A Promise Kept

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  When Allison was a teenager, the pastor of the church she’d attended with her parents had shared his personal story of alcoholism. As he told it, on the day he’d found faith in Jesus, all desire to drink vanished in an instant. A miracle, he’d called it. But for some reason it was a miracle she’d expected when she discovered Tony’s problem. It had taken years and many disappointments for her to come to a place of understanding that miracles were miracles because they were rare. Most often in the trials of life, Jesus said, “Be yoked with Me, and we’ll walk through this together.”

  She’d wanted the miracle. Why hadn’t God given her the miracle?

  “What’s the plan, Mom?”

  Pulled from her unsettled thoughts by her daughter’s question, Allison blinked. “I . . . I’m not sure. What would you like to do?” She glanced at the clock. “We won’t have supper for another hour.”

  “How about watching A Christmas Carol? The one with Alastair Sim. You’ve still got that DVD, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I have it.”

  “And after we eat, we can watch A Christmas Story. I know you must have that one too. I bought my own copy last year.”

  It was all a bit surreal, having a family Christmas when they were no longer a family. Last year she and Tony had been living apart, but she’d still hoped for reconciliation. As for all of the Christmases before that . . .

  She pointed toward the carousel that held her collection of movie disks. “They’re alphabetical by title.”

  “Mom!” Laughing, Meredith rolled her eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that about you?”

  Tony smiled too, but Allison could see he was as nervous and unsure as she was.

  She hoped they would make it through the next three days without suffering a disaster of one kind or another.

  Emma

  1928

  Liza set a basket of groceries on the table before turning a stern gaze on her sister. “Are you feeling all right, Emma?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. I haven’t slept well since Alexander’s accident.”

  “You would tell me if it was more than that, wouldn’t you?”

  Emma shrugged. “Of course.”

  “You’re much too thin.”

  “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Liza flashed a brief smile.

  Emma pointed at the basket. “You didn’t need to bring food.”

  “With Alexander not bringing in a paycheck? Of course we’re going to help. John and I are your family.”

  Pride wanted her to refuse, but Liza was right. They did need the help. “Can you stay for a cup of tea?”

  “I’d love one.” Liza pulled a chair out from the table and sat on it. “Where’s Alexander? In the bedroom?”

  “No. One of his friends took him somewhere.”

  “When does he go back to work at the sawmill?”

  “Next week.” Emma filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat. “It will be good for him. He’s bored to tears sitting around the house all the time.”

  Liza played with the hem of her sweater, her eyes fixed on Emma. “Does he ever . . . take out his boredom . . . on you?”

  Emma wanted to die. She wanted to sink right through the floor and disappear. Never ever ever did she want anyone—and especially not her beautiful sister with the perfect marriage—to guess that Alexander didn’t love her. Had never loved her. Could be so cruel with his words that sometimes she felt threatened. It was too shameful a thing.

  “Em?”

  She sucked in air through her nose and met her sister’s gaze with determination. “I don’t know what you mean, Liza.”

  “Don’t you? Sometimes, he seems so . . . so—”

  “We’re every bit as happy together as you and John.”

  “You’ve changed too, Emma. You’re like a shadow of the girl you used to be.”

  Liza’s words stung. Emma wanted to deny them, but the protest caught in her throat.

  The water began to boil, and Emma was glad for a reason to turn away, afraid her expression would reveal too much. Her hands shook as she prepared the tea. When it was ready, Emma joined Liza at the table. They sipped the hot beverage in awkward silence for several minutes.

  Finally, Liza set her tea cup on the table. “There’s something I came to tell you.”

  At this point Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything from Liza. It would be better if she left. Now. Before Alexander returned. Before—

  “I’m pregnant again, Em.”

  Her heart stopped beating at the news.

  “The baby’s due in the autumn.”

  Emma drew a quick breath and forced herself to speak. “That . . . that’s wonderful, Liza. John must be over the moon.”

  “He is. We both are.” Tears welled in Liza’s eyes, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “The house has felt terribly empty since J.J. died. I know we can’t replace one child with another. J.J. will always be our firstborn. We will always love him. But still . . .” Her words trailed into another silence.

  Emma felt the emptiness of her womb like a knife through the heart. She wanted a baby. She wanted Alexander’s baby. If she could give him a son, then maybe—

  “It will happen for you too,” Liza said, seeming to read Emma’s thoughts. “Just give it time.”

  “Will it? You got pregnant on your honeymoon. We’ve been married nine months already.”

  “Maybe God is telling you to wait awhile. Maybe you and Alexander need this time for just the two of you before you start a family.”

  Emma almost laughed aloud at Liza’s comment. She didn’t think her husband enjoyed being with her. So much of the time he was angry, discontented, resentful—and he blamed her for his unhappiness. She’d tried hard to be the kind of wife he wanted, but there was one thing about herself she couldn’t change no matter how hard she tried.

  She could never become Liza.

  Allison

  It was close to eleven by the time the credits began to roll at the end of A Christmas Story.

  Meredith punched Stop on the remote, then rose from the floor in front of the sofa and stretched her arms high above her head, releasing a soft groan. “I think it’s time for bed.”

  “I think you’re right,” Allison answered.

  Meredith leaned down and kissed Allison on the cheek, then repeated the action with her father who was seated in a nearby chair. “Good night, you two. See you in the morning.”

  Allison watched their daughter climb the stairs and disappear into the guest bedroom. Oh, how she would miss her when she returned to Texas. The days were speeding by so fast.

  “Allie?”

  She looked toward Tony. His face was cast in shadows, most of the light in the room coming from the Christmas tree and the television.

  “Thanks for letting me come.”

  “I did it for Meredith.” Ungracious words, but she couldn’t help them.

  “I understand. I appreciate it anyway.”

  “I suppose as long as she lives in Texas, we’ll have to get used to spending time together whenever she visits.”

  “Allie, can I tell you I’m sorry?”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “For everything I’ve done to hurt you or make you unhappy.”

  That covers a lot of ground.

  “It wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

  Allison was too tired to have this conversation. And what good would it do? They were divorced. She’d had to let go of him. If not for their daughter she’d likely never have seen him again.

  “I’m trying to get my life back together again, Allie. It isn’t easy. I’ve mucked it up plenty. Nobody knows that better than you. But I’m trying to make amends wherever I can.”

  Make amends. Familiar jargon of twelve-step groups everywhere. How does anyone make amends for throwing away years and years? Not just years of his own life but years of the people who loved him. It couldn’t be done. He was too late. At one time she�
�d believed it could happen. She didn’t believe it anymore.

  “Maybe now isn’t the time,” Tony said softly, “but I hope you’ll let me talk to you sometime about what’s happened with me. It’s important.”

  Allison stood. “Sure. Sometime. But not now. I’m going to bed. Good night, Tony. Turn off the tree lights before you turn in, will you?”

  “Yes. I will.”

  She escaped the discomfort of the living room, Gizmo following on her heels. Her thoughts whirled as she completed her bedtime routine—washing and moisturizing her face, brushing and flossing her teeth, swallowing her calcium and magnesium supplements, putting on her long-sleeved nightshirt. After crawling into bed, snuggling beneath the warm comforter, she grabbed her Kindle, knowing she wouldn’t fall asleep right away. Not until she stopped feeling agitated.

  She wasn’t certain how many pages she’d read before realizing not a single word had made sense to her. She hadn’t a clue what was happening in the novel. A groan rumbled in her chest as she closed the leather cover and set aside the electronic reader.

  God, what’s wrong with me? I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling.

  All in all, it had been a pleasant evening. Conversation at supper had been congenial, most of it centered on Meredith and her job and her friends in Texas. It had been fun to watch their two most favorite Christmas movies together. It hadn’t felt nearly as strange as Allison had feared it might. Right up until Tony’s “I’m sorry” it had been all right.

  “Allie, can I tell you I’m sorry?”

  It was too late for sorry. Much too late. Of all people, Tony ought to understand that.

  She closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to grow still, willing her body to let her escape into sleep. And willing herself not to remember. Not the good. Not the bad.

  But her mind didn’t obey.

  She dreamed they were young again. Young and poor and happy. She dreamed of their first apartment, of the fun they had, buying used furniture and hanging cheap reproductions on the walls of the three small rooms. She dreamed of the laughter they shared and of the way he held her at night in their double bed. She dreamed of a time when she hadn’t been afraid of what tomorrow would bring.

  July 1993

  Allison was still smiling as she turned the car onto Mountain View Drive. She and several friends—two of whom had been bridesmaids at her wedding—had spent the evening watching the Idaho Shakespeare Festival’s production of The Comedy of Errors. Delightful from start to finish. Worth getting home so late, even though Meredith would have Allison up early tomorrow morning. Meredith rarely slept beyond 6:00 a.m.

  As she approached the house, she pressed the button on the garage remote. The door was open by the time she pulled into the driveway. The outside lights hadn’t been turned on, despite Allison’s having reminded Tony to do so as she was leaving.

  Irritation tightened the set of her mouth. But then her headlights hit the door leading into the house. First, she saw it was ajar. Then she saw a leg and foot in the opening. Panicked, she braked, killed the engine, and got out of the car in a matter of seconds.

  “Tony? Tony?” She rushed to the door, opened it all the way, and stepped over her husband. “Tony?” She knelt near his head. “What happened? What’s wrong?” Should she call for an ambulance? He was too young for a heart attack. Wasn’t he?

  He groaned.

  Thank heaven. He wasn’t dead.

  And then she smelled it. Alcohol. He reeked of it.

  She rocked backward, off her knees and onto her fanny, her back against the wall.

  How long had he been out? How had he ended up like this, half in and half out of the house? Where was Meredith?

  Meredith!

  Allison was on her feet in an instant and running toward her daughter’s bedroom. She pushed open the door, and the hall light spilled into the room and onto the twin-sized bed. Four-year-old Meredith was sound asleep, the sheet and blanket already down on the floor. Allison went to the bed and leaned over to brush dark curls off Meredith’s forehead. Her heart rate slowed a little, knowing her daughter was unharmed. But what if—

  She sank onto the floor a second time and let the tears come as she hugged her knees to her chest.

  She’d known something was wrong. For weeks now she’d known. Maybe for months. But she hadn’t let herself imagine Tony was drinking so much that he would pass out. Or that he would do it while he was in charge of Meredith. What had he been thinking? What was wrong with him?

  O God, help us!

  Allison

  Allison awoke on Saturday morning to the smell of coffee wafting under her closed bedroom door. Beyond the blinds it was still dark. Christmas Eve.

  She heard the rumble of Tony’s deep voice followed by Meredith’s lighter laughter. Father and daughter in the kitchen together. Allison wished she felt like laughing along with them, but she didn’t. Although she’d slept through the night, her dreams had left her feeling drained. Definitely not in the holiday spirit.

  Coffee would have to wait. First she needed to stand beneath a spray of hot water while she tried to put her emotions together.

  By the time Allison was showered, her hair dried, makeup on, and dressed in comfy clothes, her daughter had prepared scrambled eggs, sausage links, and cinnamon rolls.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Meredith greeted her as she entered the kitchen. “OJ or grapefruit juice?”

  “Grapefruit, please.” Allison’s gaze shifted to Tony, who was leaning a shoulder against the far wall. He looked relaxed, at ease, as if he belonged here. Which he didn’t. “Morning, Tony.”

  “Morning.”

  Meredith retrieved the juice from the refrigerator and filled three small glasses to the brim.

  “Can I help with anything?” Allison asked.

  “No, we’ve got it, Mom. Everything’s ready. Sit down and we’ll all eat. I’m starved.”

  Tony pushed himself off the wall. “Me too.” He joined them at the table.

  “I’ll say the blessing,” Meredith said.

  Allison bowed her head and closed her eyes.

  “Dear Lord, thank You for bringing us all together this Christmas weekend. Thank You that we can celebrate Your birth. Help us follow Your lead today and tomorrow and every day thereafter. In Your name, we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Allison looked up and gave Meredith a smile. There were many, many mistakes Allison had made in her life, but there sat living proof she’d done a few things right. Meredith hadn’t lost her faith while in college the way so many young folks did. Instead, it had deepened. Allison liked to think she’d played at least a small part in that.

  “Remember when I was little,” Meredith said, “how hard it was for me to wait to open presents until after we ate breakfast?”

  “I remember,” Allison and Tony answered in unison.

  “I thought you must be the meanest parents in the world, to make me wait like that.”

  “Funny,” Tony broke in. “I remember more than one Christmas when your mom and I ate breakfast around four or five in the morning. Just so you could open your presents.”

  Meredith laughed. “True. I guess you did at that.”

  “I hope we won’t be up that early tomorrow,” he said.

  “Oh, Dad, I’m past that phase. I’ll let you sleep in at least until six.”

  More laughter filled the room.

  What was that phrase people used? Welcome to the new normal. That was it. A new normal. Life changed all the time. No matter how hard one tried to keep things the same, one never succeeded. Children grew up. Jobs got outsourced. Husbands walked out on their wives. Summer became autumn. Autumn became winter. Parents passed away. The Bible said there was an appointed time for everything and a time for every purpose under heaven. There were many new normals to be experienced in life. This was one of Allison’s.

  The melody from one of her mother’s favorite songs from the sixties p
layed in her head. Turn. Turn. Turn. She smiled at the memory, picturing her mother playing the old vinyl record and singing along to it. Then Allison looked at Tony and Meredith again.

  This was still her family, fractured though it was. This was her new normal. There was a time even for this under God’s heaven.

  In the afternoon the three of them strapped on snowshoes and traipsed off through the forest. Gizmo got to ride in a pet sling strapped to Allison’s chest.

  “Lucky dog,” Meredith said, punctuating her words with a roll of the eyes.

  After fifteen minutes of walking, they all needed to stop to peel off one layer of winter attire.

  “When was the last time we went snowshoeing?” Tony asked, huffing the question.

  “At least a decade.” Allison shook her head. “I’m glad Aunt Emma kept the snowshoes, even if they weren’t being used. They must be forty or fifty years old.”

  “Older, I bet.”

  They continued on, Meredith leading the way, Allison bringing up the rear. Sunlight filtered through the tall, lodgepole pines and reflected off the snow, blindingly bright. Thank goodness for sunglasses.

  Watching the two people ahead of her, the song made famous by the Byrds returned to Allison’s thoughts. Turn. Turn. Turn.

  Last Christmas she’d been in a pit of despair about her failing marriage, about her life, about her shaky faith. She’d felt a complete failure in every realm. It surprised her to realize how far she’d come since then. It surprised her even more to realize how far she’d come since awakening this morning. What was different? She couldn’t say. But something had changed.

  Turn. Turn. Turn.

  Acceptance, perhaps. Maybe a willingness, as they said in recovery programs, to let go and let God.

  Aunt Emma had told her once that as long as a person was drawing breath, she could be certain God had a reason for leaving her on earth. Nobody’s life was meaningless. The good Lord had a purpose and a plan for everyone.

  On this Christmas Eve, Allison felt herself begin to believe her aunt’s comments.

  I’m still drawing breath, Lord. You’ve still got a purpose and a plan for me. Tell Aunt Emma I’m learning that lesson.