Promises to Keep (25 page)

“Mom always said you were a country girl at heart,” Callie says. “God, this is so good. Thank you, Steff.”

“You’re welcome, and yes, I guess Mom was right. There’s something about the peace there. About waking up in this blanket of darkness where you can’t see anything at all, and it’s so quiet and so unbelievably peaceful.”

“So what do you actually do all day?” Callie thinks of her busy life, getting up with Eliza and Jack, feeding them, getting them on the bus, answering emails, editing photographs, going through paperwork, running to a shoot, grocery shopping, picking up the kids, driving them to activities, making dinner, going through the bedtime routine.

Oh God. The kids. She has to force herself to stop thinking about them, because although they are coming in every night to visit her, bringing in their dinner and eating it with her, curling up next to her on the bed and watching a movie with her, she is missing them desperately.

She is missing her life. Her routine. Her husband. She knows she cannot think about it too much, because she is powerless over it, and thinking about it will make her upset, and there is no point because until they know what is wrong with her they cannot send her home.

This morning was a shock. She had been feeling so much better yesterday that she started to consider that she might be home by the end of the week. It became more than just a thought; it swiftly became a fantasy, and then Callie’s reality. So much so that she had informed the nurse, Rita, that she would be home by Friday; she had missed Rita’s skeptical glance.

It hadn’t occurred to her at that stage that she wasn’t actually getting better, that it was just the copious and constant amount of the strongest drugs available to man that were helping her feel better.

Until this morning, when the pain rushed upon her like a vise, making her throw up twice, causing her to look longingly at the window, high on the thirteenth floor, and seriously consider smashing it and leaping out. Anything,
anything
, would be better than this pain.

She actually moaned. Continually. And then she cried, because she didn’t know what else to do, and she kept crying, not making any noise, just tears running down her face, until the drugs started to take effect and the vise started to ease.

And now, hours later, she feels almost normal. The pain is still there, but it’s a dull throb, bearable, almost as routine to her now as breathing.

“What do I
do
all day?” Steffi grins. “Are you kidding? Well, first, I let Fingal out. Apparently you’re totally not supposed to let deer-hounds out without a leash, but Mason says squirrels have been known to lick his paws and he hasn’t done anything.”

“Lick his paws? Really? Do squirrels lick?”

“I don’t know, but you know what I mean. So I let him out and build a fire—”

“You build a fire? Yourself?”

“I do! I learned from a video on You Tube!” She chuckles in delight.

“Okay. I’m impressed. Then what?”

“Then I make breakfast—steel-cut oats and fruit for me, and I made some great bread the other day so I’ve been eating toast too—and then I feed Fingal; later, when it starts to get light, I go out and talk to the chickens.”

“You talk to the chickens? Oh God. Reece was right. You are going mad living in the country.”

Steffi giggles. “I love them. I find them completely fascinating. I take my coffee out there and talk to them.”

“Do they, by any chance, say anything back?”

“Okay, now you’re the one going mad. I’m living in the country, not turning into Sybil, for God’s sake.”

“Kidding, okay?”

“Okay. So we sit for a while and I just watch them. They make me laugh. And then I have to feed the goats or they’ll be jealous . . .”

“Didn’t you say something about a caretaker? I thought there was a caretaker who feeds the animals.”

“There is, kind of, but I think he’s part-time. Mick. I think that’s part of the problem—Mick never seems to show up, which is why Mason wanted someone living there full-time to pick up the slack.”

“What’s the matter with Mick?”

“I don’t know. Mason said he tended to be unreliable.”

“Okay,” Callie says, nudging her. “So you’ve covered about half an hour. What do you do for the rest of the day?”

“I start cooking. There’s this great woman, Mary, who owns the general store, and she’s letting me sell some food there, so I make up big batches of soup and muffins and I drop those off to her in the morning. Then I usually hang out with her for a bit. I’m getting to know the town and the people, and I’m discovering the best perch is at Mary’s counter, so I spend a couple of hours there, reading the
New York Times
.”

“You actually read it?”

“Cover to cover. I know! Can you believe it? I don’t think I’ve ever read the whole paper in my entire life, and now I read it every day. Of course the irony is I now know everything about the arts scene in New York, and who’s doing what, and where, and I’m not there anymore.”

“It’s not exactly far. You could drive in and do stuff.”

Steffi pauses, for she has thought exactly the same thing. Susie keeps telling her to come in, since she is only an hour away . . . and yet it feels as if she is a lifetime away, and for the time being she needs to stay out of the city.

Steffi has spent her life running. She isn’t sure what from, or perhaps what to, but she has spent her life going from one relationship to the next, from one job to the next, from one group of friends to the next. Everything has been a drama, a whirlwind, a flurry of activity, and suddenly, out here, she has found something she never realized she was looking for: peace.

And the thought of jumping on a train, of elbowing through Grand Central, of weaving through the streets of New York and pushing her way into a crowded bar, or club, or restaurant, fills her with anxiety.

“I’m not ready to go back, you know?” she says to Callie. “Of course I’ll start going in, but I feel like this is my new life and I want to just embrace it for now. I’m loving it so much, I want to immerse myself in it totally. Does that make any sense?”

Tears fill Callie’s eyes. “Okay,” she says. “I know I shouldn’t say this because you’ve only just moved in, and it’s all so new, and knowing you, you could turn around in three weeks and say you hate the quiet and you miss the buzz of the city and you could move back there ri—”

“I’m not going to,” Steffi interrupts.

“That’s my point. I know. I think you’ve finally found where you belong.”

“That’s it!” Steffi says. “You’ve put your finger on it. It feels, oh God, I can’t believe I’m going to say something as clichéd as this, but it feels like I’ve come home.”

“Well, it’s hardly surprising,” Callie says, pushing the tray away and leaning back on the bed as the nurse comes in. “You’re a vegan chef with an inner earthy crunchy goddess who’s been held down by this rock chick you always thought you were supposed to be.”

“So I’m not really a rock chick? I’m an earthy crunchy goddess?”

“Yeah. Just make sure I don’t see you in any of Mom’s floor-length mirrored skirts.”

“Don’t worry.” Steffi grins. “There’s only so far I’m prepared to go.”

“M
ommy!” Eliza and Jack run in and crawl on the bed, both of them fighting to get to their mother first, while Honor gives her daughter a kiss, then settles herself in the armchair in the corner of the hospital room.

“Babies!” Callie croons, stroking their heads and kissing them.

“I have lots to show you,” Eliza says, first to crawl off the bed and go to her backpack on the floor by the door. “I did this project on kangaroos, and Mrs. Brumberger said I could bring it home to show you even though no one else was allowed to bring theirs home, but because you’re in the hospital and you can’t come in to our presentation I brought it to you. I have to bring it back to school tomorrow so it can go up on the wall with everyone else’s, okay?”

“Okay,” Callie says, as Jack cuddles into her, one arm flung across her chest, a beatific smile on his face as he raises his head from time to time to gaze at his mother with infinite love in his eyes.

He raises his hand and strokes her cheek, then leans in and kisses her before resting his head again on her shoulder, happy to just lie there, close to his mother.

“He would crawl back inside, if he could” had always been their joke, hers and Reece’s, for never had they known a boy love his mother quite as much as Jack loves Callie.

This is the highlight of her day, when her children run in, filled with energy, chattering away to the nurses, asking lots of questions. Yesterday they were sad, but today they are bubbling, climbing all over her, covering her with kisses and knocking into the IV stand every few seconds. She doesn’t mind. She is tired, happy to just lie and be with them, her heart bursting with love.

An hour later they are squabbling, as they so often do during “the witching hour.” Honor shoots a worried look toward Callie, who suddenly looks ill and worn-out, and announces it is time to go.

And then the tears start.

“Mommy!” They both cling to Callie, refusing to be pulled off the bed, while Honor tries to explain that Mommy is sick and it’s time to take her medicine.

“I don’t want to leave,” Jack cries, his little body heaving as Honor tries to lift him.

“Where’s Reece?” Callie implores her mother. “I thought Reece was bringing the kids tonight.”

“He got stuck at work,” Honor says, feeling guilty that she even has to tell Callie that. “He said he’s coming straight to the hospital but he wouldn’t be here until around eight.”

Callie says nothing, but her mouth is set in a straight line. She doesn’t have the energy for this, but what choice does she have?

 

Callie has told the story of her marriage so many times, of how independent she is, how much she loves her space, how their time apart keeps the romance alive, gives her and Reece something to look forward to. And yet . . . when she is not around, like now,
someone
needs to be.

When Reece shows up at the hospital, at nine o’clock, Callie wakes up slowly, kisses him and cuddles with him. She drifts up through the layers from her deep sleep, the time with the children having exhausted her, and after a few minutes, when she is fully awake and present, she looks at Reece.

“We need to talk.”

“I know, I know.” He runs his fingers through his hair as he sighs. “I’m late. I’m sorry. The traffic was terr—”

“Enough.” She holds up a hand. Her voice isn’t loud, but it is determined. “I don’t want to hear excuses. You said you would bring the children here at six o’clock, and you weren’t here, and that isn’t good enough.”

“I’m sorry, Callie, but when work gets—”

“Reece? I don’t give a fuck what happens with work.” She is so angry, she spits the words. “I care about what happens to my children, and what they are feeling, and how they are coping with their mother not being there
at all
. Do you understand? This isn’t the same as when I had cancer and came in for chemotherapy while they were in school, and okay, was tired a lot of the time, and in bed a lot of the time, but I was
home
. Nothing in their lives changed. They didn’t
need
you.

“Reece, they need you now. And I will not let you use work as an excuse. This is more important than work will ever be. And if I am not around, you will not bury yourself in work because it is easier to be at work than to deal with your children.”

Reece has turned white. “What do you mean, if you’re not around?” he says, after a long pause.

“If I die,” she says simply. With no emotion.

“Do you . . . have the results come back? Is there something you know?” He can barely speak; his voice is a strained whisper.

“No, there are no results back that tell us anything. And I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I am scared. Actually, no. I am terrified. And what terrifies me the most is what will happen to the children if you continue living the life I have always allowed you to live, and you do not step up to the plate.

“Do you hear me, Reece? If I die, I cannot let the children fall through the cracks. I won’t allow it. You are their father and you have to start
being
their father. That means if you say you’ll be here at six o’clock, you will be here at six o’clock. Fuck work. Fuck the traffic. Right now, until they adjust, and until we know what is wrong with me, I don’t want you going to work. You can work from home. And once we know what’s wrong, and how long I’ll be in for, you will still be home every night at six o’clock, and you will be there to give them breakfast in the morning.

“Not Jenn,” she continues, on a roll. “Not a babysitter. Not my mom, or my sister, or anyone else. And you have to step up now, Reece. Right now. No more excuses, no more traveling. I am asking you to be their father, and to be present in their lives. I am asking you to put them on the school bus every morning, and sit at the table with them for dinner every night. It has to start now, Reece.” Callie is crying. Sobbing. Her words are barely decipherable through her sobs, but Reece hears, and he is frightened.