Cross My Heart

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  He found her seated at the table, smoking a cigarette while water pooled on the floor near the cabinet beneath the sink. She hadn’t lied about the problem after all. He set his toolbox on the floor.

  “How long has this been going on?” He opened the cupboard door.

  “I don’t know. I noticed it a few days ago, I guess. I’ve been throwing towels down to soak it up.”

  “You should have called me right away.”

  She blew out a stream of smoke before asking, “Would you have answered my call?”

  “I answered this one, didn’t I?”

  She ignored his retort.

  “Mom, I always answer unless I’m doing something that requires no interruption.”

  “That’s what I am to you. An interruption.”

  “Don’t. Please. You know that isn’t what I meant.”

  She huffed at him but stayed silent.

  He retrieved more towels to mop up the water, then set to work. Fortunately, it wasn’t anything major, and he had the leak stopped in a half hour or so. By the time he was done, his mom had chain-smoked her way through a number of cigarettes, glowering at him when he looked her way but keeping her thoughts to herself. Ben knew that wouldn’t last.

  She broke her silence as he put away his tools. “Have you seen your grandfather lately?”

  “Yeah. We were together at church yesterday. As usual.”

  Another huff.

  He sat at the table opposite her. “You ought to join us next Sunday. We could all go out to lunch after the service is over.”

  “Are you kidding?” Her laughter was harsh. “I haven’t let anybody drag me to church since I got pregnant with you.”

  It was a fact he knew without her telling him.

  “How your grandfather roped you into that stupidity I’ll never know. Religion’s just a lie. A bunch of rules to put you in a box.”

  He wanted to ask how her life was going without God, but he swallowed the question. It wouldn’t help things. Until his mom was ready for her heart to be changed, he could talk himself blue in the face and still get nowhere.

  Grandpa Grant had told him of the sweet child Wendy Henning had been, of how she’d loved to crawl up onto his lap and shower him with kisses, of how she’d loved to stand on a stool in the kitchen and bake cookies with her mommy.

  “I’ve never known for certain what derailed her,” his grandpa had said. “I wish I knew. I’ve asked, but if she knows what it was, she hasn’t said.”

  Whatever had gone wrong for Ben’s mom during her teen years, he knew without question that it hadn’t been the fault of his grandparents. A more loving couple he’d never met.

  He frowned. Did he continue to blame his mom for the poor choices he himself had made as a teenager? Probably. Even after all these years. But blaming someone else changed nothing. He had to own the things he’d done. Own them and don’t repeat them. “Go and sin no more.”

  “You know what, Mom?” He stood.

  “What?”

  “I love you. You can say whatever you want about my faith, and it won’t change that. I choose to love you, even when you try to make me mad.” He rounded the table and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Let me know if the sink starts leaking again.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t really fix it?”

  “No.” He stretched out the word. “That’s not what I’m saying. Now, I’d better go. I’ve got another job waiting for me.”

  “You’d better sit down a minute. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  It was tempting to refuse. Instead, he took the chair opposite her a second time.

  “I’m worried about your granddad. I don’t think he’s been thinking right since Mom died.”

  “Grandpa? He’s as sharp as he’s ever been.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette and blew it out in his direction. “I’m going to see an attorney. Dad needs to be examined, and I think he should be declared . . . incompetent.”

  “Incompetent? Grandpa?”

  “For his own sake. I looked it up on the internet. It’ll have to go to court, and doctors will have to examine him. Then they’ll decide what’s in his best interests. If I’m right, they’d make me his guardian or something so I could manage his affairs.”

  Ben got to his feet again. “Mom, you can’t really mean to do this to him.”

  “It’s for his own good. He’s not spending his money right, and the way he’s going, he won’t have anything left when he gets really old.”

  Understanding washed through him, and his gut clenched. “This is about the farm. This is because Grandpa gave it to me instead of settling a lot of cash on you.”

  “You could take care of things. You could keep him from that ordeal.” She stubbed out the cigarette in a dirty ashtray. “You could give up on that stupid horse thing of yours, sell the farm, and make sure your grandfather has what he needs.”

  “And you have what you want. Right?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  He picked up his toolbox. “I feel sorry for you, Mom. You know that. You’re one of the sorriest people I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something.”

  She got to her feet, her eyes sparking in anger. “If you think they’d let you be his guardian, you can forget that. They’ll look at your record and know you can’t look after him.”

  The words stung more than he wanted them to, but he didn’t let her see it. He just shook his head, turned, and left the house.

  * * *

  Ashley had one of those lousy days at work. A customer, furious that a product wasn’t in stock, had taken it out on the nearest employee—who happened to be Ashley. She was still mulling over the unpleasant encounter when she pulled into her driveway and, much like what had happened two days before, saw Ben’s truck parked near the shed. Her spirit lifted at the sight. She hadn’t expected him to be there when she got off work. She stopped her truck and cut the engine, her eyes sweeping the yard until she found him near the farthest enclosure.

  “Hey.” She closed the door of the truck. “You’re still here.”

  “I guess I lost track of time. I like watching these two eat. I keep imagining them getting stronger.” He moved away from the fence. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.” She pointed toward the house. “Give me a sec while I let out my dogs. Is Dusty with you?”

  “Not today.”

  Ashley’s black-and-white border collie, Speed, and brown terrier mix, Jack, barreled out the door when she opened it. The pet door on the opposite side of the house let them into a shaded run with a concrete floor, but they much preferred the freedom of the yard and paddock. When not chasing squirrels, they normally followed somewhere close on her heels.

  The dogs let Ashley love on them for a few moments before heading over to Ben, needing to check out the visitor. But a few sniffs told them he wasn’t a stranger. They collected pats from him, and then they were off again, burning off their excess energy.

  Ben laughed as he watched them. “I need some of what they’ve got.”

  “Me too.” She motioned to her covered patio. “Would you like something cold to drink?”

  “Sure. If I’m not keeping you from anything.”

  “You aren’t. I’d actually like some company while I decompress. It was a rough day at the store.”

  She went inside to get two bottles of soda from the fridge. When she returned, Ben was seated in one of the Adirondack chairs, Ashley’s dogs getting their ears scratched, one on each side of him. She set his soda on the table next to his chair.

  “Sorry, Speed,” Ben said. “Sorry, Jack.” He stopped scratching and picked up the beverage. After taking a few swallows, he looked at Ashley. “Care to tell me about your day? I’m a good listener.”

  She almost said no, but an instant later she found herself describing the entire disagreeable encounter with the customer. Her upset bubbled up and spilled over. She hadn’t known how distressed she was until she detai
led the experience, and telling it seemed to upset her even more.

  Ben hadn’t exaggerated. He was a good listener. His eyes, filled with compassion, remained on her face the entire time. He shook his head or smiled sympathetically just when she needed him to do one or the other. Before she knew it, more than half an hour had passed with her talking the entire time. On the heels of that realization came another. She was no longer distressed.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “But you did. You let me unload, and it helped a lot.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve done my share of unloading on friends over the years. Glad I could do the same for you.”

  Friends? Yes. Even though they’d only known each other a couple of weeks, Ben had become her friend. She liked him. She felt she could trust him, and she didn’t trust men easily.

  “Hey, could I pay you back with dinner? Nothing fancy. I planned to make tacos tonight.”

  “Ashley, you don’t have to pay me back.”

  “Maybe not, but I’d like to do it. You’re going out of your way to help feed the horses. Besides, I don’t like to cook for myself.”

  “I get that. I don’t like to cook for one either. Seems like a waste of time.” He laughed. “But as much as I’d like to accept, I’ve got to get home. Dusty’s been shut up in the house for too long and will be wanting his dinner.” He gave her one of his crooked grins. “Can I get a rain check?”

  Her pulse did a funny dance. “Definitely. Bring Dusty with you. The dogs can play while we eat. How about tomorrow?”

  “Can’t do Tuesdays. I’ve got a men’s group I attend.”

  “Wednesday?” It surprised her how much she wanted him to say yes.

  He studied her with those extraordinary eyes of his. It felt as if he could see right inside of her. Finally, he said, “Okay. Wednesday it is. What time do you want me here?”

  “Six?”

  “Can I bring anything?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Just Dusty and yourself, Henning.” She used his last name, thinking it might make the invitation seem less important to her.

  “All right.” He drained the last of the soda from the bottle, then pushed up from the chair. “See you then.”

  * * *

  Ben’s thoughts had been dark after leaving his mom’s house earlier in the afternoon. Being with Ashley’s horses—feeding them, watching them eat, seeing small signs of recovery—had helped lighten his spirits. But it was seeing Ashley herself that had made him forget his worries, at least for that short interlude. There was something about her that made him want to smile. A lot.

  However, it wasn’t long after leaving her place that thoughts of his mom’s threats returned to plague him. As much as he wanted to keep it to himself, he knew he had to tell his grandfather. It was ludicrous to think Grandpa Grant was incompetent. The older man was surrounded by people who could attest to his soundness of mind, including several physicians. If his mom proceeded, she wouldn’t succeed, but it would still be a painful ordeal.

  “Please, God, don’t let her do this to Grandpa.”

  He turned into the drive and brought the truck to a stop, his gaze sweeping over the Henning farm, from the house to the chicken coop to the fields of alfalfa to the barn to the paddocks, and he felt a catch in his heart, imagining it sold, perhaps even parceled into lots for a subdivision. He couldn’t let that happen to the farm. He wouldn’t let it happen to his grandfather either.

  Sunday, December 7, 1941

  It was almost half past noon when Andrew returned from the barn on that Sunday in December. The day was clear and breezy, the temperature a few degrees above average for that time of year. No snow covered the ground, which made him thankful. He removed his coat and hung it on a hook inside the door. Helen, her mother, and Louisa were in the kitchen, chatting about a neighbor’s new baby. A ham was in the oven, and delicious odors wafted through the house. He hoped they would be called to dinner soon. He was hungry.

  He went into the living room where Ben sat on the floor, college textbooks scattered around him. Having him home so soon after Thanksgiving had been a pleasant surprise. Andrew nodded to Ben before sitting in his chair and reaching to turn on the radio. Normally he didn’t listen to the broadcast until after the family finished Sunday dinner, and God alone knew why he did something different today. Too tired to read, he supposed. Classical music came through the speaker, interspersed with a bit of static. He adjusted the tuner, and just as he released knob, the music stopped.

  “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin . . . Flash. Washington. The White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Stay tuned for further developments.”

  It seemed to Andrew that his heart stopped beating. He sat frozen in place, his hand still stretched toward the radio.

  “Dad?”

  He looked up. Ben now stood before him. Andrew stood, too, and put his arm around his oldest son’s shoulders. “We’re in it now,” he said softly.

  “Where’s Pearl Harbor?”

  “In the Pacific. Hawaii.” Andrew only knew this because of Hirsch Finkel. His neighbor kept himself apprised of what was happening around the world and shared the information with Andrew. Because Japan was an ally of Germany and Italy, it was of interest to Hirsch. The former professor had long been convinced the Japanese were a greater threat to the United States than what the news outlets reported.

  “Do you think they’ll tell us more soon?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know, son. I expect they will.”

  Ben looked toward the kitchen. “Should we tell Mom and Grandma?”

  “We’d better. It doesn’t seem like something we should keep from them.”

  Chapter 8

  Ashley sat at the small desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. She’d promised her mom that she would write to Dylan. But other than telling him to hang in there, it was difficult to know what else to say. She chewed on the end of her pen, mulling over her slim options. Finally, she decided that it didn’t matter so much what she said as long as she was upbeat about it.

  Dear Dylan,

  I hope you’re doing better since your last letter to Mom. Don’t forget that you can write to me too. I don’t need to get all my information through her. I like to hear from my little brother without any filter.

  I’ve been working hard around my little “homestead.” I’ve built a couple of new shelters for the horses. The fence around the arena’s been fixed. Inside the house, I painted the bathroom. I’m still not much of a housekeeper, but then I don’t have people coming inside much.

  I picked up a couple of new rescues last weekend. They are in really bad shape, but I hope they will pull through. I think the gelding’s doing better than the mare right now, but I’ve only had them four days.

  The most interesting thing that’s happened lately is that I’m helping a guy who’s starting a horse therapy program. He’s still considering all his options, but I think he plans to cater the most to troubled kids and people with developmental problems, as well as to abused horses needing a sanctuary. Anyway, I’m helping him find the right horses for his program. It’s really fun to hear him talk about it. He’s a super nice guy.

  Speed and Jack are both good, in case you were wondering. Work is the same as always. Good days and bad.

  I want you to know I’m pulling for you. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and we’ve had some bad arguments. But I love you. I want you to be well and happy. I hope you’ll forgive me if I said anything that’s hurt you. Be strong. You can do this. I know you can.

  Much love,

  Ashley

  It was true what Ashley wrote. She did love her brother, and she did want him to be well and happy. She hoped a day would come when they could be close again, the way they’d been when they were kids. Before their dad died and Dylan spiraled out of control.

  It was also true that she wasn’t much of a housekee
per. In fact, except for vegging in front of the TV some evenings, she would much rather be outside with the horses than dusting, making the bed, mopping floors, cooking, or doing dishes. Perhaps that’s why, when she purchased this place, she’d cared much more about the acreage and shed than she had about the one-bedroom house itself. However, following her spontaneous invitation for Ben to have dinner with her, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to do a thorough cleaning. No point letting him think her a complete slob.

  By the time he knocked on her door on Wednesday evening, her house was tidy, and the taco fixings were ready to go.

  “Hope I’m not early,” he said when she opened the door. He held a bouquet of flowers in his right hand, and Dusty sat obediently by his left leg.

  “You’re not early. Come in.” She looked down at the dog. “You too, boy.”

  By the time Ashley closed the door, Speed and Jack had come inside from the dog run. There was a lot of sniffing and tail wagging. Nobody growled, which was a good sign.

  “These are for you.” Ben held out the flowers.

  She smiled as she took the bouquet. “They weren’t necessary.”

  “I don’t like to show up empty-handed.”

  “Your parents raised you to be a gentleman.”

  He gave his head a brief shake. “If I am one, it’s because of my grandparents. Especially my grandpa. My mom . . . raised me alone.”

  “Really?” She carried the flowers to the sink and found a vase in the cupboard beneath it. “My dad died when I was nine, so my brother and I were raised by our mom too. She never remarried. You were lucky to have your grandparents close. Our only grandparents lived far away when we were little.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother. Older or younger?”

  She arranged the flowers in the vase. “Dylan’s three years younger than me.”

  “Does he live nearby?”

  This time she hesitated before answering, “No. He’s up in northern Idaho right now.” It was the truth without telling the whole truth. Was that respecting Dylan’s privacy, or was she protecting herself?