A Promise of Forever

by Marilyn Pappano

  The last thing to go in was a small quilted bag. “What’s that?” Ben asked.

  “It’s personal.”

  “That looks like your yellow pajamas sticking out.”

  “It is. Underneath are my toothbrush, tooth paste, nighttime medication, house slippers, and a dress for tomorrow. Come on, the Sanderson train is moving out.” Wrapping her fingers around the cart handle, she began wheeling it through the kitchen and down the hall.

  “You having a slumber party tonight, Mom?” Ben asked as he and Avi followed.

  Patricia turned, caught his face in her palms, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You called me Mom.”

  His face flushed, and not because of her hands pressed to it. “I guess I did.”

  After wiping any trace of lipstick from his cheek, she released him. “And for that, you and Avi get free run of this house tonight. Have all the fun you want, but let her get some sleep. She’s got a long way to go tomorrow. Now, help me get this cart down the front steps. You don’t want to be late for Beth’s famous grilled chicken, take my word for it.”

  * * *

  Dinner was lovely: barbecued chicken with crispy skin; potato salad; corn salad; the last cherry tomatoes from Beth’s garden tossed on the grill until their skins split; juicy cantaloupe Avi thought worth licking her fingers; and lemon meringue pie. She’d eaten enough to pop, but if she did, at least she would break into a million pieces surrounded by the four people she loved most in the world.

  Even if one of them was attached to the computer by the plug for the headphones Beth made him wear, his cheers or groans occasionally punctuating the quiet.

  “You’re not disappointed we chose to have a small party, are you?” Beth sat on the arm of Avi’s Adirondack chair, the vintage teal color of the wood a perfect play for her pink and white dotted theme. She needed such chairs if they would fit on her new balcony: one for her and one for Sadie. Of course if anyone decided to visit for a few days, Sadie would be happy to lie on the floor instead. Probably.

  “No, Mom, this is perfect.” Perfect weather, food, location, and especially people.

  “Did Patricia tell you she’s spending the night over here?”

  “Yep.”

  “Does it embarrass you that your mother and your boyfriend’s mother are arranging privacy so you can have sex?”

  “A few weeks ago, maybe. Tonight, not at all.” Avi glanced at Ben, just come out of the house, carrying a tray with cups of coffee. Behind him, Patricia carried cream, sweetener, sugar, and spoons.

  “You’ve never taken a trip like this before,” Beth said. “Two days on the road, with only Sadie for company…”

  Avi smiled. She was thirty years old. She’d been driving half her life. But Beth was right. She’d flown to Fort Benning, Georgia, for basic training. She’d flown to her first duty assignment. In fact, she hadn’t bought a car until Fort Hood, Texas. The longest road trip she’d made was to Fort Carson, with two other transferring soldiers along for the ride.

  “If you get tired, pull over,” Beth said. “Never, ever pick up hitchhikers. Don’t rely on sweets to keep you going; eat healthy meals and stretch your legs when you’re done. It’s better to fill up the tank when you don’t need to than to need it when there’s no gas station around. And most important: Never pass up a bathroom break. But carry a roll of toilet paper just in case.”

  Ben and Patricia, who’d joined them with the coffee, burst into laughter, and so did Avi, but she pulled her mom into a fierce embrace first. “Mom, I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m the grown woman and potential mother of your grandchildren. Believe me, I can drive two days to Augusta.”

  Beth hugged Avi tightly, then pulled back and blinked away her tears. “Maybe I should go with you. Your dad can handle things this weekend. I can make sure you get there safely and fly back Monday.”

  Patricia slid her arm around Beth. “Remember the last road trip you took, honey? You missed the turn south for Dallas and were halfway to Amarillo before you realized it. And that was in Oklahoma City.”

  Beth feigned righteous anger. “I was the driver. You were the navigator. You missed those turns.”

  “My point exactly, which is that Avi is smart enough and capable enough to get wherever she needs to go without any help from either of us.”

  Ben leaned close to Avi from behind. “That was her point?”

  She took a cup from him and inhaled the incredible scents of coffee, sugar, and hazelnut. “I’m an innocent bystander. This conversation has nothing to do with me.”

  The two women were still good-naturedly fussing when Ben slid into the chair beside Avi, another Adirondack, this one painted flamingo pink. “You need these chairs,” he remarked.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “And a big veranda to put them on.”

  “My tiny balcony would have to do.”

  “Tell me about your apartment.”

  She sipped her coffee, then shrugged. “It’s just a regular apartment. It’s right off Gordon Highway, so I rented it more for its proximity to the main gate than its features. It’s got one bedroom, big windows, a small kitchen, and the aforementioned smaller balcony. The complex has a gym and a pool, and there’s access to a running trail. The walls are off-white, the carpet is tan, the tile is beige, and it’s got zero personality.”

  “You and Sadie will provide the personality.”

  “What was she doing while you were making coffee?”

  “Watching you through the window. So was Sundance. Nyla tried to brace herself on Sundance’s back so she could see, but she’s too short.”

  She smiled at the image. The dogs had bonded so well that she would take all three of them with her, given the chance, but there was no way her parents would allow that to happen. Beth, her no-dogs-not-ever mother, was as in love with Nyla as her dad was with Sundance. As Avi was with Sadie.

  Their mothers pulled up chairs, and a short while later, Neil joined them. “Halftime,” he said. “We’re ahead by fourteen.”

  “Good for us,” Beth said dryly.

  “Good for Joe,” Patricia added. “I’d love to see him become the winningest coach in Tallgrass history, but then some bigger school would hire him away.”

  Avi glanced at Ben, half expecting him to mutter something like good riddance. He didn’t, though. He didn’t even let his nose twitch the way he usually did. “Maybe Lucy should marry him to make sure he stays.”

  The other three adults turned astonished looks his way. “Lucy?” his mother echoed, and Neil added, “Li’l bit?”

  Ben immediately threw Avi under the bus. “It was her idea. She’s the one who thinks Joe has a thing for Lucy.”

  That earned her astonished looks, too, but after a moment’s consideration, Patricia started tapping her finger thoughtfully against her chin. “Hmm. Joe and Lucy. They are adorable together. And they’re best friends. We all know the kind of passion that can grow from that.” She gave Ben a look. “At least, sometimes. When it’s right.”

  Avi tuned out the matchmaking conversation that followed, tilted her face up to the sky, and closed her eyes. Four weeks ago tomorrow, she’d arrived in Tallgrass hoping for a little peace, for forgiveness and laughter and a few good times. She’d gotten all that and so much more. Healing. Hope. Renewal.

  A broken heart was a small price to pay for all that.

  Though it hadn’t finished breaking yet, she reminded herself as Ben claimed her hand. By the time it was in pieces all around her, she might be in need of more healing. But not hope. She had enough hope to share with everyone around her.

  She and Ben would be all right. Not together, but all right.

  It was dark, the temperature cooled to the mid-seventies, when they said their good nights. With her nightly needs in a backpack slung over one shoulder, Avi bent to give Sadie a good rub and tell her good night. The dog whimpered so loudly that Patricia hooked on her leash, gave her a hug, and said, “Miss Sadie, you have the
honor of being the first four-legged creature I’ve allowed inside my house. Not even Sara’s yippy dog is welcome, but you’re much more a lady than she is.”

  “Because Sara’s ‘she’ is a ‘he,’” Ben murmured to Avi as she took the leash.

  After hugs and kisses all around, they strolled down the steps to the sidewalk and turned south. It was a quiet walk to the Sanderson home. What was there to say? Please change your mind. Please come with me. For the love of God, please don’t break my heart.

  He hadn’t wavered, not once. He wasn’t leaving Tulsa, period, end of discussion. And she had to leave. It wasn’t a choice for her.

  The earliest she could get out of the Army was in two years, and if she could live without Ben for two years, if he could live without her, what was the point? But if he was still single in eight years, and so was she…

  The possibility brought very little comfort.

  Though Sadie had sniffed and made use of every tree, sign, and most shrubs along the way, they lingered in the yard for a few minutes while she checked out new scents, then climbed the steps and entered Patricia’s house. Dim lights shone in the living room and the kitchen and at the top of the stairs. Avi unhooked the leash and hung it over the doorknob, then started upstairs. Sadie trotted at her side, and Ben brought up the rear.

  Sadie sniffed the guest room, taking particular interest in the runner beside the bed. Lifting her head, she sniffed Ben’s legs, then plopped down on the runner. She associated the scent of him with comfort. Silly, but it made Avi’s throat tighten.

  “I’m following Patricia’s rule for Sara when she was little,” she said in an unsteady voice as she unzipped her dress. “I’m wearing my prettiest underwear.” She slipped off the dress and struck a pose, one hip jutted forward, both arms raised over her head, turning a few times to show the minuscule fronts of the hot pink confections, along with the even more minuscule backs.

  “Aw, now I feel bad. You splurged on Victoria’s Secret, and I just wore my Calvins,” he teased, but he didn’t sound as if he really meant it. That was okay. They didn’t have to pretend that everything was normal when a tidal wave of blue was just waiting to crash over their heads.

  “It’s not what they are that matters. It what’s inside them.” She unhooked the bra, shimmied out of the panties, and helped him out of his Calvins. As they kissed and embraced their way to the bed, she felt like an attention-deficient kid, her hands rambling everywhere, her kisses starting one place and ending far away. She wanted to touch, taste, feel every bit of him. She wanted to close her eyes three years from now and remember the little scar on the side of his left knee or the exact angle of his arm around her when he was asleep versus when he was awake.

  They made love fast and slow, sweet and demanding, and sad, so sadly. His looks seared her skin, his kisses burned the memories deeper, his caresses were enough to make her soul weep. Before, they’d made love. This time, she realized through the sorrow and the grief, they were saying good-bye. When they were done, she wanted to curl up and cry, but she didn’t. Oh, she did a lot of curling, but very little crying.

  She was strong. She would survive. She would stay alive. She would thrive. She whispered that to herself a few times before sleep finally came.

  Chapter 15

  Damp and humidity were as much a part of Washington as earthquakes were of California or tornados across the South. At his mother’s insistence, Calvin had developed a tolerance for the weather wherever he went. You’re a real boy, his mother used to tell him on the occasions he’d wanted to play video games in the house instead of go out and play. You won’t melt, shrivel up, or blow away. Fresh air, in Elizabeth’s opinion, might not cure what ailed you, but it made you feel better.

  After the chaplain’s visit, Calvin had called home. He’d told his parents that things were good, had relieved their worries and stirred them up at the same time, claiming that he’d been working long hours getting ready to deploy again. They hadn’t wanted to hear that, and just as he’d known they would, they’d pushed it to the back of their minds. Instead Elizabeth had asked if he was eating healthy, if he’d found a church to attend, what had happened with that pretty woman he’d met a month or two ago. He lied about the eating and the church, and the pretty woman had been fiction to start with. It had made her feel better that he had a girlfriend, so he’d created one.

  Now it was Friday night, late, and something about that phone call with his parents had clicked inside him. It was time. He’d been driving around Tacoma for the last hour, pretending he didn’t have a destination in mind. He turned onto a narrow, rutted street that didn’t appear to have a name. It dipped beneath railroad tracks, then went two blocks before abruptly ending—no curbs, no circle to turn around in. There were houses on either side, mostly boarded over. In all the time he’d been coming there, he’d never seen a sign of life. Even the rats, it appeared, had moved on to more prosperous neighborhoods.

  He pulled into the poor excuse for a park, shut off the engine, and quiet fell quickly. Closing his door created a sharp report that echoed in the pines. His footsteps crunched over too-tall grass, the damp clinging to his shoes, soaking through to his socks. The dew soaked into his jeans, too, when he sat on the concrete picnic table, his back to the street, facing the railroad tracks.

  He’d known this day would come, this time when he was too tired, too distressed, too weary to go on. When the last bit of hope had fled, when he’d become a danger to himself and everyone else. He hadn’t lied when he told his mother they were deploying again. That was what had led him here. He couldn’t go back to combat. He couldn’t lose another friend. He couldn’t witness another death. He was so tired of hurting, and he couldn’t think of a damn thing in life that would make it stop—the dreams, the nightmares, the voices, the blame. That would make him feel like he had a right to live anymore.

  Nothing could make him feel better.

  But one thing could stop the pain.

  Dim light filtered from the nearest street lamp. The other lights were shot out, one pole bent like a vee after a crash with a vehicle. It had been like that all the months Calvin had been coming here, like no one realized. No one cared.

  In the weak light, he withdrew his weapon. After so many deployments, the heavy semiautomatic sat comfortably in his hand, an extension of his arm. He’d thought ahead: It was loaded with only one bullet in case some kid found it before the authorities found him. One round to undo all the damage the countless ones fired at him in Iraq and Afghanistan had caused. It had taken him a while to realize that a bullet that missed could kill you as surely as one that hit. This one wasn’t going to miss.

  For the first time in months, tears filled his eyes. They were tears of relief that, finally, he was going home. He was finding a way out. He would never hurt again. He wiped them away, gripped the pistol in his right hand, and raised it to his temple. Slowly he applied pressure to the trigger, proud that his hand remained steady, and—

  Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him off the picnic table where he sat. His arm thrust out to break his fall, and his elbow cracked as a solid weight landed on top of him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a young male voice demanded at the same time Calvin twisted, bellowing, “Get off of me!”

  The attacker lunged to his feet, grabbed the gun, and stuck it in the back waistband of his jeans. Calvin had a harder time getting up, cradling his broken arm to his ribs.

  “Man, I hope your arm hurts. That’s the least you ought to have when you do something stupid—and this ain’t even your neighborhood. Who the hell goes to someone else’s neighborhood to blow his brains out? You think we’re poor so it’s no big deal?”

  “It’s no one’s damn neighborhood,” Calvin muttered, trying to find a comfortable position for his arm. Through the haze of pain, he identified a teenage boy, fourteen, maybe sixteen, with black hair and dark skin and a faint accent.

  “It’s my neighbor
hood, dude, and you got no right.” The kid crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He was big, six feet or so, but thin, painfully so, like his bones were too big for his body.

  Homeless, was Calvin’s first thought, then he amended that. Hungry. If Calvin had it in him to care about anything, he’d feel bad for the kid. He would take him out to eat, give him whatever cash he had. But right now he cared about only one thing.

  “Give me the gun,” he said quietly.

  The kid was cocky. “Ain’t gonna happen. Why’re you here? Why didn’t you do this in your own part of town?”

  “It’s none of your business.” Calvin tried to reach into his hip pocket for his wallet, but intense pain made his breath catch, made him close his eyes and sway unsteadily, reaching blindly with his good arm for the table behind to steady him. Once the pain settled into a dull throb, he tried the maneuver again with his other hand, grunting, twisting. Sticking his left hand into his right back pocket was almost more than he could manage, but at last he fished out the worn leather wallet that had been a high school graduation gift from his parents.

  He tossed the wallet on the table about halfway between him and the boy. “There’s money and a debit card in there. Give me the gun, and it’s yours.”

  The ground began to vibrate beneath their feet. In another moment, the 10:15 train was going to come rumbling through here, blasting the quiet all to hell, blowing its whistle for the crossing a few miles to the north. When it was gone, Calvin knew from experience, the quiet would seem overwhelming for a few minutes.

  The kid looked at the wallet, then at the oncoming train, its light cutting through the damp air like a beacon. With Calvin’s luck, he would keep the gun, take the money, and run, leaving Calvin to live another day. He couldn’t bear the thought.

  Without conscious thought, he grabbed for the boy, catching a handful of shirt, but all the kid had to do was shove his right arm and Calvin collapsed to his knees. Spinning, the boy ran toward the tracks, scrambling up the hillside toward the right-of-way. His feet sliding in the gravel, he threw the gun.