Promise

by Trinidad West

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-537-2

  Promise © 2005 by Trinidad West

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2005 by Stacey L. King

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  For the first time since returning home, Dennie began to feel it wasn't a mistake. She leaned back in the lawn chair and gazed up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves that shaded her, letting the sound of children playing in the pool wash over her. A few more afternoons like this and she just might start feeling good about her life again. Cold drink in hand, warm breeze playing over her skin, surrounded by a welcoming family—maybe not her family, but a family she'd known for decades.

  Her mother's old friend Beverly had cried when they'd bumped into each other in the cookies and crackers isle of the grocery store not long after Dennie's return. Why hadn't Dennie called, Beverly wanted to know. Why had she been such a stranger since they last spoke at Dennie's father's funeral? The family would be gathering at the house on Saturday. Did Dennie have any plans?

  So Dennie became an honorary member of the Brandon family, invited to weekend barbeques and mid-week suppers and sent home with leftovers like she was a twenty-year-old just starting out on her own, not a forty-year-old trying to figure out how to start over after running a business and a marriage into the ground.

  A splash of pool water hit her feet, accompanied by a happy shriek, reminding her that she was supposed to be keeping an eye on the children while their mothers fussed with something in the house. Beverly's grandchildren were a pretty well-behaved bunch, like their parents had been when she used to baby-sit them. Lord, that made her feel old. She had been feeling old since talking to James on the phone earlier in the week. She couldn't believe she'd actually recognized his voice when she answered the phone for Beverly. She hadn't spoken to him for nearly fourteen years, and he'd been only sixteen then. Of course his voice had changed, but it still sounded like the old James. They talked for half an hour before she went to find Beverly for him.

  Dennie had been thinking about that phone call ever since. How could someone she still thought of as a child sound so grown up and, well, honestly, sexy? How could little James, with his freshly changed, awkward voice, have turned into a confident-sounding man who's voice had so befuddled her that thinking about it the next day while she was scraping paint made her forget she was standing on a stool. When she stepped back to admire the wood emerging from under the paint, her ankle folded in under her and she landed hard on her butt. The resulting limp didn't make her feel any younger, either.

  "I think Uncle James is here. It's his birthday, you know," eight-year-old Eleanor informed her. The girl sat writing in code with a piece of chalk on the concrete.

  Dennie sat up a little straighter and peered over the back of her chair, but she didn't see any sign of him. "Your grandmother didn't tell me."

  "She probably just thought you knew. She always makes a big deal about his birthday. My mom brought the decorations."

  So that's what the sisters were so busy with in the house. Putting up the birthday decorations for their big brother.

  "He's my favorite uncle," Eleanor confided, leaning a little toward Dennie.

  "Why's he your favorite?"

  The girl shrugged. "I don't know. He just is."

  Dennie nodded, feeling a little buzz of unspoken female communication. Even eight-year-old girls knew a charmer when they saw one, and James had always been a charmer, even when he was Eleanor's age.

  Eleanor suddenly jumped up and ran toward the house, her chalk and her conversation with Dennie forgotten. Dennie stayed put. She was glad she could not abandon her post as pool watcher. Then again, she did not want to have to greet James sitting down. That was always awkward, not to mention unattractive if it meant squinting up into the sun. She put down her watery iced tea and stood up. She'd been sitting too long anyway and her ankle had stiffened up. She was sticking her foot out, rotating it in front of her, when Beverly came out of the house.

  "Here come reinforcements," the older woman called out.

  Dennie turned around and—and for a moment she couldn't even think. He was dressed to swim in baggy trunks. His flawless skin revealed the contours of perfect, subtly defined muscles. He was so beautiful she could hardly stand to look at him, but she couldn't stand not to either. She knew the instant he recognized her, when his eyes widened and he went very still.

  "Dennie." Did his voice crack a little?

  She nodded. Her mouth had gone dry. Then somehow he was standing in front of her and his arms went around her in a tight hug, and she felt all that fabulous skin pressed up against her. God, he smells good. She put her hands tentatively on his back and hugged him back. His skin felt wonderfully cool, but she felt heat flare up inside her.

  James stepped back and put his hand on her cheek. "I think you've been out in the sun too long."

  Which of course sent more blood rushing to her face. She was saved from stammering like an idiot when two dripping-wet nieces ran up and took James' hands and tried to pull him toward the pool.

  "C'mon, Uncle James. We've been waiting all day for you."

  He let them drag him a few steps but he kept his eyes on Dennie.

  "We'll catch up later?"

  She nodded and watched James resist the little girls just enough that they had to work to get him into the pool.

  "I think I didn't do too badly with that one," Beverly said with satisfaction. "Even if he was the one I learned on."

  "You must have had girls beating your door down," Dennie said, trying to keep the awe out of her voice.

  "Not especially. But, yes, I see what you mean. They probably would have been lining up if he hadn't discouraged them."

  "Oh." Dennie tore her eyes from the vision in the pool and looked at Beverly. "I didn't realize." How stupid can you be, Dennie? She felt herself blushing even more furiously.

  "No, not that, silly. He liked some of the girls well enough, but…. Didn't you realize?"

  Dennie shook her head, feeling completely at sea.

  "He was waiting to be grown up enough for you."

  "For me?" Dennie repeated. "James?"

  Beverly smiled at the confused expression on Dennie's face. "I thought you saw it. I always thought that was why you were extra nice to him."

  "He was a sweet kid. Boy, how did I miss that, with all the time I spent over here?"

  "I guess we see what we expect to see," Beverly said with a shrug. "I don't know about you, but I need a drink. Follow me."

  Dennie looked back at the pool, where James watched her while a little girl climbed onto his shoulders. She gave him a weak smile and turned to follow Beverly obediently into the house. They avoided the kitchen, where Beverly's daughters had two blenders going, making something pink and icy.

  "I think we need something stronger than that," Beverly said with a sympathetic smile. She led Dennie to the art deco liquor cabinet in the dining room and poured something clear and potent-looking into two glasses, which she set down on the table.

  "Sit."

  Dennie sat and took a si
p of her drink. Not gin, at least. She hated gin.

  Beverly took her own drink to the window that looked out on the back yard and the pool. "He was eight years old when he first told me he planned to marry you when he grew up." She turned and smiled at Dennie. "Your mother and I had a fine time pretending to plan the wedding."

  Dennie gulped her drink, but she doubted it would help her adjust to this new information.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have told you," Beverly said, walking back to the liquor cabinet and putting her empty glass down. "You know how I speak before I think. But I admit, it's the first thought I had when I heard about your divorce."

  "Jeez, Beverly. Is that why you've been inviting me over?"

  "Of course not. I invite you because you're family and because I like having you around. Anyway, keep your mind open. He'll be here for a week, then back off the to the City. Of course, seeing the way he looked at you, I don't think you'll need a week. He may have stopped waiting, but James has never been one to pass up an opportunity." She topped off Dennie's drink and patted her on the shoulder before joining her daughters in the kitchen.

  Staggered by Beverly's revelation, Dennie got up and stood by the window in the spot Beverly had vacated. James was playing a game with the four children that involved a lot of squealing and splashing. A lifetime ago, she had played similar games with him and the other Brandon children in that pool. From eighth grade on, she'd practically lived at the Brandon's during the summers, watching the children and doing chores while Beverly took whoever was the baby at the time with her to work at the family business. She had taught James to float on his back. She could remember standing in the shallow end of the pool and propping him up with her hand at the small of his back until he was ready to float on his own. She had an unbidden sensory recollection of the feel of his skin against her hand when he hugged her just minutes ago, and her hand tingled. It actually tingled. Get a grip, Dennie.

  * * *

  James had changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and the family was squeezing around two picnic tables set end to end in the back yard. Dennie hesitated, her plate of barbequed chicken and baked beans in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, and the drink Beverly had given her still dancing in her head.

  "Come sit down, Dennie." James smiled up at her, indicating a space between him and a brother-in-law that might have been wide enough for a supermodel on a hunger strike, but not for a nearly middle-aged woman with a taste for chocolate. He inched a little closer to Beverly, who sat on his other side. "There's plenty of room."

  Dennie eyed the small space on the bench warily, but James' smile was so warm and so reminiscent of the little boy she used to like so much that she couldn't refuse. She put her food down on the table and stepped over the bench. The brother-in-law moved enough to give her another desperately need inch, and she sat down to happily discover that it wasn't such a squeeze after all. So why did James' knee bump up against hers as soon as she got settled? More to the point, why did it stay bumped up against her leg?

  He was talking to his mother, answering her questions about the summer course for teachers he had just completed, but she could still feel his awareness through his leg. She felt the warmth of his bare skin through her cotton skirt and couldn't decide if she was glad her skirt came between them or if she wished she were wearing something shorter so she could feel his skin against hers. She wondered if anybody would notice if she put her hand on his leg, just for a second, just long enough to feel him against the palm of her hand.

  "Aren't you going to eat, Dennie?"

  Her head snapped up. Oh, God, she'd been staring at her plate and thinking about his leg. She picked up her chicken and smiled. "Lost in thought," she said, feeling like the neighborhood eccentric.

  "Mom tells me you've been fixing up your parents' house."

  Dennie nodded and swallowed the bite of chicken in her mouth. "There's a fabulous house hidden under all that paint. I had no idea until I saw a restored bungalow in Pasadena last year."

  "Sounds like a big job."

  Dennie shrugged. "I seem to have a lot of time on my hands these days."

  James' knee moved ever so slightly up and down against hers. "Maybe I can come see it while I'm here," he said.

  Dennie nodded. She could handle the conversation, but the subtext was killing her. She took a bite of beans to avoid speaking.

  "I guess it hasn't been a very good year for you," he said.

  Dennie felt a little knot loosen in her stomach. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "I found out that my husband was screwing one of his graduate students and investing our savings in her father's business to try to win the approval of her family. I've had better years."

  "Ouch. I didn't know it was that bad."

  "I haven't been exactly eager to share the details with your mother. Hardly my proudest moment."

  "You look like you landed on your feet, though."

  "Well, I crawled back up to my feet, at least. I'll tell you, you haven't seen pathetic until you've seen a cheated-on woman who's eaten nothing but ice cream for a week."

  James leaned back to look at her. "Nothing else at all?"

  "And cheap red wine," Dennie admitted.

  "Impressive."

  "And coffee, of course."

  "Of course. What kind of ice cream?"

  "Every kind, I think. Plus sauces. But no sherbet. Sherbet and wine just don't go together."

  "Maybe with white wine."

  Dennie bit into her chicken and shrugged.

  "I'm sorry that happened to you, Dennie," James said, "but I'm glad you came back."

  Dennie looked around the table at three generations of Brandons and realized that she felt truly at ease for the first time in months. "Yeah, me too."

  It took no effort at all to let her hand drop casually to her lap while she speared beans with her fork, and only the smallest effort to move it a few inches to the right to rest on James' leg. She felt him go still when her fingers brushed against the inside of his leg just above the knee. She only left her hand there for the count of three, but afterwards she couldn't look at him. What had she been thinking? With that simple touch she'd revealed something to him that she wasn't ready to articulate even to herself.

  Great, Dennie. Really great. She'd actually made a move on James—James whom she used to read Golden Books to. Could she have done anything more stupid?

  When the party moved into the house for the opening of presents, Dennie shrank into the background. She felt bad about not having brought a present for James, but she was also relieved that she hadn't known it was his birthday. What on earth would she have gotten for him? She was much happier claiming blissful ignorance than she would have been waiting in dread to find out if she got the right thing.

  Dennie leaned against a doorframe and watched while James let the kids take turns unwrapping packages for him. Books and CDs, mostly disguised in larger boxes, were the order of the day, and Dennie supposed with relief that she would probably have taken that route if she had known.

  When the room was a shambles of wrapping paper and ribbons, Beverly stood up and announced, "Cake and kisses!"

  Dennie looked toward James in horror. She could not read the expression on his face, but he was looking right at her. How could she have forgotten Beverly's birthday tradition that required giving the birthday boy or girl a kiss in exchange for a piece of cake. It was supposed to ensure good luck until the person's next birthday. The cake looked wonderfully chocolaty, but Dennie decided it wasn't worth even the price of a peck on James' cheek in front of the entire family. If she needed something sweet later, she had her emergency Hostess cupcakes at home.

  While everyone else followed Beverly to the dining room, Dennie slipped outside unnoticed. The air was still hot, even with the sun just set, and smelled of chlorine and Beverly's roses that edged the yard. She sat down on the warm concrete at the edge of the pool and slipped her sandals off. Dipping her feet into the water, she leaned back on
her hands. Her ankle ached from standing for too long and the cool water felt good on it. She looked out over the suburban rooftops to the foothills beyond and the evening star shining above them but saw no sign of fog rolling over the hills from the ocean to cool off the valley.

  It was nearly dark when James joined her, sitting close but not too close, with a piece of cake on a plate and a cup of coffee. Dennie thanked him with a smile and tasted the cake. She took another bite and rolled her eyes. The cake was moist and dense and tasted of extra dark chocolate. The whipped cream frosting had the same dark chocolate flavor but its light texture contrasted with the cake, and the raspberry filling tied it all together perfectly.

  "You let children eat this cake?"

  "Good, huh?"

  "Good? It's indecent. I wouldn't be surprised if it was illegal in some states."

  "I'm sorry I didn't make it to your parents' funerals, Dennie."

  Dennie washed down a bite cake with a sip of coffee. Too bad she couldn't wash away the wave of sadness that his words brought. "You'd moved away, James. Nobody expected you to drop everything to be there."

  "But I wanted to be there. I wanted to be there for you. But when your mother died, I figured you had your husband, so you wouldn't need me. Then when your father died, I was seeing this woman who was having her own crisis, and she needed me with her."

  "You did the right thing, then."

  "I know, but I resented her for it afterwards." He gazed into the water for a moment, then said, "I heard how your husband acted at the funeral."

  "He actually did turn off his phone at the funeral," Dennie said with a little laugh that surprised her with its lack of bitterness. "I think he thought he was being well behaved beyond the call of duty. It was during the reception at the house afterwards that he was on the phone the whole time. With his graduate student, probably. Anyway, you wrote those nice letters. They made me cry."

  James sighed. "They were supposed to make you feel better."