A Promise of Forever

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Do they both work at the nursery?”

  She nodded. “When they started, Dad couldn’t tell a flower from a weed. Now he’s the expert. He could have earned a horticulture degree with all the studying he’s done. They’re really partners there, but at home, the flower beds are Mom’s domain, the yard is his, and her hands never, ever touch a power tool or garbage can.”

  “Hobbies?”

  “Dad’s is reading the newspaper—Tallgrass’s, Tulsa’s, whatever city catches his interest. Mom’s dabbled in cross stitch, quilting, painting, redecorating, knitting, needlepoint…She said she was searching for her inner artist. In our old house, she had a craft room that was so full of unfinished projects that Dad finally insisted she couldn’t start anything new until she threw out all the old stuff. She said he put his foot down so hard, he almost broke it.” Avi grinned. “By the way, while looking through the current house, I went into her ‘study’ and found tons of projects she started while I still lived at home.”

  “What about you? Do you have an inner artist?”

  She snorted. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

  “I don’t know. Those things you were doing in bed last night…”

  Heat warmed her face: guilty pleasure. She needed a sip of tea before she could speak, and she strained for nonchalance. “Besides work, what’s your favorite thing to do?”

  “You.” She swatted his hand, and his eyes darkened as he gave the question some thought. “I’m guessing going to Drillers games doesn’t count?”

  She shook her head.

  “Spending time with my sisters and Sara’s family.”

  “What’s your favorite holiday?”

  “Christmas. The kids always make it fun—and by kids, I mean my niece and nephews and my sisters. What’s yours?”

  “It used to be Christmas, but the first one I spent in Iraq took some of the pleasure out of it. It was hard being so far away from home and missing everyone and knowing we could get shot or blown up at any minute. We celebrated, and we smiled and laughed and sang carols, and everyone who had presents opened them, but…it was tough.”

  “What’s your favorite now?”

  “Right now?” A bit of her good mood darkened. She could choose any holiday on the calendar—Presidents’ Day, Labor Day. How about St. Patrick’s Day? She could claim to bake a cherry pie in Lincoln’s honor or declare how much she loved corned beef and green beer and keep the mood light. But her thoughts had already turned somber, and she would honor them.

  “Memorial Day. I have a lot of people to remember.” She looked away, settling her gaze on the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Its splash was soothing, like rain on a tin roof. Her friends who were gone didn’t need soothing anymore, and there couldn’t be enough soothing in the world for the people who loved them.

  Ben removed the fork from her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. She smiled thinly, though her vision had gotten blurry. Must be some of the mist from the fountain carried across on the breeze.

  “Every day should be Memorial Day,” he said in a low voice.

  She blinked away the moisture. “It will be for me.” For the rest of her life.

  Chapter 8

  After days of temperatures in the high nineties or low hundreds, on Saturday the thermometer didn’t rise above seventy-five. Though Patricia had been planning all along on grilling dinner, late in the afternoon she decided they should make the most of the cooler weather and eat outside, too, and so Ben found himself outside getting things ready.

  Lucy crossed the yard as he shook out the paisley-patterned table cloth. “I love to see a man who knows his way around setting a table.” Setting her purse and the dish she carried on a chair, she helped spread out the cloth, smoothing a wrinkle from it, telling him to tug it toward him, then to his left.

  “It was my job to set the table every night until Bree and Sara were old enough to be trusted with the plates. Then I did it every third night.”

  “And now you eat takeout.”

  “So do you, and you can cook.”

  “A man who can do surgery can make a pot roast or bake a chicken. It’s just a matter of following directions.” She picked up the dish and offered it to him. “Potato salad, creamy and pickley the way you like it.”

  “Thank you. This is to take home with me, right? I don’t have to share it?”

  She made a face at him before moving a stack of plates to the table. “Where’s Avi?”

  “She’s coming with her parents.” Following her with napkins and silverware, he grimaced. “Where’s Joe?”

  “He’ll be here. I’m not his keeper, you know.”

  “He needs one.”

  Lucy bumped her hip against his. “Funny. You should hear what he says about you.”

  “No, thanks.” He’d given a lot of thought to what Avi had said the night before and decided she was right. Cadore wasn’t a threat to Ben’s relationship with Patricia. Cadore could be her friend, and Lucy’s friend, and probably Avi’s, too. That didn’t mean Ben had to be friends with him, too. Just civil. That was all he had to manage.

  Lucy bumped against him again. “Why so quiet?”

  “No reason.”

  “Worried about dinner tonight? Joe on one side, Beth and Neil Grant on the other?” Her face softened with her smile. “Or wondering what the heck you’re going to do for privacy now that Avi’s parents are home?”

  “Grown people shouldn’t have to worry about privacy,” he grumbled for her benefit.

  “I’d offer you my spare bedroom, but I’m not having sex, so I’m darn sure not going to listen to other people have it. Hey, if I recall correctly, Avi’s dad has a pickup truck. Everyone who lives in Oklahoma should have sex at least once in a pickup truck.”

  He scowled at her. “Yeah, when you’re sixteen.”

  “You’re not too old and creaky, so don’t pretend. Look at it this way.” She held up both hands, palms facing skyward. “Sex in a pickup.” Her left hand raised six inches. “No sex.” Her right hand sank as low as it could go while she stood straight. “Any questions?”

  “’Bout what?”

  Ben and Lucy both turned to find Joe Cadore approaching, carrying a late-season watermelon under one arm and a box from CaraCakes. He’d dressed up for the event—cargo shorts instead of his usual ratty gym shorts and a T-shirt that still had its sleeves and was, as yet, unstained and unfaded. The OSU baseball cap was a given; the only time Ben had seen him without that was at George’s funeral.

  “Grown-up subjects,” Lucy teased. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Cadore snorted, then gave Ben a stiff nod in place of a greeting. “I’ll take these inside and say hello to Patricia.”

  After the door closed behind him, Ben commented, “You never have to worry about him getting old, do you? He’s stuck somewhere around fifteen.” Cadore had had a totally normal life growing up—both parents, siblings, doing all the normal things kids did in Alaska. He was the youngest, so he’d never had to accept a lot of responsibility for himself, much less for his brothers or sisters. Life had been easy for him.

  “It’s one of his charms,” Lucy said with an apologetic shrug. “He’s just in such a darn good mood all the time, you can’t help but be happy around him. He’s a nice guy, Ben. Really, it’s no more complicated than that. He’s lighthearted, carefree, likes everybody, and makes them smile.”

  Forget everybody. Ben made Avi smile, and right now that was enough for him.

  The sound of an engine filtered down the driveway, followed by the slamming of doors. Ben’s pulse increased by a few beats. He’d had breakfast with Avi and spent the morning with her until it was time for her to head to the airport. Her parents had left their vehicle in long-term parking, so she’d returned the rental car and caught a ride back with them, giving them a chance to catch up before dinner.

  In his time with her today, the one thing they hadn’t talked about was whether they were official
ly together or if the secret was theirs. And Lucy’s, Brianne’s, Sara’s…

  The thoughts disappeared from his mind as the Grants walked into view around the corner of the house. The older couple faded into the background as his focus zeroed in on Avi. She wore a dress in a deep orangey-red color, baring her arms and a good deal of her legs and hugging everything in between. Her flip-flops were the same shade, with a big silk flower on the strap that separated her first and second toes, and her hair hung, long and sleek, past her shoulders. She was beaming her best smile, widening it when she saw him, and she looked incredible.

  The question of how to act was resolved as she walked right up to him, rose onto her toes, and brushed a kiss to his mouth. “Hi,” she breathed in a low voice before grasping his hand. “Mom, Dad, I think you’ve met Lucy Hart.”

  “We have,” Mrs. Grant said, giving Lucy a hug.

  “How are you, li’l bit?” Mr. Grant asked.

  “And this is Ben Noble.”

  It seemed to take forever for the Grants to look him over, then finally speak. “It’s nice to meet you, Ben. We’ve heard a lot about you. You can call me Beth.” She extended her hand and, when he took it, clasped his in both of hers. “You’re not at all how I envisioned you. I guess I expected to see more of Patricia in you.”

  “My sisters and I look like our father’s family.”

  With a nod, she stepped back to allow her husband to shake hands. “Ben,” he said with a friendly nod. “I’m Neil.”

  “Sir.”

  “No sir, just Neil. What do you do, Ben?”

  “I’m an orthopedic surgeon in Tulsa. The clinic’s on Utica, and we practice at Hillcrest and Hillcrest South.”

  “Good business choice, though I don’t think I could spend all that time indoors. We’re thinking about putting Avi to work for us while we’re here. We’d love for her to take over the nursery when we’re done, though she’s not encouraging us.”

  Avi rolled her eyes. “By the time you and Mom retire again, we’ll be talking whether your grandkids want to take over the nursery. You’re barely fifty-five, and you’re having way too much fun to quit.”

  “What Neil’s really saying,” Beth took over, “is that if we don’t convince Avi to help us out for a while, we won’t see much of her for the rest of her leave. Seriously, she spent Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights in the city. When she lived there, she always wanted out of the city.”

  Heat warmed Avi’s cheeks, and Ben’s flush was about to make him sweat, especially when Patricia and Cadore came out to join them. Ben noticed Joe didn’t need an introduction.

  Patricia joined their loose-knit circle, looked around at each person, then shook her head. “I told you not to embarrass the kids,” she chided the Grants. “At the very least, you should have warned Avi with one of your Post-it notes the day she got here that your neighbor across the street has a better spy system in place than the FBI, CIA, and NSA combined.” To Avi and Ben, she added, “They don’t find it so funny when it’s their whereabouts she’s tracking. Nosy old woman. Story is her husband had to go all the way to Paris to get a moment of peace from her, and he liked it so much, he never came back. He sips coffee at the outdoor cafés, keeps a wary eye on Americans, and claims not to speak a word of English.”

  Patricia slid one arm around Avi’s waist, her fingers brushing Ben’s where he still touched her. “Besides, Beth, you didn’t want her to be lonely while she waited for you guys to come home. Look at that face.” At her prodding, Avi grinned ear to ear. “She wasn’t lonely. Now, let’s talk about someone who can’t be embarrassed. You should have seen Joe’s team on the field last night. Despite the black-flag conditions, they played an outstanding game and won by forty points.”

  With the focus shifting off Ben and Avi to Joe, he murmured, “Black-flag conditions? Is that a football thing?”

  “Maybe. But I know for sure it’s a military thing. It’s based on the air temperature and the humidity. When it reaches a certain point, they declare black-flag conditions. No humps, no battalion runs, no carrying fifty-pound packs in a march. Personally, I see black flags as an invitation to a frozen margarita, a dish of salsa, and a bowl of chips with air conditioning all around.”

  Lucy slipped over next to Avi. “While they’re grilling Joe about the game last night, why don’t we start bringing the food and drinks out? Or”—she grinned at Ben—“you can answer more questions about Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights. Being parents, I’m sure they have lots more.”

  Avi and Ben exchanged looks, hers amused, his still a bit embarrassed, then they followed Lucy into the house.

  * * *

  Avi learned a couple of things that night: she liked Joe Cadore; she could still be mortified by her parents; Lucy was a living doll; and Ben was so cute the way he flushed. Oh, she added as she stood up to help gather dishes, if she ate much more of Patricia’s cooking, she would have to buy new uniforms before beginning her teaching post. Everything the woman touched in the kitchen turned into magic, even something as simple as a salad.

  The three parents talked and sipped wine at the table outside while the younger four cleaned up. Avi began rinsing dishes at the sink, then stacking them in the dishwasher, but after two saucers, Lucy said, “Don’t bother, Avi.”

  “She’ll just redo them,” Ben said.

  “She likes them done her way,” Joe put in. “And her way changes depending on what dishes she’s washing.”

  “Just leave them in the sink, and she’ll take care of them,” Lucy added.

  With a shrug, Avi continued rinsing dishes but stacked them in the second sink. She vaguely remembered Patricia commenting on the subject one evening. No point in denying her the pleasure of doing them her way.

  They dried their hands, left the kitchen in better shape than they’d found it, then joined the adults outside again. No, Avi, admitted, it didn’t seem funny, not counting themselves as adults. Maybe it was just that eternal-child thing—a parent’s child was always his child, no matter how old—or maybe it was just because she felt happier and younger than she had in a long time. She was lucky to not be an adult at this very moment.

  Lucy and Joe said their good-byes and headed toward their houses on the far side of the yard. Avi bent over her father’s chair from behind. “Hey, Dad, can Ben and I borrow the truck?”

  Neil twisted his head to smile up at her. “Aw, I haven’t heard that in fourteen years. ‘Daddy, can I borrow the car?’ I heard it enough times between her sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays that it kind of drove me crazy.”

  “What happened then?” Patricia asked. “You bought her a car?”

  “I left for basic the day after I turned eighteen.” Avi hugged her father. “Then you missed having me around to ask.”

  “I sure did.” Neil shifted position and pulled his keys from his pocket. “Where are you going?”

  “Just for a drive. I want to show Ben some places from before.” It wasn’t a fib. She had already shown him her grandparents’ house, the nursery, their church, and the cemetery where they were buried. Now she wanted to show him Tall Grass Lake, where Popi had taken her fishing and GrandMir had taught her to swim. It was beautiful, a nice drive out of town, and sure to offer plenty of privacy on a warm end-of-summer night.

  She hugged her mom, then Patricia before catching Ben’s hand and starting toward the driveway. Halfway there, she turned back. “How will you guys get home?”

  Beth gave her dry look. “We walk three miles every day. I think we can handle seven blocks.”

  “If they get worn out between here and there, I’ll give them a lift,” Patricia said with a laugh. “Go on now. Have fun.”

  Ben caught up with Avi around the corner, twining his fingers with hers. “Have you been talking to Lucy?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He just shook his head, even though her tone was way too innocent to disguise the fact that Lucy had, indeed, suggested th
ey should have a little fun christening Neil’s pickup.

  “You want to drive?” she offered as they approached the silver pickup.

  “You forget the only vehicle I ever drive is my car. This thing’s as big as a tank.”

  “Not quite. But I have experience driving tanks, too,” she said with a sly smile as she beeped open the locks, then climbed into the high seat. “I had a nice time this evening.”

  “Me, too,” he admitted.

  “I even tried to dislike Joe, out of loyalty to you, but he’s a nice guy. And cute. I’m surprised Patricia hasn’t tried to set him up with Brianne.” She darted a glance his way and smiled with satisfaction at the scowl she found endearing, at least in this regard.

  “They went out a few times, but nothing came of it.”

  “You could have had him for a brother-in-law.”

  He settled for a shudder in response.

  Avi laughed. Digging through her purse, she found a soft band and used it to pull her hair into a ponytail before backing out of the driveway. With the sweet scent of crape myrtle blossoms drifting on the air and the gift of mild temperatures, she wanted the windows down so they could enjoy the night without strands of hair tangling around her or blinding her.

  “The worst could still happen,” she teased. “I assume they still run into each other every time she visits. Maybe the time just wasn’t right. Maybe in a few months or a few years—”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  “Or you’ll bite it for me?” Laughing again, she turned onto a street that, if memory served, became a dusty two lane road just outside the city limits. Soon they left the streetlights behind, and the air blowing in turned a little sweeter, a little fresher and greener. Not counting her last remote camp in Afghanistan, she’d never lived in the country, but tonight the idea was undeniably appealing. No neighbors near enough to matter, true darkness at night, trees and prairie, far more cattle per square mile than people, and privacy. She did love privacy.

  But privacy—at least, her kind—should be shared. A husband, a few dogs, and a couple of kids would be a great start. Maybe six months before retirement, she could ask her parents to start looking for some property, something with water—a creek, a little bit of Tall Grass Lake shoreline. She and her husband could build a log cabin, a cottage, or a simple farmhouse with a broad porch and high ceilings and fill it with antiques like GrandMir’s.