Promise Me

by Richard Paul Evans

  “Nothing.” He reached his hand up from the blanket and drew a finger across my cheek, down my jaw then to my lips. Then he softly cupped my chin and pulled it forward slightly as he leaned forward and we kissed. If I had thought I was in paradise before, I was now sure of it, engrossed in a delicious buffet of irony: hard and soft, passionate and gentle, thrill and peace, femininity and masculinity. The kiss was everything I had hoped it would be when I first hoped it would be. When he leaned back, I honestly felt a little dizzy, the way you feel when an amusement park ride suddenly comes to an end.

  Our sleigh slid into the gate behind the center and came to an abrupt stop. Roger turned around. “I’d like to thank you all for joining us. Hope you had a pleasant evening and be sure to come back and see us again real soon.”

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing Matthew’s hand, “Let’s go.” We walked back to the car. Matthew opened my door but I shut it. “Let’s get in back,” I said. I opened the back door and climbed in, moved the picnic basket to the front seat, then reached my hand out to him. He just stood there looking slightly nervous.

  “Come on,” I said. He slightly nodded, then climbed in and shut the door behind himself. I leaned into him, pressing my body, then lips, against his. He didn’t resist, but he wasn’t all there either. After a minute I pulled back, hurt and a little angry. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “Why won’t you kiss me? Aren’t you attracted to me?”

  He looked deeply into my eyes. “Of course I am. You’re gorgeous.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not ready for a physical relationship. I feel like I’m betraying her.”

  “Don’t you think she wants you to be happy?”

  He didn’t answer. He looked more than sad; he looked tormented. My hurt went away, replaced with sympathy.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I guess this is new territory for me. My husband ran off with every woman he met and you’re still loyal to your wife after she’s gone.” I looked into his eyes. “That’s really beautiful. You have a beautiful soul. It’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re ready, no matter how long it takes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you be okay holding me?”

  He nodded. “I’d like that.”

  I turned around and lay back into him. He wrapped his strong, warm arms around me. I loved this man. Truthfully, the anticipation only heightened my feelings for him.

  “I didn’t know there were men like you,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything.

  I reached up and caressed his head, my fingers sliding under his ears and back through his hair. “What is it about you? There’s something about you that I just can’t put my finger on. Something . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t know, just curious.”

  “Curious?”

  “Like when I asked you what year you graduated from school, you had to think about it. Or how you diagnosed Charlotte without even seeing her. What is it about you that you’re not telling me?”

  “What do you think I’m hiding?”

  “I have no idea. Who are you, Mr. Matthew?”

  “Now there’s a question.” He pulled me in tighter. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”

  I call it the Cardall Principle: The chance of finding a Band-Aid in your soup is directly proportionate to how much you’re enjoying it.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  When I think back to that time, my life should have been bliss. Charlotte was healthy again, and I had fallen in love with a sweet, beautiful man who loved both me and my daughter. It should have been perfect. But, as Roxanne always said, “Every rose has its thorns.”

  The first of the thorns arrived in the mailbox the following Thursday. I had just gotten home from work and was going though the mail when I came across a letter from my mortgage company. It was a final late-payment warning. I had ten days to bring my payments up to date or the bank would start foreclosure proceedings.

  I was terrified. I had no money. Marc’s life insurance was long gone, as was my emergency stash. Marc and I had never been late paying bills, but now, with only one paycheck, and a meager one at that, I was on a sinking ship. I went to my room and cried.

  Matthew came over that evening around six. He walked in carrying a white plastic sack. “Look what I found,” he said excitedly. “Gluten-free bread. It’s made from rice flour.” He handed me the sack.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice still weak from crying.

  His smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

  I wiped at my eyes as I carried the bread to the kitchen. “Nothing.”

  “Something’s obviously wrong. You can tell me.”

  I turned to look at him. “I’m just upset. I got a letter from my bank.”

  His brow furrowed. “What kind of letter?”

  I retrieved the letter from the counter and handed it to him. He looked it over, then set it down without saying anything.

  “It’s just so embarrassing,” I said. “I feel like a criminal or something.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  “How about a loan, just enough to catch up.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I still couldn’t pay you back.” I started to cry. “I just keep falling further behind. I just don’t make enough.”

  He walked around the counter and put his arms around me. I laid my head on his shoulder. “The house is too big for us anyway. We don’t need all this.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He thought for a minute then asked, “How much equity do you have in your home?”

  I sniffed. “I don’t know. I owe sixty-eight thousand dollars. I don’t know what it’s worth. Maybe a hundred twenty thousand.”

  “I think you could get a lot more if you made a few improvements.”

  “I can’t afford that, I have no money. That would only get me in more debt.”

  “You won’t need much. And I’ll do the work for free.”

  I looked up at him. “You can do carpentry?”

  “My father was a home builder. I grew up working weekends remodeling homes.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “It would be a shame to let this house go for only a hundred twenty thousand. So here’s the plan. First, you don’t want to sell a house in winter. There are fewer buyers and it will show a lot better in spring. So you take out a home-equity loan, enough to catch up on the payments and a few thousand extra to make some improvements, then, in April we sell your home. I think you could get an extra forty or fifty thousand out of it. That’s a lot of hours at the dry cleaner.”

  “You would really do that for me?”

  He touched my cheek. “Of course.”

  I threw my arms around him. “Why are you so good to me?”

  He smiled. “Because I like you.”

  That evening we walked around the house with a clipboard, paper and pen. We decided that the main floor only needed a little touch-up on the baseboards, a new shower curtain and tile in the master bathroom. The basement had been roughed in but was basically unfinished, needing drywall, carpet and paint. There were a few repairs outside the house as well: a shutter needed to be fixed and the north-side rain gutter needed replacing.

  After we had surveyed the house, we sat down at the kitchen table with the list. “I can do everything downstairs except the carpet,” Matthew said, tapping a pencil on the notepad as he thought through the work. “Drywall isn’t expensive. I’m guessing around four thousand, maybe five, depending on the quality of the carpet. I bet I could find a wholesaler and an independent carpet layer. I’d plan on about five, tops. With the extra finished rooms I’m betting you could sell for around a hundred fifty to a hundred sixty thousand.”

  “That would solve my financial problems.”

  “For a while,” he said. “And in the meantime, you wouldn’t have to worry about fi
nding a new place right now and moving in winter.”

  I walked over and sat on his lap, draping my arms around his neck. I kissed his cheek, then lay my head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you. I love you.”

  He was quiet a moment, then said, “I love you too.” After a few more minutes he exhaled deeply. “I’d better go.”

  “Do you have to?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got some things I need to do in the morning.”

  “If you must,” I pouted. I got off his lap and walked him to the door.

  “Can you take some time off at lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “We need to open up that home-equity loan, so I can get started.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought you were offering to take me out to lunch.”

  He touched my cheek and his smile returned. “I’ll do that too.” He looked into my face. “You know, you’re too beautiful for your own good. Or at least mine.”

  “You make me feel beautiful,” I said.

  He kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, Beth.”

  “Good night. Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He stepped back from me, then walked outside. I stood at the open door, shutting it only after he drove away. “Girl, you are in way over your head,” I said to myself. “Way, way over your head.” I smiled, then went to bed.

  If I were queen of the world, there wouldn’t be money.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  The next morning was overcast, with sporadic snow flurries. I was back at the press when Teresa walked by. She was wearing a leotard body suit that accentuated her curves.

  “Hey, Beth, have you been lifting weights?”

  I looked at her quizzically. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know, you just look different. Prettier.” Her observation sounded more like a complaint than a compliment. “My boyfriend noticed,” she said, and walked off.

  I couldn’t help but smile. The truth was, I felt prettier. An hour later I told Roxanne about the exchange.

  “It’s true, baby doll. I’ve never seen you this gorgeous. Never. And you have always been beautiful.”

  “He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me so happy.”

  She smiled. “Happy is pretty too.”

  Matthew came by the cleaners to pick me up a little after noon. As usual, he came in through the front lobby. As I walked from the back to greet him, Teresa walked around the front counter. “Hi, handsome.”

  I stopped when I saw her approach him. Roxanne was in back ironing vests and was watching as well. “What is she doing?” Suddenly she turned red. “She’s hitting on your man. I’m going to kill that little hussy,” she said, setting down the iron. “I’m going to stick her head in a buck press.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I want to see this.”

  Teresa moved seductively toward him. “Can I help you?”

  Matthew looked amused. “You must be Teresa.”

  She smiled coquettishly. “How did you know?”

  “Your reputation precedes you. Would you mind telling Beth I’m here?”

  Her smile fell. “Sure.” She walked back, surprised to find both Roxanne and I standing there. Roxanne glared at her but held her tongue.

  “Your man’s here,” she said snidely.

  “Thank you, Teresa,” I said.

  “Don’t mention it. I’m going to the bathroom.” She stormed off.

  “Revenge is sweet,” Roxanne said. “Like nectar.”

  “See you, hon,” I said.

  “Have a good lunch.”

  Matthew smiled when he saw me. He greeted me with a hug. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  When we were in his car, I said, “So you met Teresa.”

  “Yeah. Was she hitting on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t she know I’m yours?”

  The way he said that made me happy on many levels. “She knew.”

  “What a skank,” he said.

  I burst out laughing. “I just love you.”

  Outside of shopping, I pretty much hate anything to do with money, and the visit to the bank was even more excruciating than I thought it would be. I didn’t understand all the talk about points, HELOCs and adjustable rates. In the end, all I came away with was that I was approved for a $63,000 loan.

  As we were finishing the paperwork, Matthew asked, “Do you mind if we make me a cosignatory on the loan? That way you won’t have to come down here every time I need to buy supplies.”

  “Fine with me,” I said. “I hate this stuff.” I looked at the loan officer. “No offense to you.”

  “None taken,” he said. “You’ll just need to sign here.”

  I signed my name on the line he pointed to.

  Matthew asked, “How much do you need to catch up your mortgage?”

  “Let’s see. It’s nine hundred thirty-seven dollars a month, and I’m two months behind.”

  “Almost nineteen hundred. Let’s take out twenty-eight hundred right now. That will cover you until April when we list the house.”

  “That sounds good,” I said.

  “Make the check out to Beth Cardall,” Matthew said.

  “I’ll be just a minute,” the banker said, rising.

  I said to Matthew, “Thank you for helping me.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure,” he said.

  For the first time in weeks the gnawing pain of debt was gone.

  We walked out of the bank with a folder full of documents. “This belongs to you,” Matthew said, handing me the packet. “Now where would you like to go to lunch?”

  “On a day like this, soup sounds kind of good.”

  “There’s a great little soup place by my apartment. They have the best split-pea soup.”

  “I hate split-pea.”

  “That’s not all they have,” he said. “It’s just what I like.”

  The restaurant was not what I expected. It was a small, cluttered dive, though surprisingly popular. I held a table for us while Matthew got our soup—split-pea for him, tomato basil for me—with Diet Cokes and a turkey sandwich to share.

  As we were eating, I said, “You said you live around here.”

  Matthew nodded. “Just over on the next street.”

  “Can I see where you live?”

  He looked a little uncomfortable. “It’s not much to look at. It’s a basement apartment. I moved here without a place to stay so I just took the first place I found.”

  “Could we at least drive by?”

  “If we must,” he said.

  After we finished eating, we climbed into his car and drove by his apartment. I understood why he was hesitant to show me his place. The neighborhood was poor. The homes were unkempt and overgrown and the yards filled with clutter. The house where Matthew rented was old and decrepit, with a broken-down truck in the side yard next to a large stack of rusted pipes. The entry to his apartment was on the side of the house and was entered by a flight of concrete steps covered by a corrugated plastic roof. His BMW looked remarkably out of place in the neighborhood. I was surprised that he would live in such a run-down place.

  “I warned you,” he said.

  “It’s not so bad,” I replied.

  “Are you crazy?” he said smiling. “It’s a dump. This place makes the landfill look like Central Park.”

  “You’re right, it’s awful. Aren’t you afraid to park your car here?”

  “A little. Now you know why we meet at your place. But don’t worry. I’m going to be moving soon. I’m about to close a big deal.”

  “You’re working again?”

  “I never really stopped. I’ve always got my fingers in a few deals. This is the big one I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Believe me, it’s a big one. Best of all, it’s a sure bet.”

  I had no idea that his sure bet somehow involved me.

  Only fools and chi
ldren believe that covering your eyes makes the monsters go away.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  It snowed through the night, enough to bring out the snowplows, and I woke to the sound of a plow’s metal blade scraping down our street. As much as I wanted to sleep in, I got up and dressed. Then I got Charlotte dressed and ready for the day.

  In light of my financial crisis I had asked Roxanne to schedule me on Saturdays to bring in a little extra cash. My neighbor, Margaret, offered to save me child-care expenses by inviting Charlotte over to play with Katie for the day.

  Even though Prompt didn’t clean or press clothing on weekends, Saturday mornings were still the busiest day of the week with pickups and drop-offs. Predictably we were swamped, and our small lobby was crowded to capacity, with more customers waiting outside the doors, their arms full of clothing. I was busy ringing up an order when Roxanne answered the phone. She shouted to me over the din. “Beth, it’s your neighbor.”

  “She’s got Charlotte. Tell her I’ll be right there.” I hurriedly finished the transaction I was working on, then grabbed the phone from the counter. “Margaret?”

  “Hi, Beth. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” Her voice was tense.

  “Is Charlotte all right?”

  “She’s fine. She and Katie are in the backyard making a snowman. I called for another reason. My husband George just called from work. Did you know he works at Zions Bank?”

  I wondered what this could possibly have to do with me and if it could wait. “No, I didn’t.”

  “He’s the manager at the Holladay Branch. A transaction came across his desk yesterday afternoon that he’s a little concerned about.”

  “A transaction?”

  “It’s in your name. How well do you know Matthew Principato?”

  The way she asked made me nervous. “Pretty well. Why?”

  “I don’t mean to alarm you, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, I just felt I should check with you to be sure. Did you know that Matthew took a loan out against your house?”

  I breathed out in relief. “Oh, yes. I know. He’s helping me make some home improvements, so I put him on the account so he could take money out when he needed it.”