Promise Her

by Johnston, Andrea

  A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in.”

  Addy pops her head in the room, a look of sympathy on her face as she takes in my lack of readiness. One look is all it takes for the tears to flow. Rushing to me, she pulls me into a hug, and I sob. I release the frustrations and fears I know today will bring. After a few minutes of emotional purging, I step back and offer her a small smile. The look I receive tells me I must look pathetic.

  “Sorry. I know I’m running behind. I need about fifteen more minutes to get ready.”

  Sighing, she squeezes my hand and says, “There’s no rush. We have time. Have you taken your blood pressure yet? I didn’t like the earlier numbers.”

  Addy is a nurse, and when she arrived, Taylor told her I had been complaining of a minor headache and not feeling well. I tried explaining to them I have cried a lot, and that was why I had a headache. The small human in my uterus was the culprit behind my constant nausea, and they should both calm down. Neither were accepting of my reasoning, and Addy immediately began hovering. She’s had me checking my blood pressure every two to three hours and ordering me to rest and nap more than the average toddler would.

  As overwhelming as hovering can be, I’m grateful someone is here to force me to take care of myself. It would be easy to ignore it all and just crawl in my bed and wait for this all to pass.

  “I did. It was better than earlier. I logged it; the paper is on the nightstand.” She walks to the side of the bed and picks up the paper, humming her approval of the numbers. My blood pressure was high early in my pregnancy, and I’ve had to take quite a bit of time off to rest. Light headedness, skyrocketed blood pressure, and a few dizzy spells last week has us all on edge. Everyone else more than me, but still, all of us are watching my numbers closely.

  “Let’s get you ready. The guys already left so it’s just you and me. We’ll take this as slow as you need.”

  I let Addy guide me to my bathroom and pull my hair into a low ponytail. Quickly, I wash my face and know there’s no reason to bother with much makeup. A little powder, swipe of shadow across my lids, and lipstick will have to do. Returning to my bedroom, I step into the black maxi dress and shimmy it over my hips before pulling the tank-style straps over my shoulders. The jersey knit clings to my body, and my boobs look like one good sneeze may give a show to the entire town. Slipping on a short-sleeved cardigan, I deem the outfit complete.

  As I take in my reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of my closet door, I hardly recognize the woman before me. Dark circles under my eyes show how little rest I’ve had regardless of the hours I’ve slept. My gaze lingers on my midsection and I’m reminded of the reason I need to take better care of myself. And that today will be harder than anyone can possibly understand.

  “Do you want heels or flats? Maybe both just in case?” Addy asks, holding up a pair of wedges in her left hand and flats in the other.

  “Flats. I will probably fall on my face in any sort of heel.”

  We both laugh at that, and it’s a welcome sound. Nodding her agreement, she holds out the flats to me and I slip them on my feet before rising to brush non-existent wrinkles from my dress. With a deep breath, I catch her eye in the mirror and bite my lower lip as the tears start to appear again.

  I don’t want to do this. I can’t sit through Henry’s friends talking about how much he’ll be missed. How sorry they are for my loss, for the loss to our unborn son. It’s all too much, but it has to be done. It’s my duty as his wife—widow. I’m a widow. A woman who a week ago was separated from her husband and the father of her unborn child. Now, I’m a woman facing life as a single mother and a widow.

  “This sucks, Addy.”

  Squeezing my shoulder, she nods and guides me from the room. We go through the motions of closing up the house and gathering our belongings before heading to her car. The lights flash twice as the doors unlock. Slipping into the passenger seat, I settle back and pull on my sunglasses as she drives us to the funeral home.

  “Henry Gilbert was my best friend. When we were snot-nosed kids eating dirt on the playground, we bonded over the important things in life: favorite cookies, coolest superhero, and why baths were stupid. We were five years old and that’s how simple life was. How I wish we could go back to those days, when life was nothing but dirt and chasing the street lights so we didn’t get in trouble. Our bond began in those years, and it was something that never broke. The day of Henry’s eighteenth birthday we made a life-altering decision together. As brothers, we committed to serve our country and protect those we loved most.”

  Taylor’s voice breaks a little and my heart aches for him. This isn’t only my loss today, it’s his. More than anyone else, he understands how I feel, the pain and the agony of never seeing Henry. Of never laughing with him or fighting with him until it hurts so bad you lose the fight. The overwhelming anger and pain from the loss of a man we both love runs deep in each of us. Somehow in our loss, the bond they shared is now part of who I am.

  Most of the men and women here are from our town of Fayhill or military friends. Henry was often the life of the party, the guy everyone wanted around for good times. Funnily enough, I don’t think he was the man they would call in the bad times. Empathy and patience weren’t his strongest virtues, but he was loved nonetheless. Looking around this room, I’m humbled by the impact he has left on this world.

  Taylor’s sob pulls me from my thoughts, my eyes returning to the podium where he stands.

  “The day Henry found out he was to be a father was one of the proudest days of his life. Building a life with Scarlett was his greatest accomplishment, but being a father was his greatest dream. I heard a change in him that day, the way he spoke of his wife and how much he loved her and they were building a family—”

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose while tilting my head back. He has no idea how much I wish that were true. Grant squeezes my hand, giving me the strength to tune back into Taylor’s eulogy.

  “I will miss my brother, my best friend. But, most of all,” he pauses, head tilted back, exhaling and sighing before looking toward the congregation, his gaze catching mine, “I will miss the ability to watch him become a father.” Tears stream down my face in time with his own. “If we can take anything away from this loss, I hope it is that we should live life to its fullest. We all need to walk out of here and put our fears and self-inflicted obstacles aside. Live the life we want, the one we dream of, and make it our reality.”

  With not a dry eye in the house, Taylor steps from the podium. As he approaches our row, he pauses and looks at me. The loss in his eyes, the pain in his soul, mimics my own and I want nothing but to hold him and let him know I understand. I get it. Instead, I attempt a slight smile, and he does the same before proceeding down the aisle and out of the building. He doesn’t sit with Addy or stand in the back of the room. He leaves. How I wish I could follow him.

  Since there will be no burial, the funeral director thanks everyone for attending and informs them all are welcome at Grant’s house for lunch and refreshments. Rising from our seats, Grant guides me from the pew and through a side door. This is the room set up for the family of the deceased, an opportunity to allow us a moment of peace from the other mourners.

  “You okay, Red? Need anything? Bottle of water?” Grant asks as I sit down on a large chair next to the window.

  “That would be great. I just need a minute of quiet, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course,“ he says, handing me a bottle of water from the display on the side table. “I’ll go let Addy know and be right back.”

  The silence of the room is welcome. There’s no chatter, no one is sniffling, and I don’t have to worry about how I look. Too sad. Not sad enough. Angry. Hurt. Lonely. Bitter. Alone. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back on the chair and rest my hand on my stomach and allow myself a few minutes of peace and quiet.

  The sound of the door closing draws me from the slumber I almost fel
l into. Slowly I open my eyes and expect to see Grant’s gray pants standing before me. Instead, I see Taylor Cain’s sad eyes. Kneeling before me, he places his hand atop mine and smiles.

  “You napping in here?”

  A small chuckle escapes before I say, “If only. I’d love a nap right now.” Instead, I sit up, his hand falling from mine. “Is it time to go?”

  “It is. But, before we go I wanted to ask why the Gilberts are here.”

  “Henry’s parents? They’re his parents, Taylor. Why wouldn’t they be here?”

  A low rumble similar to a growl falls from his lips, and he stands, turning his back to me.

  “I don’t like it, Scarlett. Henry hasn’t spoken to them since we left for basic. It was a part of his life he worked hard to separate from the one he built with you. I don’t understand why they’d come. You don’t see anyone else from that part of his life here. None of his friends or extended family. I’m surprised Lyle isn’t here.”

  Standing, I step up next to Taylor, looking out the window. His gaze is fixated on Henry’s parents. This is the first time I’ve met my in-laws and they seem nice enough. From this distance, I’d almost think it was Henry standing among the crowd if the man wasn’t so thin. Mrs. Gilbert is petite with long hair teased high. As we look at them, his father laughs with one of the guys who works at a local ranch, and his mother reapplies her lipstick.

  I place my hand on Taylor’s shoulder, pulling his attention from what is happening outside. “I know they weren’t the best of parents, but they seem to have gotten their act together. They deserve an opportunity to mourn the loss of their son.”

  Another growl is his only response before a nod and motion toward the door. I guess our conversation is over.

  Chapter 6

  Scarlett

  A memorial service for your soon-to-be ex-husband and father to your unborn son is exhausting. Trying to maneuver the fine line of hostess and widow only adds to that feeling. It’s been two days since Henry’s memorial and I’m still tired. Addy dragged me to the doctor yesterday because I have had next to no appetite the last few days, relying on a single cheese stick and two apples for nutrition. She was worried about my stress level and wanted the doctor to tell me in no uncertain terms to get my shit together. Really, I think it was more about her witnessing the conversation for her own peace of mind.

  It feels good to have someone like Addy on my side, making sure I’m taking better care of myself for the sake of my son. I was sad to see her leave this morning, but she has her own life to get back to in Lexington. A new town, a new love, and a new outlook on life, happiness looks good on my friend. Seeing her rebuild her life and find love again as a single mom gives me hope for the future.

  I understand her concerns about my health and this pregnancy. I’m scared. Scared that something will happen to the baby, that I’ll lose him and truly be alone. Secretly, I’d hoped calling my parents to tell them I was pregnant would have reunited us as a family. I’ve waited years to be reunited with my parents and siblings, to be included in their lives again. Unfortunately, even the news that I was having my first child wasn’t enough for them. To quote them: “We already have grandchildren.” Maxwell and Eliza both blessed them with picture perfect grandchildren who look beautiful on their annual holiday card. The one I still receive even if Henry and I were never included.

  Rubbing my hand in small circles across my abdomen, I take a deep breath and let my toes drag across the wooden porch as I swing in the last anniversary gift Henry gave me. A hand-crafted swing that I spend most evenings sitting on as I watch the sunset. Tonight, the sounds of Taylor in the kitchen fill the normally quiet backdrop of my sunset watch. He’s been a rock since arriving in Fayhill just over a week ago.

  Living in this town, building a life here, has created some of the best memories of my life. This home, while small, is full of both wonderful and devastating memories. The last few days with Taylor, the devastating memories have faded a little, letting new moments fill their space.

  “Hey, Red. You hungry?” Taylor asks as the screen door slams, startling me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s okay. Sit with me a bit first?”

  I scoot over a little, leaving room for him to take the spot next to me. After I found out I was pregnant, my first thought was about all the evenings I’d sit on this swing, holding my child, rocking him or her to sleep. It’s nice to start that tradition now.

  “How are you holding up?” Taylor asks, his arm resting on the back of the swing. He tugs at my ponytail and I smack his leg. This is something he’s naturally fallen into the role of: tormentor and friend. He’s done a good job of pulling me out of my thoughts, making me laugh or swear at him, depending on the circumstance, all while making sure I’m not needing for anything.

  “I’m okay. Trying to process everything. So many people loved Henry—”

  “And you. They love you too. And this baby you’re carrying. This town really rallied for you both. It makes me feel better about you being here, knowing so many people care about you.”

  Smiling, I twist in my seat trying to get comfortable. He’s right. This town has been wonderful and kind to both of us but the way they’ve rallied and been there for me has been amazing. Vera from the diner in town made sure the gathering after the burial was organized, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. My new friend, Mercy, kept me company and ran interference if I needed a break from all the attention.

  We sit and rock in silence for a few minutes before Taylor asks, “Did Henry’s parents leave?”

  “Yeah. I actually didn’t see them again after I went to lie down during the party. Is it weird to call it that? I’m sure there’s a different term but that seems more fitting for Henry.”

  We both laugh and continue to rock, neither of us speaking for a few minutes. Then I say, “It was the first time I met them. Did you know that?”

  Shaking his head, a small frown appears on his face. “Pretty crummy time to meet the in-laws, huh?”

  I let out an awkward chuckle as Taylor scrunches his face. “Sorry. Yeah it was interesting to say the least. Henry refused to talk to me much about them but I know the basics. The drinking and drugs. How they treated him. They weren’t what I expected. I think somehow, I had this vision of these horrible people, broken and loud. Demanding and argumentative.”

  Taylor’s body goes rigid at the mention of the treatment of his best friend by the two people who were supposed to love and support him. I’ve always been curious about Henry’s childhood, but when I’d push for information, we’d end up in a fight. Eventually I got tired of begging to be let into his past, so I let it go, focusing on the present and our own life. When I found out I was pregnant, Henry made promises to our child that worried me. Promises to never disrespect him, to always be proud of him, and to never embarrass him.

  “Just be careful with them, okay? My last memory of them isn’t too great. This version of them . . . it was strange. Like they got their act together after all these years. Yet, I did see his dad with a beer so clearly sobriety isn’t a thing.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt. His mom asked me about the benefits. Wanting to make sure the baby and I would be taken care of. That was nice of her.”

  Grunting, Taylor stands from the swing, his back to me. Running his hands through his hair, he sighs, frustration evident, before turning. “Do not talk to them about the benefits or any payout.”

  “Taylor—”

  “Promise me, Red. Don’t do it. Any money you receive is none of their business.”

  I take in the sight of him before me. He’s exhausted, sleeping on a pullout sofa bed does not allow for a decent night’s sleep. As he raises his arms above his head, fingers interlocking around his neck, I wonder what it is about the Gilberts that bothers him so much. Sure, they weren’t the best parents to Henry, and from what I’ve learned over the years, Taylor and Addy’s home wa
s an escape for my husband more than anything. A second family that was more like his primary family. But Taylor’s obvious discomfort and worry gives me more pause than anything else.

  “If it makes you feel better, fine,” I concede. “Now, did you mention something about food? You know what sounds delicious? Some fried cheese sticks and chicken wings.” I waggle my brows at him because, what man doesn’t want to indulge in bar food?

  Dropping his hands, he steps forward and extends a hand. “Addy would have my ass if I let you eat that. She said you need to limit your sodium intake and eat healthy. I was thinking I could grill some chicken, make us a salad.”

  Sighing, I take the offered hand and rise from the swing. Taking a step into his personal space, I poke my finger to his chest and smile at him. This man has sacrificed his own life to be here with me. To keep me grounded when I could so easily fall apart. His patience as I run from one emotion to another like the flip of a switch is something to be praised. Although, I think he’s about over my need to slam doors. He stiffens as I poke him in the chest, a reaction that only fuels my sassiness.

  “Sugar, I want some damn cheese sticks. I’ll concede the wings, but I’m having cheese. I’m pregnant and have been dreaming of deep-fried cheese, don’t let me down.”

  “Fine,” he relents, “but we’re posting a picture of the salad on social media so Addy knows I tried. By the way, using that nickname isn’t earning you any buddy points, either.”

  Laughing, I walk through the front door and to the kitchen to retrieve my box of frozen cheese sticks before tapping the buttons to preheat the oven. As the numbers tick down, letting me know how many minutes until the oven reaches the right temperature, I begin pulling the little sticks from the box and line them up on a cookie sheet.

  “You know, I’ve built a business on making these things. Why don’t you let me do that while you pull out the stuff for a salad?”

  “Sure, now that I’ve done the hard work.” My eyes roll and lips scrunch as I abandon the snacks and walk to the fridge.