A Soldier's Promise

by Cynthia Thomason

  Diana gave Brenna a quick hug. “Again, Bren, I’m really sorry this happened. Everything was going so well.”

  “Yeah, it seemed like it. But this event has reinforced one very important principle. Life is nothing if not uncertain.”

  Diana nodded with grim understanding. “Bobby’s going to let Charlie play tonight. I don’t know how effective Charlie will be after working here all day, but he’s busting his butt now so he can suit up.” When Brenna didn’t say anything, Diana added, “You’re coming to the game, aren’t you?”

  And make Mike uncomfortable on the sidelines? Not a chance. “I think I’ll pass tonight,” she said. “You can spread the word that I’ll be doing other things tonight.”

  Diana squeezed Brenna’s arm. “Mike will get over this. He’s too nice a guy to carry a grudge. He knows you were only trying to help his daughter.”

  “Some help I was,” Brenna scoffed. “I introduced her to all the right kids, convinced her dad to lighten up on the reins, told him she was ‘just a typical teenager.’”

  “All that’s still true,” Diana said. “Show me one teenager who hasn’t gotten into trouble, and I’ll start believing in fairy tales.”

  “Still, I should have stayed out of the child-raising business. Mike was right when he pointed out that I didn’t have any firsthand knowledge on the subject.”

  Diana’s sympathetic expression was almost too much to bear. Brenna had to get away. “Well, I’m off. Got lots to do.”

  Brenna walked to her car after lying to her best friend. She had absolutely nothing to do. All her spare cash had gone to her parents, so shopping wasn’t an option. She’d broken up with Alex, and she didn’t even have a football game to prepare for. “Good thing you’ve got Netflix,” she grumbled to herself as she got in the car. “Which sad love story will you watch tonight?” She hoped it was a tale of lost love even more desperate than her own. And that by the end of it, she would believe in happy endings again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CARRIE SAT QUIETLY through her entire home ec class on Monday, and Brenna was concerned. Before Saturday night’s drama, the girl had been participating in discussions and kidding around with other students. Today she appeared sullen and angry with the world—and with her teacher.

  When class ended, Carrie waited until the rest of the students had left, then she came up to Brenna’s desk. Brenna steeled herself for what she knew was coming.

  “Hi, Carrie,” she said. “Can I help you with something?” Her preservation instincts told her to add, “Something to do with school only,” but she didn’t.

  “Aren’t you free for the next period?” Carrie asked.

  “Yes, it’s my free time. But don’t you have class?”

  “I thought you could write me a pass to get in late. I really need to talk to you, Miss Sullivan.”

  This is what Brenna had been dreading. Remember what you decided, she reminded herself. No more getting involved. Stay out of this girl’s life. “I don’t know that talking is such a good idea, Carrie,” she said. “Your father...”

  “Is acting like a dictator,” Carrie finished for her.

  “You gave him quite a scare the other night. You weren’t there to see him, but I was. He was frantic that something terrible had happened to you.”

  “Well, it didn’t. I wasn’t even in that car, yet he won’t let me forget it.”

  “Carrie, I don’t think we should be talking about this. What happened is between you and your father.”

  “But he’s unreasonable, Miss Sullivan!” Carrie plopped down in the nearest student chair. “He drives me everywhere I need to go now. He won’t let me talk to Charlie. He says from now on he has to meet and approve of all my friends.” Her brown eyes, so like her father’s, glistened with tears. “You have to talk to him! He’s ruining my life.”

  Teen drama aside, Brenna could understand Carrie’s complaints. But she wasn’t surprised by Mike’s tightening of the rules. Still, she couldn’t interfere, not now and never again. “I can’t help you,” she said. “But I can at least give you a little advice. Try to be patient. The incident just happened three days ago. Your father is still reeling from the fear of losing you....”

  “Which he didn’t!”

  “I know, but until he found out you weren’t in that car, the fear was very real. Give him some time. I’m sure once you convince him that nothing like this will ever happen again, he’ll loosen up, give you more freedom.”

  Carrie’s head shook before her words came out on a sob. “No, he won’t. He’s going to make me live like he does, like a hermit.”

  The sadness in Carrie’s eyes reminded Brenna of that first night when the girl had showed up on her porch.

  “I miss you coming over, Miss Sullivan,” Carrie said. “And I miss you sticking up for the things I want to do. Without you, Dad has gone back to all his old-fashioned ideas. No, it’s even worse because now he misses you, too.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Brenna said.

  “Of course he does! Please come out to our house and...”

  There being no point in letting Carrie hope for something that was not going to happen, Brenna raised her hand. “I can’t, Carrie. You’ll have to talk to your father on your own. I can’t be a go-between any longer. It’s not right, and not what your father wants.”

  “I’ll die out there in that cabin,” Carrie moaned. “What happened between you and Dad, anyway? He was so nice when you were around. He was a different person.”

  “Maybe he was, but I guarantee you, my presence won’t help now,” Brenna said. “I’m sorry, but again, all I can do is urge you to be patient, to try to understand.”

  Carrie stood. She drew her lips between her teeth to keep them from trembling.

  “Maybe you should talk to Mrs. Granger in counseling about this,” Brenna suggested. “I can speak to her first, let her know what’s going on.”

  “Never mind,” Carrie said. “Just write me that late pass. I won’t bother you again.”

  Brenna scribbled the note and handed it to Carrie. The girl left the classroom without another word, and Brenna remembered with agonizing clarity the other time she had let down a student.

  * * *

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON BRENNA was tired of sitting at her classroom window waiting for the coaches and players to come on the practice field. What good did it do to catch glimpses of Mike with the team? He could have come in the building any of the past three days to talk to her, but he hadn’t, and she was staying late at school when she could have been home.

  Seeing herself as pathetic and cowardly, Brenna decided that if Mike wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him. Perhaps a conversation was all it would take to put this relationship back where it belonged. And someone had to start it.

  After school on Thursday she waited in the parking lot for Mike’s truck to pull in. When it did, she marched right up to the driver’s-side door and knocked on the window.

  Mike’s face went through a transformation. At first he almost smiled the way he used to whenever he saw her. But then, as if he’d reminded himself that he was still angry and she wasn’t worth his time, he scowled at her.

  “Unlock the passenger door,” she said through the window.

  “I’m late, Brenna. I’ve got to get on the field.”

  “You’re going to be later. I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  The sound of the automatic locks disengaging told her that at least she’d won this round. She walked around the front of the truck and got in. And nearly forgot her reason for being there. Mike looked so good in shorts and a chest-hugging Ravens T-shirt. His sunglasses shielded those incredible dark eyes, and she resisted the urge to take the smoky lenses off. She wanted to see all of this man who had become so dear to her, so comfortable. An
d lately, so distant.

  “Nice to see you,” she said.

  He averted his gaze from her by concentrating on his fists around the steering wheel. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m sure you know. We need to get some facts clear, Mike. What happened to Carrie has driven a wedge between us. I need to know if you blame me for any of it or all of it.”

  “No, I don’t blame you.”

  The confession was a shock, and she didn’t know whether to believe him. “Then why have you stayed away from me?”

  He shook his head, glanced at her. “I said I didn’t blame you, and I don’t. But I sure as heck blame myself. I should have known better.”

  “Than what?”

  “Than to take anyone’s advice about how to raise my own daughter.”

  So that’s why he’d cut himself off from her. That sounded just like the old Mike, always blaming himself for what amounted to other people’s shortcomings. Carrie misbehaves because he’s not doing a good job as a father. His wife didn’t disclose her illness because she didn’t have faith in him to take care of her. How could Brenna, another of a long list of disappointments, ever help him to rid himself of these terrible feelings of guilt?

  “I should have followed my own instincts about Carrie, which were to keep her close, keep her safe.”

  “Even if she was miserable?”

  “She wasn’t miserable, not all the time. She was a good kid who was lonely, yeah, but she would have come around. I could have gradually let her make some decisions, small ones. Instead I let her jump into a social life with kids you convinced me were...” He stopped, breathed deeply. “Never mind. I should have been a better parent, more responsible.”

  “You’re very responsible, Mike! You go overboard being responsible. But you can’t watch that child every moment of the day. She’s bombarded with influences at school and online. She has desires and goals and feelings that she’s sorting through. Feelings all teenagers have. Feelings about her mother.”

  His eyes cut to her. “Don’t bring Lori into this.”

  Brenna started to reach out toward him but drew back her hand. Stay calm, Brenna, she said to herself. You’re already violating your latest pledge to yourself. “But Lori is a major factor in what’s going on with Carrie,” she said. “I think that promise you made to Lori is tearing you apart and ruining your relationship with your daughter.”

  That was quite a statement and certainly not in keeping with Brenna’s renewed philosophy of noninterference.

  “You just don’t get it, Brenna, and you never will,” Mike said. His voice was raspy with emotion. “I couldn’t do anything to save Lori. I sat by her bed like a stupid lump of clay, trying to say the right things when inside I was dying myself because she hadn’t trusted me enough to call me home. She thought I couldn’t handle it, that I was so selfish and determined to save the world that I couldn’t deal.”

  Brenna didn’t know Lori, but she didn’t believe this was true. “Did she say this in so many words?”

  “She didn’t have to. What other reason could she have had for leaving her husband out of the most shattering event of her life? The truth is, she chose to die alone rather than have her stone-cold husband at her bedside. She didn’t believe I could ease her suffering.”

  Brenna’s heart ached at the depth of Mike’s emotional wounds. After a moment she said, “I don’t think she believed that at all.”

  He smirked at the idea.

  “No, really. It’s my view that she trusted you so completely that she didn’t send for you until the end. That she knew you would be the man she needed you to be at the most crucial point of her struggle.”

  He looked up at the top of the truck’s interior. “I guess we’ll never know what she was thinking, will we?”

  “No, we won’t, not for certain.”

  “All I know is that she made me promise to protect our daughter, and I’ve got to do that the best way I can. I have to go by my instincts—mine! And after what happened the other night, I felt I was losing control, that somehow I’d let Carrie’s life fall into the hands of people who weren’t looking out for her the way I know I should.”

  “People like me?”

  “It’s not your fault, Brenna. I know that. You were trying to help, but I did listen to you. I adjusted my attitude about Carrie to make you happy. And Carrie, too.” He stared out the side window. “Believe it or not, making you happy became very important to me.”

  She touched his arm. “I sensed that, and it’s okay, Mike. It’s good.”

  “Carrie liked you, and...” He paused, turned to stare into her eyes. “I wanted you to like me, so I lost sight of what I was doing, who I was living for at this point in my life. I lost sight of the promise.”

  They both remained silent while Brenna tried to sort out the pain tearing at this man’s heart. She’d come this far, maybe she was breaking through. Maybe one last word... “And what about you, Mike? Are you happy living for Carrie?”

  He remained silent for so long she was certain he was carefully constructing his answer. “Honestly? I was happy with you. Happier, more content than I’d ever thought possible after losing Lori. But this isn’t about me, and it isn’t about you. We’re the grown-ups here. I’ve thought about this a lot. As far as Carrie is concerned, I don’t think there is any common ground between you and me, Brenna. And it’s got to be Carrie first.”

  His face blurred in the moisture that gathered in her eyes. “That’s it, then? I’m the home ec teacher and you’re the new guy, and that’s all we’ll ever be to each other?”

  “That’s all we can be now,” he said.

  She sat a moment longer and then reached for the door handle. “Good luck at the game this weekend,” she said and got out of the truck.

  * * *

  BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, and the beginning of another long weekend, Brenna had adjusted her attitude the only way she knew how. She wasn’t going to cry any more tears for Mike Langston. She’d had a full life before he’d come to Mount Union, and she would build another one. She still had friends and places to meet them. She could be the person she was before Carrie had come onto her porch and her father had screeched to a halt at her curb.

  As she drove home from school, she thought about the clothes in her closet and which outfit would be suitable for a night on the town in Athens. She and a friend were going to a concert at the university and then hitting some clubs afterward. This lifestyle had suited her fine just a few weeks ago. She could make it enough now. She wouldn’t think about Carrie. She wouldn’t think about Mike.

  She wouldn’t think about anything but having a good time....

  Then she pulled into her driveway and thoughts of her Friday night plans evaporated like snow on a hot chimney. She stopped bumper to bumper behind a familiar sedan. On her porch sat her mother and father, and they had suitcases.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BRENNA STEPPED OUT of her car, and her mother rose from the swing she’d been occupying. “Surprise, Brenna May!” Alma Sullivan called.

  Brenna’s dad had propped his injured leg on a wicker ottoman. Unable to get up easily, he remained seated and maintained a passive expression.

  Oh, boy. Brenna walked onto her porch and accepted her mother’s rosewater-scented hug. “Mom, Daddy, what are you doing here?” she said when her mother backed away.

  Alma smoothed her floral print blouse over her twill slacks. “We just up and decided to come for a visit.” She looked at her husband. “Isn’t that right, Carl?”

  He winced. “That’s about it.”

  “How’s your leg, Daddy?” Brenna asked.

  “Can’t deny it’s slowed me down some, but I’m doing as well as can be expected. I’m off the pain pills at least.”

  Brenna bent over his chair a
nd brushed a kiss against his cheek. “That’s progress,” she said. “Did you have any trouble finding my place?”

  “Your mother drove. She stopped at a 7-Eleven and got directions to the street.”

  Brenna went to her front door and slipped her key into the lock. “I see you’ve brought suitcases. You’re planning to stay for a while?”

  “We’ll talk about that in a bit,” Alma said, pushing an errant strand of gray-streaked hair off her damp forehead. “In the meantime, can we get your dad inside? This heat is hard on him with his cast and all. He’s been suffering this summer something awful.”

  “Sure, of course.” Brenna turned to her father. “Do you need help, Daddy?”

  He reached for a pair of crutches she just noticed leaning against the porch wall. “I can manage with these dang sticks,” he said, struggling to rise.

  Alma went to his side and lifted him under one arm. When he was stable, she wrapped her fingers into the back waistband of his trousers and nudged him toward the front door. Their actions were well coordinated, as if they’d gotten his movements down to a science. Brenna followed them inside with a suitcase in each hand.

  Carl made it to the sofa, where he collapsed against the crocheted white pillows Brenna had selected to accent her prized piece of furniture. He set the crutches on the floor and raised his leg to the mahogany coffee table. He looked around the room. “Nice place, Bren,” he said. “You’ve done real good, kid.”

  Alma walked to the fireplace and admired a pair of vases on the mantel. “Such pretty things you have, Brenna. Nice pictures and flower arrangements. Even the porch looks like it could be on the cover of one of those decorator magazines.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ve worked hard to get the house exactly as I want it.” Brenna forced a smile to cut the sharp edge of her words. They sounded almost like a warning, as if she wanted to add, “And it had better stay this way.”

  Her mother didn’t seem to notice. She just fussed over her husband, plumping the pillows and removing his baseball cap and one shoe. For as long as Brenna could remember, Alma fussed over Carl, as if her attention could somehow make him become the man she wanted him to be. If only some of the time she had fussed over Brenna, too.