Audrey's Promise

by Sheehey, Susan

  Audrey couldn’t inhale. An older image of Jack lifted his head and peered into her face.

  Carl Davis.

  If Audrey were the fainting type, this would have been the moment to lose all consciousness. Had Jack lived, she was sure he would have looked just like his father, staring back at her with those dark almond eyes, strong angled chin and gently sloping jaw line. Like Frank Sinatra with sparkling baby brown irises.

  When Carl smiled, directly at her, Audrey’s knees buckled.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Had Ethan not been holding her elbow, Audrey would have fallen to her knees. Right in front of Jack’s father. She quickly recovered her balance, but held onto the back of the chair just in case her legs betrayed her again.

  She hadn’t seen Jack’s parents since just after the accident. And not while she was entirely lucid. They’d visited her in the hospital while she recovered and she had been on strong pain medication. When Mrs. Davis stepped into the room, carrying a bouquet of roses, Audrey wanted to be dead and instantly healed simultaneously. The pain of knowing her only son was gone consumed her, but the urge to show her respect by standing and hugging her battled against it.

  But she couldn’t. For days, Audrey thought she’d hallucinated when Jack’s mother hugged her in the hospital room, either woman unable to speak.

  Now those feelings flooded over her once again, looking into Jack’s father’s face. Carl slowly moved to the back table, a slight limp in his left leg, but the smile firmly implanted on his cheeks. “I heard you were back in town, Audrey,” he started, a joyful ring in his voice. He turned to her father and held out his hand. “Paul, good to see you.”

  Somehow her father had made it to his feet and she hadn’t noticed. Probably when she almost collapsed on the floor. Her father shook Carl’s hand wearing a sympathetic smile.

  “Same to you. How’s your back treatin’ you in retirement?”

  “Cold days like this don’t help, but I’m chuggin’ along. I’m looking forward to Tuesday. Claire and I are excited to vote for you, Audrey. How’s the campaign goin’?”

  Audrey blinked. She must have hallucinated. Mr. Davis intends to vote for me?

  This was the point where her Peacemaker hat should have been firmly shoved back on her head, thanking him for his vote and schmoozing for more support, but the words didn’t make its way past her tongue.

  Judging from the baffled half-smile on Ethan’s face, he was just as surprised. But the open jaws around the room unsettled her stomach more.

  “Thank you,” she managed to stammer out. “It’s…been a rough one with Wyatt Williams, but…”

  “But that’s politics,” Carl finished for her. “Well, Claire and I are real proud of you. You must be her boyfriend.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for Ethan to shake it. “Carl Davis. Nice to meet you.”

  “Ethan Tanner.” He shook his hand.

  “You’ve got a good woman here. Be good to her.”

  “Carl,” Audrey’s father interrupted. “He’s not her boyfriend. He’s a journalist for the Dallas Mornin’ Journal. Writin’ an article on Audrey’s campaign.”

  “Oh.” The man released Ethan’s hand. “Well, then that should be a piece of writing that truly glows about her.”

  From the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Ethan throw a look at her father. Carl stepped forward and pulled her into a loose hug and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Don’t be a stranger, darlin’,” Jack’s father smiled again. “Come see us when you’re free. Claire would love to catch up.”

  Ethan couldn’t believe his ears. Carl Davis, the father of the boy that died right next to Audrey, pledged his vote for her. As a journalist, he should have wanted some other reaction, something negative, uncomfortable, possibly violent. Something readers would sit on the edge of their seats with. But another side of him filled with warmth. Is that pride?

  What he wouldn’t give for an interview with this man. The real thoughts and feelings of the victim’s family. The perfect full-circle for his article.

  “Actually, we’re free now if you’re available.” Ethan couldn’t help himself. If this was the lead-in for his questions, he’d do whatever it took. Audrey’s stunned face couldn’t keep him from it.

  “Wonderful,” Carl replied, eyes alight with joy.

  “Actually…” Paul dropped his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “I’ll be taking this man back to the house so he can pack. Audrey, why don’t you follow Mr. Davis back to their house, and we’ll see you home in a bit.”

  Shit. Ethan tried to keep his smile intact, but the disappointment raged through his mind. How am I supposed to get the information I need if I’m not there? Bose was going to wring his neck if he didn’t get this interview. But not just that.

  He had to know what this man thought of Audrey. A town full of people who clearly hated her, and the one person with the only legitimate reason to despise her, instead showered her with praises.

  And he was right. In the brief seconds in which Ethan locked eyes with Audrey, the full truth slammed him in the gut. Had there not been any question over Audrey’s past or lack of attention to family, this brilliant woman would be winning the election by a volcanic explosion. Had Audrey Allen been a male candidate, there would have been no need for a runoff election. She would have been voted the next Texas state senator, lovingly embraced by her district, and all of the other senators as well.

  But life was a bitch. A bitch with double standards. Ethan knew that better than anyone. And it was just as brutal to Audrey as it had been to him. Maybe more so to her.

  But we’re not responsible for the bitchiness of life, only for reporting it. His boss’s words echoed in his thoughts. He used to repeat it to himself during every story and pushed on with his career, but now it sounded more hollow than a marble mausoleum.

  “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Ethan asked Audrey softly, brushing his fingers against her palm. Although he couldn’t tell who was more stunned by his tender consolation: her or himself.

  The confusion in her eyes was unmistakable, clearly wary of his intentions. Which agenda was Ethan after: his story or her wellbeing? If only Ethan knew himself.

  “I’m fine,” she breathed wearing a cautious smile. She slowly curled her own fingers into his, and squeezed with a feather’s strength. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  When she turned to leave, his grip tightened on her hand and pulled her back. He couldn’t explain where the urge came from, or why he felt if he didn’t he’d be losing something precious. But he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and watched her eyes widen as he pressed her close. A heartbeat later, he tucked his head in and kissed her cheek, so close to the corner of her mouth that the warmth of her lips and breath danced across his.

  Though it might have been a gasp. Her blueberry eyes deepened into something he couldn’t identify. Paul and Mr. Davis looked more surprised than her, standing there and waiting for a punch line. Or just a punch.

  Ethan’s eyes lingered on the pair as he watched Audrey and Mr. Davis stroll out of the bar, the ache in his chest stronger than ever. The emotional blitz of Audrey’s life was just ahead, and Ethan could hardly bear standing on the sidelines and let her struggle through it alone.

  Turning back to Paul made him stop and hold his breath. The tight jaw and lowered stare gave the impression of a bull ready to charge. Instead, he slipped his hand into his coat and flipped a few bills on the table.

  “They’re gonna be a while, city boy.”

  Ethan shrugged on his jacket, staring into the empty coffee cup on the table. Would he be there for Audrey when they were finished? Would she need a lap to cry on, an ear to vent into, or a heart to connect with?

  Knock it off, Ethan. There’s no way in hell she’d pick you. You’re the enemy to her. He’d be as useless as the empty cup.

  Clunking his feet across the wooden planks and watching every hostile pair of eyes follow him out the door felt like
an old Western showdown. To think he was a bigger enemy to Audrey Allen than these vicious folks throwing daggers with their eyes. It nearly crippled him inside. He didn’t want to be compared to these heartless cretins.

  Then you chose the wrong line of work, his father’s voice answered his thoughts. The last words he’d ever heard from him, to which he’d slammed the phone against the wall and swore he’d never talk to him again.

  Ethan climbed into Paul’s truck and slammed the door behind him. He pretended not to notice the old man toss him a glare.

  “Can we make a quick stop at the store? I need to pick up a wireless card for my laptop.”

  Paul gave a slight nod and turned the ignition. Ethan continued to fume his hatred through the foggy window.

  Screw you, Dad. I made it this far without you, and I’ll finish this the same way.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The words flew from Ethan’s brain and onto the keyboard faster than his fingers could manage. The aluminum laptop could have been flimsy plastic from the anger with which he punched every key.

  When he and Paul had arrived back to their house, Ethan marched upstairs without greeting Myrna and closed the bedroom door. He’d ignored the half-dozen voicemail messages on his phone. No doubt from Bose, chomping at the bullhorn for his article.

  The suitcase sat open on the floor by the window, empty. The rage pouring through Ethan’s veins erupted and he yanked his clothes from the hangers in the adjacent closet and tossed them in the suitcase. When the fire still raged inside, he knew the only thing left was to write.

  He grabbed the wireless card he’d bought on the way home and yanked open the plastic, tossing the remnants on the floor. He shoved the card in the slot and waited for his computer to hum to life.

  Get the story down. Use the energy to imbed passion into the words and finish what he came here to do. Write the story and seal his career.

  It didn’t matter that with every angry punch of the RETURN button, he’d envisioned his father’s face bruised and battered underneath it.

  “Take the job offer, Ethan. You’re wasting your life with that tabloid crap. God knows your mother put that ridiculous shit in your head,” his father chastised over the phone.

  “I don’t want the job,” Ethan roared back, his maroon graduation gown still clinging on his sleeve. “This ‘tabloid shit’ is what I want to do. And Mom knew writing is what I loved. You would know that if you hadn’t left us in that one-room shack without a dollar in Mom’s pocket.”

  “If you want something from me, boy, this is it. The opportunity of a lifetime that could change your life for the better.”

  “Don’t call me ‘boy.’ And I have changed my life for the better. You’re not in it.”

  “Then you chose the wrong line of work.”

  Ethan crushed the phone closed, along with the banking “opportunity” and any claim he had to his father’s life.

  No matter how many times Ethan pounded the Delete or Return button, his father’s face still sneered back at him.

  Less than an hour later the writing was done. His anger spent and fingers cramped, he hovered over the Send button on his email. The mouse cursor blinked at him, daring him to push it and give Bose the article he wanted. The article of his career, and the death warrant on Audrey Allen’s election.

  All it would take was one little push. And New York would be in his grasp.

  Then Audrey would hate him forever.

  Suddenly, Ethan couldn’t breath. Couldn’t swallow. Guilt gripped him by the throat and an emptiness deeper than the Mariana Trench split him in two.

  He didn’t deserve her. Why did he cling to this unfathomable hope of a life with a woman of impeccable reputation? Greener pastures, maybe.

  Which is exactly why she was better off without him. He’d never be satisfied. In the end, he’d behave just like his father and leave the perfect woman in ruin.

  But Audrey was strong. She could bounce back from this. She was the queen—no, the empress—of overcoming adversity. She had the ideas for a brighter future, and the support to pull it off. Audrey would make a difference. Unlike Ethan.

  So hit the Send button and move on.

  Ethan clamped his eyes shut and clicked the button. Audrey’s sparkling eyes, plush lips and truffle hair drifted into his mind, a desolate tear gracing her alabaster cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jack’s pictures littered the Davises’ small living room, his charming adolescent eyes and Sinatra smile surrounded Audrey with the past she was condemned with. But was it the reminder of Jack in every corner, or his mother’s tired and worn face smiling at her from the couch that hurt more?

  All of the moisture had been drawn from her mouth and relocated to her eyes. No matter how many times she blinked them away, the water always refilled her tear ducts. Keep it together, Audrey.

  She had turned countless tough rooms in her career, each audience more brutal than the next. Each issue more important and daunting than before. But all of her finesse and tough-as-diamonds arguments couldn’t help her now.

  “We’ve been watching you on the news,” Claire started after a sip from her powder blue coffee mug. “It’s wonderful to see how far you’ve come, Audrey.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Davis.” Audrey gripped the handle of her mug, willing herself not to cry. Though Jack was the carbon copy of his father, the smile belonged to his mother. Thin upper lip slightly overlapping a fuller bottom lip, rosy and always set in a smile.

  “Please, call me Claire. And this Crisis Center you keep mentioning…how long has it been running?”

  “Actually…” Audrey cleared her throat. “We just received the funding for it this week, so it should open by Christmas. Hopefully.”

  “Where is this?” Carl interjected, stepping into the room carrying his own mug of tea and sitting in the brown leather armchair next to Audrey.

  “East Dallas.”

  “What kinds of services will it provide?” Claire asked, the genuine interest in her voice sounding so similar to Jack, it nearly caught Audrey’s breath.

  “It’s geared to help single mothers without an income, battered women, and homeless women.” Morphing into her pre-written elevator sales pitch was second nature. She’d said it so often over the last six months it had become part of her subconscious. “Relocation assistance including their children, therapy, and job placement services. Eventually we’ll offer classes on interviewing skills, computer programs, and parenting instruction. Daycare service while they’re in school or on interviews. It will be the largest all-in-one assistance location for pregnant teens or runaways who are on their own.” Audrey stopped. This wasn’t a campaign speech or selling point. And by the sympathetic frowns on both Davises’ faces, she’d struck a nerve. Both theirs and hers.

  Audrey stared into the swirling steam of her coffee, suddenly engulfed by Jack’s presence.

  “The kind of help you didn’t get.”

  The words were spoken so softly, Audrey couldn’t tell who had said them. Lifting her chin to answer was harder than she could admit.

  “The kind I didn’t deserve.”

  A cold drop of something landed on her thumb. When she glanced down, she realized it was a tear. Hers.

  Hold it back, Audrey.

  Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she looked back into Claire’s face, whose smile had finally broken. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t your fault,” the older woman nearly broke into a sob herself as she held her chest.

  “No. It was,” Audrey whispered. Setting her coffee on the table in front of her, she swallowed back more sobs. She knew she was going to lose it. What she had fought so hard against the last hour. The last two days. The last ten years. “If I hadn’t been out with him that night, he would have been at home. Not out on the road to crash into a telephone pole. He’d be sitting…right…” Tears streamed down her face. “Right where I am.”

  Carl’s warm palms covered her hands. When had he moved
next to me?

  “I’m so sorry,” Audrey wept. “You have every right to hate me.”

  “Shh, Audrey,” Carl whispered in her ear.

  “Jack would have done so many great things; he deserved better than me.” She didn’t bother trying to hold back her tears now. It was useless. Finally facing the true judge and jury of her mistakes was as hard as she expected. Only the room didn’t feel full of judgment. Instead, it cradled her. “I’ve been trying so hard ever since to make up for it. To make the difference he had wanted.”

  “Audrey, please look at me,” Claire’s soft and strangled voice asked. Jack’s mother knelt in front of her, her wrinkly and pale hands resting on Audrey’s knees. “We never blamed you, Audrey. We just really missed him.” She pulled a hanky from her pocket and wiped Audrey’s cheeks. “You didn’t deserve any of that backlash from the newspaper or the town. And my regret is not doing enough to stop it when it was happening. We were so caught up in our grief, I didn’t see the damage it was doing to you. To your family.”

  A new wave of tears escaped, along with a flood from her nose. She blew her nose into the tissues that Claire offered. But her throat was too swollen to answer.

  “Contrary to whatever rumors you heard, we loved you and thought you and Jack were a beautiful young couple. The way he spoke of you with such love and respect, and how bright and talented you were, we were so proud to have you a part of his life. And just as proud that you took his middle name as your own.”

  The tears slowed as Carl wrapped his arm around her shoulder, supporting her against his side with a firm yet gentle grip.

  “We have something to show you.” Claire’s voice seemed to smile through tears as she spoke. “Will you come upstairs with me?”

  Audrey wiped her eyes once more and slowly followed Claire’s ginger steps upstairs. Carl followed a short distance behind, just as Jack always did. Giving her plenty of space, but never more than an arm’s length away.

  The short hallway was illuminated with soft lamps and bright carpeting. Her footsteps didn’t sound or feel empty as she moved along the plush fabric beneath her feet. It was four more steps to Jack’s old bedroom, the second door on the left. Now three…two…