A Promise to Remember (7 page)

Andie gasped. She stared at her fingernails and picked at the
chipped polish. "I'm sorry." Her words were a barely audible
whisper.

Blair exhaled, thankful that she had seen the truth so easily.
"That's all right. I know you just didn't see the whole picture."

She looked up, her eyes glistening and red. "I didn't mean for
questioning the boycott. I mean, I'm sorry that you don't have
any other children at home. I know you wanted more. I'm sorry
you got stuck with a defective wife."

Oh no. Surely she's not going dawn this road. Blair didn't have
the strength to deal with one more piece of sorrow or regret.
"Andie, it's not your fault you couldn't have more children. You
were a terrific mother to Chad. He was blessed to live his short
life with you. I'm blessed, too." He gathered his papers to signal
her that the conversation had ended.

"Listen, hon, I've got tons of paperwork. I'm going to go lock
myself in the office and plow through it, okay? We'll talk about
this more later."

She nodded and swiveled her back to him again. Blair left the
room. When he walked through the kitchen, he grabbed two
granola bars and a bottled water. So much for dinner.

The front door slammed with such force the entire house
rattled.

Melanie jerked around, dropping the ladle she'd been using.
It clattered across the white linoleum floor and splattered everything, including her bare feet, with scalding drops of tomato-beef
broth. She yelped and reached for a dish towel.

Sarah stormed into the kitchen. "That lawyer of yours has
ruined everything!"

Bone-weary grief and exhaustion blended with such force,
Melanie didn't have the energy to rise to this fight. She wiped
her foot with the towel and picked up the ladle. Inhaling a deep
breath, she made a great effort to speak in her most interestedmother voice, hoping to disarm whatever it was that had Sarah
so worked up. "What did he ruin, sweetheart?"

She dropped the ladle into the sink and reached into the
cabinets below for the all-purpose cleaner. She sprayed the
reddish-brown spots on the floor, counted to five, and then
straightened up and looked at Sarah.

The beautiful oval face flushed with frustration. Framed by
long blond hair that had been meticulously straightened before
tonight's Groundhog Day pizza feast, bright blue eyes glared at
her. Since Jeff died, those eyes always seemed to be bloodshot
or puffy from tears or slitted in anger, and Melanie wanted
nothing more than for the beauty to return to them, that the
spark of hope and joy might glimmer in them again. It was too
much to ask for her own to do the same-she knew that. Still,
she had hopes for Sarah.

Sarah must have seen something of the concern on her mother's face and her own expression softened. She turned away
and began to rummage through the refrigerator. "The mission
trip. You know, the one our youth group is supposed to take
this summer?"

"What does Les Stewart have to do with building houses in
Mexico?"

"We have to raise our support, remember?"

The sarcasm spewing from Sarah's voice broke through Melanie's weariness. Exhausted as she was, she wasn't willing to
listen to sixteen-year-old sass.

"Sarah, if you want to continue this conversation, you will
change your tone of voice now."

Sarah looked over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, and turned
back to the refrigerator.

Melanie counted to ten. Then twenty. She had worked so
hard to not burden Sarah with her pain; she didn't want it to
pour out of her now in a fit of anger. She tore a paper towel off
the roll, then bent down. The stew, now diffused to a pale shade
of pink in the cleaning solution, began to soak into the white
cloth. After she'd wiped up the last of the mess, she turned
toward her daughter.

Sarah had jumped onto the kitchen counter and sat crosslegged, peeling an orange. She did not look up.

Sufficiently calm to be sure of her voice, Melanie said, "Okay.
Tell me what Les Stewart has to do with your raising support
to go build houses in Mexico."

Sarah continued to study her orange. "We sent out our support
letters as a group, from the church. I found out tonight that a
bunch of people who'd pledged money decided not to give it
after all. It's because you're suing that other family"

Melanie felt the heat rise in her face. What kind of church
people were these? "Honey, it's only been two days since the lawsuit hit the paper. People are just in an uproar right now. Besides,
why would it change anything?" How dare these people even
suggest this? Hadn't her family been through enough already?

Then again-perhaps it was a teenager's overactive imagination doing the talking. "Maybe those other people just realized they weren't financially able to give the support right now. Have
you thought of that?"

Sarah glared over at her. "Jake Sterling told me!"

Melanie's hands began to shake, and she crossed her arms
so that Sarah wouldn't see it. "In front of everyone, he told you
it was because of the lawsuit?"

"No. He just announced we'd had some unexpected issues."
She popped a slice of orange into her mouth. "Sally told me
her mother said it was all my fault. I didn't believe her, so I
talked to Jake. Privately. He didn't say anything to the group.
Not that everyone won't figure it out soon enough." She wiped
her eye with her sleeve. "Even if they don't, I promised Juanita
I'd be back this summer. I promised to bring her a volleyball.
I promised I'd help build her house this year. Now what am I
supposed to say?"

Melanie thought about the dark-eyed young girl whose
haunted eyes stared out from the photo on Sarah's bedroom
wall. She thought about the half-dozen crayon drawings of
hearts, volleyballs, and Sarah. She thought what this meant
to her daughter. "We'll just see about this." She stomped down
the hall to Jeff's room, where she searched through the three
lines strung with cards. She lifted Jake Sterling's from the
line and stalked out of the room. She'd have a little talk with
Mr. Sterling.

The next morning, Melanie looked again at the address she'd
scrawled on the back of an old grocery list. She pulled it closer
to the window to read it in full sunlight, then looked at the
number on the building before her. This couldn't be right.

After driving several miles out of the city, she'd expected a
small driveway, a cottage or rambler. What she found was a
tiny parking lot outside a huge aluminum-sided warehouse,
the large sliding door thrown open to let in the crisp February
air. No signs adorned the building in any way-only smudged
windows and a rusting tin roof.

She pulled her car into a marked space, turned off the ignition, and made her way cautiously toward the entrance. Perhaps
the people inside could help her.

A loud roaring sound boomed out through the parking lot.
Melanie covered her ears and moved closer.

The place smelled of exhaust and hot metal. The combination blended into an intoxicating aroma that reminded her of
her old life, when she'd been young, carefree, and stupid. The
sound ceased for the moment.

She peeked inside the door. A man lay on his back, an engine
mounted on a block above him. She moved beside him and
knelt down. "Excuse me?"

He jerked up, followed by a thud and a groan.

Melanie stood and took a step backward. "Sorry."

"No worries. Didn't hear anybody come in, that's all." He
pulled himself from beneath the engine and sat up, rubbing
his head.

He was young. Very young. Not much more than twenty,
if that. His blue coveralls were covered with grease, as was
his face and the LA Dodgers baseball cap on his head. He
pushed himself off the ground and stood. "Can I help you with
something?"

"Sorry to bother you, but I think I've written down a wrong
address. I'm looking for Jake Sterling. Would you happen to
know if he lives around here?"

The kid smiled, revealing a row of straight white teeth. "You
wrote it down just fine. The address, I mean. This is Jake's
shop."

Melanie felt her mouth open, but no words came. She
looked around the massive garage, trying to take it in. This
was wrong.

"I'm Tony, by the way." The boy extended his hand.

Melanie reached to take it, but Tony yanked it back and
wiped it against his pants. Sorry. Been working on that engine
all morning. Forgot about the grease."

Melanie hadn't even noticed. Her shock was too great. This
was Jake Sterling's garage? The place where Jeff and his cell
group met once a week to study the Bible? She couldn't believe it.

Places like this she associated with fast bikes, fast times,
and not much else. What kind of man was this Jake, and what
would he be doing with a motorcycle shop?

"Jake's just in the back workshop. It's pretty dirty back there.
You can go wait in the office if you want, and I'll tell him you're
here. What did you say your name was?"

"Melanie. Melanie Johnston."

The kid's eyes grew wide. "Are you Jeff's mom?"

She nodded.

He threw out his arms and engulfed her. "Oh, man. That
whole thing just ripped me up." He squeezed her tight and
held on.

The shock of his emotion hit her in the gut. Oh, Jeff. How
can we bear this? How can we bear it? She took a deep breath
and held it until she was sure of her composure. Today needed
focus. Today was about Sarah.

Tony pulled away, his eyes tinged pink. He looked at his
greasy clothes, then back to her. "Oh, sorry about that. I lost
myself there for a minute."

Melanie looked down at her red T-shirt. It was dotted with
grease, but she didn't mind. "Don't worry. A hug like that is
worth a thousand T-shirts as far as I'm concerned." It was true.
It was people like Tony who helped her believe Jeff just might
not be forgotten.

"Where'd you say Jake was? Back through there?"

"Yeah. You really should wait in the office. I'm not kidding-it's
pretty grimy back there."

She smiled and looked at her shirt. "I don't mind." She
started toward the back room, then looked over her shoulder.
"Thanks."

"You kidding? My pleasure."

Melanie walked around a scattered group of chrome pieces,
stepped over a set of handlebars, and did her best to avoid a
pile of metal shavings. She managed to make it to the doorway
without mishap.

The smell, the look of the place, sent a little shiver down
her spine. It came from the kind of thrill she thought she'd left
behind. This place could make her forget her obligations. How
could Jeff have been coming here and she didn't know it?

She stuck her head over the threshold. "Hello?"

The clattering of metal against concrete drew her attention
to the far right wall. A man with a gray ponytail bent over and
picked up a wrench from the floor. As he straightened, Melanie
noted he was taller than she would have guessed, and quite thin.
Not your stereotypical Harley mechanic. When he was fully
upright, he looked toward the sound of the interruption.

A full second after he first looked at her, his eyes flew open.
"Oh!" He dropped the wrench on a nearby counter and hurried
over to her. "Mrs. Johnston. Please, come in. I wish I'd known
you were coming-I'd have been waiting for you."

Melanie noticed the way the gray in his hair seemed to darken
the brown of his eyes. Tinge them with mystery and danger.
Well, she didn't have a place in her life for any of that. "Mr.
Sterling, I've come to talk with you about Sarah, and the upcoming trip."

His face clouded. His fingers touched her elbow while the
other hand gestured back from where she'd come. "Please, let's
go sit in my office."

He directed her toward a small door in the middle of the
back wall. The contents of the office surprised her.

Though a cramped workspace, he'd kept it pristine. She'd
expected to see a desk piled high with invoices and biker magazines, but the scarred metal surface was almost empty. There
were a couple of posters of bands. Melanie recognized the names
as Christian groups. She'd bought their CDs for Jeff at Christmas. Melanie shook her head the tiniest bit. She couldn't let
herself disappear into memories. She scanned the rest of the
room.