too often what happened when
children got to act any way they wanted.

She stood and walked to the closed door of Sarah's room.
She raised her hand to knock, but couldn't bring herself to
do it. That nagging guilt wouldn't let her. You couldn't punish
someone for pointing out your lies, and Melanie knew it wasn't
exhaustion that kept her from church. She was hiding. Resigned,
she turned and walked back into the kitchen, where she picked
up Sarah's bowl, washed it out, and put it in the dishwasher. A
peace offering. Satisfied that she'd done her part, she sat back at
the table and made a point of looking at the paper when Sarah
came through a few minutes later.

The unmistakable beep of Beth's mother's car sounded in the
driveway. Sarah must have called her from her room.

"Have a nice time."

The door squeaked open. "Yeah, whatever."

Melanie's mouth opened, but she clamped it shut. One thing
she had learned in dealing with teenagers was that sometimes
it was best to let things cool down for a while. She would not
tolerate sass, but she would postpone a little mother-daughter
talk until Sarah returned home.

She wandered around the house aimlessly for a while after
Sarah's departure, feeling miserable for reasons she didn't fully
understand. The pile of laundry overflowing from the hamper
pulled her back into reality. There were plenty of things that
needed doing. One thing a single mother was never allowed
was time to mope.

She dove into the pile of laundry, cleaned the bathrooms and
the kitchen, then ran the vacuum. Last, she picked up a dustrag
and walked into Jeff's room. Two months. Actually, it had been
two and a half months since her son last set foot in this room,
yet the memories were so strong she still expected him to come walking through the door at any minute, declaring the whole
thing a bad joke or, perhaps, a terrible dream.

His lanky frame would saunter in any minute now, just like
he had at Christmas.

She could still smell the cinnamon candles, still see his boyish face, hear the happiness in his voice. "Merry Christmas,
Mom." He held out a package wrapped in red paper. "Sorry I
didn't have any money to get you a real gift." The lights twinkled
on the tree behind him.

"Oh, Jeff, you know I don't need anything." She had opened
the oblong package and found a framed 8 x 10 photo of Jeff
and Sarah standing in the surf at Goleta Beach. Tears stung her
eyes. "Oh, this is perfect." And it was.

Jeff hugged her, then whispered loud enough for Sarah to
hear. "It'd been a lot better without the chick, but I couldn't
get rid of her. You know what I mean?"

Sarah had thrown a stuffed reindeer at him-a leftover from
her childhood that she still carried around all through the holidays. A full-blown pillow fight had ensued, until all three of
them had collapsed in laughter.

Melanie looked at the picture of them at Knott's Berry Farm
from last summer Jeff had kept on his desk. So much joy and
hope. So much love. So much faith.

The word startled Melanie because she realized what a big
part of Jeff it was. And she'd been forgetting it.

The sound of a car in the driveway forced Melanie from the
room. She closed the door carefully behind her and dumped the
dustrag in the laundry pile on her bedroom floor. She steeled
herself for the battle ahead with Sarah.

The doorbell rang. The front door was not locked, and even
if it was, Sarah had a key. This was a step too far. Melanie had
given her space and time to settle down, but now her daughter pushed her too far. Melanie rushed down the hall and jerked the
door open, her face heating. "Sarah Johnston, this is not"

Trish's eyes startled at Melanie's outburst, but she quickly
recovered her composure.

Melanie's face flushed hot, this time from embarrassment.
"Trish. I thought you were Sarah."

The corner of Trish's mouth twitched. "So I gathered." She
stood, waiting.

"What brings you here?"

"Lunch."

"What?"

"Lunch. The other women are going to meet us at the restaurant. I gave them my order, and since you always eat the same
thing, they are placing yours, too. Chop, chop. We've got to get
moving or our food will get cold."

"Trish, I didn't come to church today"

"Well, duh. I wouldn't be standing on your front porch right
now if you did, now, would I? A deal is a deal. We've made a
vow to hang with you every Sunday until the trial, and I, for
one, intend to keep my end of the bargain. Now, come on. You
can ride with me."

Melanie looked down at the old T-shirt and pair of sweats
she was wearing. "I'm not dressed."

"I'll give you one minute. After that, I'm dragging you out,
regardless."

"But I-"

"Fifty-five seconds." Trish put her hands on her hips and
tapped her foot.

"But, Sarah-"

"Already at the restaurant with her friends. Fifty seconds."

"Okay, okay. Come in and have a seat while I change." Trish
followed her inside while Melanie rushed back to her room in
search of jeans and a decent shirt. She threw on a button-up shirt and her favorite pair of Levi's. What was it about these
people that they wouldn't take no for an answer? They just kept
coming around trying to help, no matter what she did. Didn't
they ever give up?

The realization hit her. They were like Jeff. He always saw the
good in people. Always went the extra mile to support someone
he felt needed help. Maybe there was something to that faith
thing after all.

Blair woke, groggy, eyelids heavy as granite. His face felt hammered in, his tongue was dried to the roof of his mouth, and the
slightest movement twisted his stomach with nausea. A small
joke from his fraternity hangovers resurfaced; guys would ask,
"You get the license plate of the truck that ran me over?" His
stomach surged. How could that have been funny?

He sat up and rubbed his head. What time was it? He looked
toward the clock on the bedside table. One-fifteen.

Andie must be home from church by now. He lowered his
legs over the side of the bed, planning to go talk to her.

No. Wait. Better to shower first. Two staggering steps and
his foot snagged on his shirt, hastily discarded in the middle
of the floor. He stumbled, and this time the motion was too
much. He ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of
his stomach, praying Andie wouldn't suddenly decide to come
check on him.

After a minute or three on the tile, he stood, splashed cold
water on his face, then brushed his teeth. When he looked at
the mirror, his reflection shocked him. Pale and stubbled, he
looked like he belonged on lower State Street, cup in his hand,
a sign on his lap. He stumbled into the shower, letting cool
water wash over him. Slowly, his mind began to rouse, but as it did, the shooting pain in his head worsened. Maybe getting
up was a mistake.

Eventually he got out, managed to throw on a pair of jeans
and a T-shirt, then edged down the stairs, one step at a time,
clutching the rails for support. The floor below appeared almost
fluid, undulating like the waves on a shore.

When he reached the bottom, he took a cautious step. Solid.
Good. He practiced his excuse for Andie and walked in the
general direction of the coffeepot. The kitchen, along with the
rest of the house, stood dark and apparently empty. Andie must
have gone to lunch with some friends after church. Just as well.
It would give him a little more time to get his act together. He'd
microwave some leftover coffee and be good to go by the time
she returned.

He picked up the carafe. It was empty. Odd. Andie never
went anywhere without at least one cup.

An engine revved up the drive, intensifying the pain in Blair's
head. Only one person screeched like that. Great. Andie must
be bringing Christi home with her from church. All he needed
right now was to listen to incessant female chatter. Maybe he'd
make up an excuse about having to get to work.

He watched Christi's car skid to a stop outside the kitchen
window, his plan of escape slowly pulling together in his mind.
She climbed out of the car. Alone.

Unnoticed in the dark kitchen, Blair watched her stride toward the back door. Her rapid steps caused the scarf she wore
around her neck to flap behind her, like the Bloody Red Baron
in his flying Fokker. Yep, it fit her. Even the car was the right
color. She tried the lock, then pounded on the door with a hit
too much enthusiasm. The sound shot pain through his skull.