Promise Me Anthology

by Tara Fox Hall

  It seemed like ever since her parents had died everything had gone wrong, cumulating with Bill’s death a few months ago. She’d made one mistake after another, like Adam and...

  “Don’t think about him,” she murmured aloud angrily, rubbing her left shoulder blade. She cracked a smile. “You’ve got more important things to consider, like are you going to make it to the crest of this hill?”

  Taking a few deep breaths, Krys continued on for another thirty minutes, her shoulders relaxing with relief when she reached the top. Turning down the side road, she headed toward her cottage, her eyes drawn to the expected but unfamiliar sight of the Chalet, hoping to see the man from the patio. Yet the entire place was dark, except the lowest level, where bright lights shone.

  Who in the hell would live in the cellar with a wraparound balcony on both the second and third floors? The mysterious stranger was certainly hot, but he was also weird. What was he doing down there all by himself?

  Maybe he’s not by himself, like you are, Krys thought. Even if he is, it’s not your concern. You’re here to focus on what comes next for you, not another flash-in-the-pan romance that won’t last.

  Annoyed at herself, Krys grabbed her bags from the car, then hurried inside, exhausted from her climb. The door opened with a hard push of her shoulder, the lock squealing protest. Krys locked the door behind her, dropped the bags, and then flipped on the lights.

  “This is nice,” she said aloud, her eyes roaming the cozy living room and stereo, the bright kitchen and the white bathroom. Stairs led upward on the far wall. Krys grabbed her clothes bag, and went upstairs, her shoes silent on the carpet.

  There were three bedrooms. One faced the falls, but just had a view of the forest. The opposite one viewed the maintenance area. The third was the center room with one double window. Krys chose that one, hanging up some of her clothes. Taking out her book and cell phone, she laid them on the nightstand. Unlocking the old-fashioned clasp, she swung wide the windows, letting in the night air, the moonlight streaming down. She stopped still for a second, sure she’d heard something. But there was nothing but the sound of crickets and the wind through the trees.

  Krys ran her hands through her long brown hair. What had she thought she would hear? What was she doing here, anyway? Trying to relive the good old days?

  She crossed to her phone and turned it off. It made sense to save the battery. And why not? There was no one who would be calling her tonight. The divorce had been final for three weeks now.

  Krys sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at her phone. She’d met Adam the afternoon she’d purchased it. Her first practice picture with it had been one of him. Six months later, Adam and Krys were married, her pregnancy already showing.

  Then Bill had been diagnosed with cancer. With her parents gone, she was the only family he’d had to turn to. Krys had taken care of him tirelessly, pushing herself hard. Too hard, it turned out; she miscarried the baby just shy of six months.

  Adam had been devastated, especially to know that with the complications Krys had suffered, they would never have children. He withdrew from her, even as Bill got steadily worse. Adam had served her with papers a few days before her brother had died.

  Ironic, Krys thought bitterly. My phone contract lasted longer than my marriage.

  Angrily, she lay down in bed, and turned off the light. There was no use hashing over the past, or going over all the roads she’d regretted taking. What she chose to do tomorrow and after were the decisions that would shape the rest of her life. Those were the ones she had to focus on.

  * * * *

  Krys jolted awake, blinking her eyes, her hand moving for the light switch. But before she could turn it on, strains of an unearthly song washed over her, freezing her motionless. Captivated, she listened, the forlorn notes breaking over her, their beauty and pain as one with hers, bringing up her repressed feelings as tears slipped down her cheeks. Krys began crying in racking sobs, huddled on the bed. When she quieted many minutes later, the music had gone. Exhausted, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Krys lay in bed, pondering the music she’d heard. It had been a violin, or some other string instrument. That hadn’t been a dream, either; it had been real enough to move her to tears. The creator had to be her mysterious neighbor.

  As much as she hadn’t wanted to cry, an unseen weight had run out with her tears. Instead of thinking on the past this morning, she was eager to explore. She also wanted to talk to the man about his music, to tell him how it had moved her last night. Intrigued, Krys decided that she would do her best to accidentally meet him today. Pushing back the covers, she got moving.

  That morning she visited some of her family’s favorite spots at the park, like Inspiration Point, the Tea Tables, and St. Helena. In whole, Krys walked more than seven miles that first day. Evening saw her sitting on the porch reading her book, the sunset through the tops of the trees nearby, a light rain pattering down.

  Curiously, Krys peered over the top of her book. She’d read less than a page in the thirty minutes she’d been out here, hoping to catch sight of the neighbor. His vehicle, a brand new GM truck, sat in the driveway of the Chalet, testament that the man was home. Also, as dark had come on, the same basement lights had also.

  It was clear that the man wasn’t going to come out for an evening stroll after another thirty minutes had passed. Krys had moved past waiting for providence, and was now working up her courage to walk over there and introduce herself. The most he could say was that he wanted to be left alone.

  The longer she waited, the more anxious she became. Finally, closing her book with a snap, she tossed it on the table and walked determinedly across the lawn to the huge house. Should she go to the back door on the deck, or around to the front? He was likely more able to hear her at the front door, if he really was in the basement.

  Krys took a deep breath and climbed the steps. She knocked on the door, wincing at how loud the knocks were, then stepped back, waiting. Minutes passed, but no one came to the door.

  He had to have heard her. Irritated, Krys banged louder on the door, then stepped back, listening for footfalls. There were none, the seconds again stretching into minutes.

  Fuming, Krys stomped down the steps and headed back to her house, then switched her course, instead heading up the road for another walk. She was too angry to read now.

  The night was quiet, the only sounds crickets, and the occasional passing car. It was so different from how it had been in the summers, with so many campers and visitors around all the time. She’d originally thought to visit in July, but hadn’t been able to face seeing so many families like hers had once been, here together having fun...

  With a startled gasp, Krys stopped dead, her gaze looking into the Letchworth family’s cemetery. There was her mystery man, standing near a grave. He was in jeans and a shirt, his dark blond hair unkempt, his eyes on the gravestone.

  “There you are,” she accused aloud, then clapped her hand to her mouth, mortified.

  The man looked up. He was handsome, but not in a pretty way, his features more friendly that proud. “Yes. Who are you?”

  “Your neighbor,” Krys said, coming closer hesitantly. “I think I heard you playing music last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” the man said immediately. “I had the stereo turned loud. It won’t happen again—”

  “No, I liked it,” Krys said quickly. She stopped walking, hands in her pockets. “I liked it very much, actually. It...um, affected me.”

  The man didn’t answer, staring at her.

  He must think she was addled. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” Krys said stiffly. “Have a good night.”

  She continued up the road, grumpily going over the exchange again and again, visualizing herself saying anything but what she had. Why hadn’t she been cooler about the whole thing? Why hadn’t she invited him to meet her on the Inn’s patio for a drink?

  Spying a picnic
table near the large fishing pond, Krys sat down and considered her options. She was paid up through the rest of the week, so she might as well make use of it. Maybe it wasn’t too late to schedule a horseback ride or something...

  “May I join you?” a hesitant voice asked.

  Krys looked up, startled. It was the stranger. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Sure, sit down.”

  The man sat down, then extended his hand. “My name is David. And you are?”

  “Krys,” she answered, extending hers.

  “For Krystin?” he asked, kissing her hand.

  Krys nodded, smiling. “But no one ever calls me that.”

  “I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” David said pleasantly. “Please call me David. I much prefer it over Dave.”

  He certainly did have charm. “Good to meet you, David.”

  “And I, you, Krystin,” he replied. “But why are you out so late alone?”

  “I thought you were ignoring me,” Krys said, smiling and shrugging. “Turns out you weren’t home. Were you making gravestone rubbings, or something?”

  “Paying respects to a descendent,” David answered vaguely, rubbing his eyes. “But we were talking about you.”

  He must have meant ancestor and misspoke. “What about me?”

  “That I should escort you home,” David said, standing up. “This park is likely safe, especially where we are. But you shouldn’t tempt fate and walk around unescorted.”

  He obviously wanted to be by himself out here and wanted her back in her cottage out of the way. Irked, Krys stood up, her tone icy. “I’ll head back myself. Thanks for your concern.”

  As she began walking. David fell into step beside her. “You’re angry with me?”

  “No,” she admitted with a sigh, shaking her head. “I’m just lonely, really. I came here for a vacation and didn’t think it through.”

  “How so?”

  “I used to come here with my parents and brother. They’re gone now. I’m alone.”

  “I understand,” David said, nodding, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m also alone. My sister died some years ago. She was the last of my family.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  David walked Krys to her door. She faced him awkwardly, not sure if she should invite him in. She didn’t want the evening to end, yet also didn’t want him to think that she was inviting a sleepover.

  David looked at her, then reached out, pushing the door wide. “You didn’t lock your door,” he said patronizingly. “Wait here.” He went inside and began looking around.

  “Hey,” Krys called irately, romantic thoughts forgotten as she went after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Being chivalrous,” David retorted. He checked the three bedrooms, then descended the stairs. “Please lock up after I leave.”

  He went out, then headed across the yard without so much as a goodbye. Angry, Krys slammed the door and locked it, then stomped into the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine she’d purchased that day.

  There was a law against bringing alcohol into the park. But that was fine. If anyone came looking tomorrow, they wouldn’t find any left.

  * * * *

  Someone was playing music. Groggily, Krys opened her eyes, and sat up in bed. Though her head was pounding and her eyes felt like sandpaper, her senses were awash in that same unearthly music. Yet this was a subtly different tune, more longing, more hopeful somehow than the other had been. Odder, it came from no violin; this was some kind of piano, or electric keyboard.

  It had to be David.

  Suddenly struck with a plan, Krys grabbed her cell phone, turning it on.

  * * * *

  The next evening, Krys was ready and in position when dark fell. Soon after the sun disappeared, David appeared, again walking up the road toward the forest. She hurried to intercept him.

  “I heard you playing again last night,” she said, stepping in front of him.

  He looked at her innocently. “I’m sure you’re mistaken—”

  Krys clicked playback on her phone. The melodious tune broke the silent night, drifting on the night air.

  “That’s not on any radio,” Krys said. “It’s too original, for one thing.” She clicked off the recording. “What I don’t understand is why someone so talented doesn’t want to take credit for his work. You wrote that, didn’t you?”

  “What do you want from me?” David said pointedly, folding his arms across his chest. “Sheet music to sell, or my autograph?”

  “Just the truth. Who are you?” Krys asked. “Are you a famous musician?”

  “I was once,” David said sadly, letting out a breath. “I was a lot of things once. But I’m not anymore.”

  There was so much loss in his dark blue eyes. Krys stared into them, riveted.

  “I need to be by myself now,” David said. “But if you would welcome my company later, I’ll come to your cottage.”

  Krys gaped at him. Was he asking to sleep with her? Even though the prospect was tempting, how could she morally just agree without being sure that was what he meant?

  “I’ll visit with you on your porch, is what I meant to say,” David amended, smiling slightly. “Will that be all right?”

  “Yes,” Krys said, returning the smile. “How late?”

  “An hour to two,” David replied. “I’ll be as fast as I can.” He walked away, up the same road towards the cemetery.

  Krys watched his shadow merge with the forest, then walked toward her cottage, impatient for the minutes to pass.

  * * * *

  David showed up as he’d promised. Walking up the stairs, he settled in the other wicker chair, then turned toward her expectantly. “Ask away, Krystin.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is David Helm. I used to go by another name when I worked in the music industry. I was well liked by the crowd, to the point I put out an album. After that, I had money, and a little fame. Then I made some bad decisions, and hit the skids.”

  “Did you lose it all?” Krys asked. “I’m sorry to say this, but as much as I enjoyed it, your music wasn’t familiar to me.”

  “I didn’t think it would be,” David said, smiling ruefully. “But I am glad you liked it.” He paused. “Yes, I lost most everything. Then I came to the attention of a powerful man, you might say a former admirer. He saved me, before I lost it all. But his help came with a price, a big one. But I managed to handle that, after a while.”

  There was a lot here he wasn’t saying plainly, yet she was loath to push, especially as he had to be referencing substance abuse. “Did you go back to music?”

  David shook his head. “I went into business management. I’m decent at that, enough so I’ve made some success.”

  More vagueness. “Are you here on business?” Krys asked, curious.

  “For an important meeting,” David admitted, letting out a breath. “Maybe the most important of my life. That old acquaintance has an opportunity I very much want for my own. But I’m not the only one in the running. I’ve got to convince him to give it to me.”

  “By using music, which you know he likes.”

  “Yes,” David said, nodding. “This composition has to be perfect. I’ll get one chance. The notes have to sway him.” He became agitated. “I’ve rewritten the melody a hundred times. But I don’t know if it’s moving enough—”

  Krys reached out, and took his cool hand in hers. “It’s the most moving music I’ve ever heard. What’s your title?”

  “Just ‘Night Music’,” David said, his tone suddenly shy. “I haven’t come up with anything better. I’ve been too focused on the notes themselves.” He squeezed her hand.

  “But I’m being a bore going on about myself. Tell me about yourself, Krystin.”

  Krys released his hand, and stood. “I’d like to,” she said hesitantly. “But please, come in. I’m cold out here—”

  “I’m sorry,” David apologized, standing at once. “You likely are cold
.” He opened the door for her, then followed her inside.

  David was oddly formal at times, but he was the greatest gentleman she’d met, beside her father. Krys shut the door after him. “Do you want some wine?”

  “No,” David said apologetically. “But please have some yourself. I’ll take some water, if you don’t mind.”

  Krys nodded, pouring water and some wine into two glasses. She brought them back to the sofa, handing David his.

  “To new friends,” David said politely, clinking his glass with hers. He sipped, then set it down. “Now please, tell me about yourself.”

  * * * *

  Three hours later, the clock chimed midnight. Krys stopped talking, her face reddening when she realized she’d been going on about herself for a solid hour. But David had been a wonderful listener, asking questions about her life and family. He now knew most of her life story: her wonderful childhood and adolescence, losing her parents in the car accident when she was in college, and her brother’s death three months ago. In return, he’d told her of his traumatic childhood with a drunken mother and absent father, his rise to fame, and his own addiction to drugs and alcohol before his benefactor had saved him. What the man had done to save David from himself again hadn’t been clear, but whatever had happened, it had worked. David had drunk three glasses of water, but refused anything else.

  David stood. “I should go. It’s very late.”

  After connecting with someone in such depth, desperateness not to be alone rose up inside her. Krys bolted towards the stereo. “Wait, we can listen to music or something—”

  “No, thank you,” David said politely. “I really need to go—”

  Krys hit the stereo buttons, the music coming on immediately. To her horror, the song playing was familiar, and the last one she wanted to hear.

  “—I’m forever yours—”

  “Turn it off,” she shrieked, and kicked the coffee table over in her haste. “Turn it off!”

  “—forever yours, forever yours—”