The Promise (8 page)

 14 

T
om sat at his usual table at the Java Stop, the last of three places where he spent the bulk of his days. Fred Messing was already there, sitting at his table just a few feet away. Thankfully, he was working on something that required his undivided attention, giving Tom a break from his constant chatter. It was just after 2:00 p.m.

He raised his laptop lid and opened an Excel program he'd created to help juggle his meager finances. Then he lifted a manila folder filled with bills and threatening collection letters out of his brief bag. The folder felt like it weighed ten pounds. He did a quick check of his bank account to make sure his unemployment check had auto-deposited. It had, but the realization brought no joy.

There wasn't enough in there to cover a fraction of their household expenses. The severance money the bank had given him when they let him go had just run out. And he only had four weeks of eligibility left to continue collecting unemployment funds.

His life was a nightmare, pure and simple.

But he felt a small glimmer of hope flickering inside, put there
by that job interview yesterday. Who knows, like Fred always said, today might be the day. He clicked on the keys and moved a bunch of numbers around, trying to figure out what things he could take care of now—
must
take care of now—and what things he could put off a little longer. He moved those things into a column called “Unpaid Debts” he'd been filling these past few months. It grew bigger and bigger by the week, and now totaled in the thousands.

It was silly, really. But somehow moving the money into that column made him feel a little better about his situation. It was just temporary. But it was as if, mentally, he could close that amount behind a door and pretend it wasn't really there. Deep down he knew it was like one of those old-timey slapstick routines, where a guy keeps shoving more and more things into a closet. Then one day somebody else comes along, opens the closet, and this avalanche of junk rains down on his head.

But today was not that day. Today was a day he just shoved more debt into the closet.

“So how did it go yesterday? Your interview, I mean.”

Tom looked up into the smiling face of Fred Messing. “Hard to know for sure, but I think it went really well. You know how these things are. Those interview guys are hard to read.”

“Yeah, I know. Especially that guy.”

“What guy?” Tom asked.

“That guy at Wilson Foods. I interviewed with him the day before.”

Great, Tom thought. How did Fred find out about that opening? Had he been looking at Tom's laptop? A memory flashed through Tom's mind. A few days ago. He had to use the restroom and had asked Fred to watch his stuff. That was the day he'd been filling out the online application for Wilson Foods. Anger began to stir inside him. “You did, huh? How did you find out about that opening?” Tom wasn't going to let him off the hook.

Fred smiled and said, “The Lord just opened the door, I guess.”

I'll bet, Tom thought. “Oh? How did he do that?”

“A friend at my church works there. He called me,” Fred said. “He's a delivery guy for them, but he saw the job go up on the board in the office. He knew I'm an IT guy and that I'd recently lost my job.” Fred's eyes shifted to the stack of bills lying next to Tom's computer. “That's the biggest temptation for me in all this.”

“What's that?”

“Juggling the bills, when you know there's not enough coming in to cover what's going out. Trusting that God will come through somehow before it's too late. I know his Word promises that he will. Those are the verses my wife and I read together every morning these days. Some days I'm in the ditch, and she pulls me out. Some days I pull her out. It's just hard trying to keep your mind off the negative, what-if stuff when you don't know God's plan. How are you guys handling that part of it? You been out of work a lot longer than me.”

What should Tom say? How should he answer this? “You know what? I never got my coffee.” He stood up and grabbed his refill cup. “Gotta pay the rent, right? Can you watch my stuff for a minute?” Obviously, Fred hadn't been stealing his leads.

“Sure, go get some coffee. I'll be here.”

As Tom stood there in line, his stomach was churning. He looked back at Fred happily clicking away on his laptop. He didn't seem to have a care in the world. How was that fair? They were both going through the same trial, but clearly Fred was in a totally different place. He tried to convince himself the difference was just the amount of time he'd spent in this ordeal compared to Fred. Give Fred another few months and he'd be in the exact same place as Tom.

But as soon as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He got
a sense that somehow Fred would be doing better, still managing to find a way to keep his smile. Fred was going through this with his wife's support and encouragement. Tom had thoughts about that lately, especially after spending time with Jean. Wondering if he should have told her all about losing his job from the beginning.

Right now, though, telling her seemed like an impossible option. She'd be worried sick. Tom had always managed their financial affairs. Part of the reason he did was because of how much it used to upset her when things got tight. She just couldn't relax till everything made perfect sense. Of the two of them, Tom had the business mind. Business was his major in college. It just made sense that he should take over their finances, and so he did. Just like his father had done in their home.

Jean's emotional state had completely improved after that, and Tom's desire to keep her in that happy state had grown stronger year after year, especially after Tommy and Carly were born. That was why he couldn't tell her that he'd lost his job. He had to be strong, for her and the kids. Besides, at the time, he'd been convinced he'd find a new job in a matter of weeks. A month at the most.

Then, of course, there was the issue of his father finding out the mess he'd made of things. And he would have found out, once Jean knew. She would want to get his dad involved, seek out his advice. Tom couldn't face that on top of everything else.

He stepped up to the counter, paid the refill price for his coffee, and dropped two quarters in the tip jar. As he added sugar and cream, he thought about another obstacle to telling Jean the truth. Perhaps the biggest obstacle of all. How could he ever explain why he'd lied to her and kept up this charade for so long? That was a door he never wanted to open but knew someday he must.

But not today.

He walked back and sat down. Fred picked up where he'd left off, repeating the question, “So how do you and your wife handle all the discouragement that comes in a trial like this? Got any tips for me?”

Tips? Gee, fresh out today. He didn't know why, but he decided just to say it. Maybe the shock value would get Fred to back off and give him some space. “To be honest with you, Fred, I don't think I can help you at all. My wife doesn't know I lost my job.”

Tom might just as soon have hit Fred in the head with a baseball bat. “Really?” That was all Fred said. For the first time in their odd relationship, Fred was speechless. After a few more awkward moments, he finally added, “Do you think that's a good idea?” Then Fred's phone rang.

Tom watched as Fred's face instantly changed from shock to sheer joy. Whatever he was hearing, it was obviously good news. He said things like, “Really?” and “Seriously?” and then “That sounds perfect” and “I can start whenever you're ready” and “Okay, then. Sounds great. See you Monday.”

Fred put down the phone. “You're not gonna believe this,” he said. “That was the hiring manager for Wilson Foods. I got the IT job. I start on Monday. Can you believe it? Thank you, Jesus.”

Tom couldn't believe it. It was his turn to be hit in the head with a baseball bat. He looked down at his laptop screen, his eyes focused on the column “Unpaid Debts.” Tom felt like he was standing in front of that closet door and Fred had just walked up and opened it, and an avalanche of junk rained down on top of him, burying him under its weight.

 15 

T
om was due home any minute. Jean was so nervous as she put the finishing touches on their dinner. She'd been out shopping and found a nice top sirloin in the marked-down cooler. It was almost half off but had to be either cooked today or frozen.

Today was a good day for a steak dinner, or at least she hoped it would be. They hadn't had a steak in so long. Normally, she'd wait and let Tom grill it. But she decided to do it herself today so that everything would be ready when he got home. The meat had been marinating in his favorite teriyaki sauce for hours.

She'd also found fresh asparagus and some sourdough bread and was just now tossing a fresh garden salad. She wanted everything to be perfect here at home and hoped he'd had a smooth day at work for once, so she could finally tell him the news tonight after dinner, after they put the kids in bed.

That morning, she had taken a home pregnancy test, the same brand she'd used with both Tommy and Carly. It had come out positive. She'd expected it would, but, unlike Tommy and Carly, this baby wasn't planned. She wanted to be excited, and part of her was. They had always said they wanted at least three or four children, although they hadn't talked about starting to try for number three just yet. Carly would be just over two years old when this baby was born. That was pretty good spacing, she thought.

But what would Tom think? That was the question.

She walked out from the kitchen to the family room to check on the kids. Carly was entertaining herself in her playpen, and Tommy's eyes were glued on a Veggie Tales video. “Tommy, you keep an eye on your sister while I go out on the patio and check on the steak.”

“Okay, Mommy.” He didn't even look up.

She slid the sliding glass door open and was greeted with the most enticing smell. She turned the steak over, and the sizzling aroma grew even stronger. She smiled as she watched the flames kick up momentarily in response to the savory juices spilling through the grate. Tom used to love to grill; the marinade for this teriyaki sauce was his recipe.

She remembered him talking about all the wonderful “Old Testament smells” he created while he grilled. He was convinced that part of the reason God had established burnt offerings and sacrifices in the Old Testament was because God loved the smell of great barbecue. She remembered walking out with a platter as he shared this belief with his little brother Doug the last time they had him over, quoting some passage in Leviticus. “And the priest shall burn all on the altar as a burnt sacrifice, an offering made by fire, a sweet aroma to the Lord.”

She poked at the sirloin in a few places and said a quiet prayer that she wouldn't turn it into a burnt sacrifice. Tom liked his steak medium rare. She guessed she had maybe three or four more minutes.

Walking back into the house, she heard the front door open. She listened a few moments but didn't hear him speak. Not a good sign. When he was in a good mood, he normally yelled out a greeting like, “Hey, hon, I'm home!” She waited a few moments more. Nothing.

Then Tommy looked up from the TV, saw him down the hall, and yelled, “Daddy, you're home!” with that generous
enthusiasm he lavished on Tom every day. He got up and ran toward his father. Still, Tom said nothing.

Then after a few seconds, a dreary moan. “Hey, Tommy.” As if Eeyore had uttered the words. She heard him sigh but couldn't see him yet from where she was standing in the family room. She wasn't sure she wanted to now.

She walked back into the kitchen instead of toward the hall.

Tom could barely taste his steak. If it had been a different day and he had been in a better mood, the steak might've tasted wonderful. But nothing tastes good when you're depressed.

He couldn't believe they gave that job to Fred. To Fred, of all people. Tom had two more years of IT experience than Fred, and he had leadership experience too. Fred had never led a team. Fred didn't even have a bachelor's degree. The only thing Fred had that Tom didn't was the Microsoft certification. Tom was doing his best to study, taking courses online to prepare himself for the test. But why should that matter? He could do the work; he'd been doing it for the bank for years without the certification.

Every time. Every single time . . . someone else got the job. For five months now. It was almost as if Tom had been blacklisted. Like someone was out there spreading lies about him, trying to make sure he'd never get hired. But that was crazy, wasn't it?

“Tom?”

“Huh?” Jean was talking to him from the other end of the table. What was she saying?

“The steak, is it all right? If it's not pink enough, we can switch because mine is perfect.”

“What? No, it's great. You cooked it just right.” He sawed off a piece and put it in his mouth. Smile as you chew, he told himself.

“I used your teriyaki recipe,” she said. “Did I get it right?”

Tom thought a moment, then swallowed. “I think so.” Smile,
he reminded himself. Tell her how grateful you are for all the trouble she went through to make this dinner for you. Look at this spread. Grilled asparagus in a lemon butter sauce. Sourdough bread. Homemade chocolate cake for dessert. Say something. Thank her.

But he didn't. All he could think about—the overriding, preoccupying focus that choked out every other thing—was the cost. They didn't have money for something like this. There was at least three dinners' worth of food on this table. What was Jean thinking?

Tom, you idiot.
What should she be thinking? She has no idea you're almost broke. Why would she?

But he'd been dropping her hints left and right, almost every night for weeks now. Was she really that dull?

“I'm eating steak, Daddy. Just like you. See?”

“What?” He looked over at Tommy sitting in a booster chair to his right. Carly was at the other end of the table in her high chair, near Jean.

“Mommy cut it up weel small so I wouldn't choke. See?”

“That's great, Tommy. You chew it up real good now.”

“I am. Carly's pieces are way smaller than mine. Wight, Mommy?”

“That's right,” Jean said. “So . . . guess you had a bad day at work?”

“Not the whole day. Just . . . something crummy happened at the end of the day, that's all.” Which wasn't totally a lie. Something crummy had happened, just not at work.

“What?”

“Just something. I really don't want to talk about it.” He cut off another piece of steak and ate it.

“Well, I wish you would.”

“Would what?”

“Talk about it. I wish you'd talk about it. I wish you'd let me
into your life a little. You're so moody and mopey all the time. I don't know why. Because you never want to talk about it. Michele stopped by yesterday. She and Allan talk about everything. Did you know that? They've only been married for seven months, and she probably knows Allan better than I know you.”

He looked up at her. They stared at each other a few moments.

“So . . . are you going to tell me what's bugging you?” she said.

Just tell her.

The thought came into his head like an audible voice.
Tell her the truth. For once in your miserable life, tell her the truth. You lost your job. You've been moody and mopey with good reason, because you're out of work and you have absolutely no idea how you guys are gonna make it. You can't make the car payment. You're starting to get threatening letters from a collection agency about it. You've just signed up for food stamps—wouldn't your father love to hear that? You're probably gonna lose the house. You're starting to pay half the utility bills on credit cards, and those cards are just about ready to max out. For reasons that make absolutely no sense, on any level, no one will hire you. Oh, and here's the best part . . . you've been hiding all of this for five months now, lying to her the entire time.

Go ahead, tell her.

But he couldn't. What he did say was, “So you've been talking about me behind my back with my sister?”

“What?”

“What did you tell Michele about me? About us?”

Jean's face filled with rage. She stood up.

“What's the matter, Mommy?”

She didn't answer their son, she just stood there glaring at Tom.

“Where are you going?” he said.

She threw her napkin on her plate and walked out of the dining room and up the stairs.