Promises to Keep

by Nan Rossiter

He barely breathed as she knelt in front of him. “Damn,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair, and then just when he didn’t think he could last another second, she slid her lips away.

  “Watch,” she commanded, and he’d opened his eyes and watched her slide down her shorts.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, trying to think clearly, “because I don’t have any protec—”

  She put her finger on his lips. “Shhh . . .”

  Gage swallowed, unable to form a coherent thought as he lay on the grass beside her, kissing her lips hungrily, exploring her body, and feeling her fingers stroking him where her lips had just been, and then in one easy motion, she slid on top of him.

  One week later, on a Sunday night after youth group, Gage had been looking for her behind the parsonage when he’d heard whispering and giggling. He’d quickly stepped into the shadows, and in the fading light, saw her leaning against the barn, her blouse unbuttoned, kissing Jimmy Thompson. He’d stared in disbelief, and then backed away, clenching his jaw and his fists.

  Now, as he swirled his whiskey, he realized he still hadn’t put it completely behind him. Even though it was a long time ago, he’d never forgotten the way it had made him feel. He’d been just a kid, and she’d broken his heart. Forever after, he’d been wary of relationships . . . of falling in love. And when he did go out with other women, the memory of that night always seemed to cast a shadow over any possibility of a future. It was because of this, that none of his relationships had lasted. Finally, he’d resigned himself to a lifetime of being single . . . that is, until he met Maeve. Maeve’s kind smile and stunning blue-green eyes had stopped him in his tracks. She had never pressured him about anything—even when he was admittedly evasive about his family—and she always gave him space when he needed it. She laughed at his dumb jokes and she loved to tease him, but always in a friendly way. She was kind to everyone she met, especially her newly adopted niece and the old coots at the senior home where she worked. She was genuine and honest and had a strong faith in God. And aside from snoring occasionally, he thought with a smile, she was pretty perfect. He was even thinking about asking her to marry him. If there was any woman on earth he’d love to spend his life with, it was Maeve. Of course, I’ll have to talk to her parents first!

  He took another sip, and his thoughts turned to his own family. Over the years, he’d managed to stop by and see them a few times—always when he knew his dad would be away—but he still missed them . . . especially his grandfather, Dutch. He so badly wanted them to meet Maeve, and he knew she wanted to meet them. He’d loved introducing her to Chase, and he especially wanted his mom to meet her . . . but he didn’t care if he ever saw his father again. He could just see the I-told-you-so look on his face, and he knew he would make a comment about working construction, pointing out that it was manual labor just like working on a farm. Yeah, there was no way he was ever going to give him the satisfaction.

  He lifted the tumbler to his lips and realized it was almost empty. Damn, that went down easy. . . . No wonder buried emotions are resurfacing and old stream-of-conscious memories are running rampant through my mind. He thought of the letter his mom had sent . . . the one in the blue envelope . . . the one he’d almost thrown away . . . and then the words his brother had said earlier that night echoed in his head: Dad’s not doing well, Gage. You should go see him.

  Gage threw back the last of his drink and shook his head. “Yeah . . . tha’s not happenin’,” he slurred bitterly.

  20

  “WANT ME TO GO WITH YOU?” ALI ASKED, AS MASON HURRIED TO HIS CAR.

  “No, you should stay here and have fun. Celebrate with everyone else.”

  “Mason,” she said, “there’s no way I’m going to have fun if you’re not here. Especially if . . .” She didn’t know how to finish her sentence, so she stopped. “I’m going with you,” she said with conviction, following him to his car and opening the passenger door.

  Mason blinked back tears as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Slow down,” Ali implored, as she texted her mom. She stared at the screen, waiting for her to reply, but there was no sign that her mom was writing back. “What exactly did she say?”

  “To come as soon as I can.”

  Ali swallowed. Why would her mom leave such a cryptic message?

  The hospital was fifteen minutes away, but they made it in ten, and as they hurried toward the entrance, Ali’s phone chimed and she looked at the screen. “Your mom is in a different room—it’s on the third floor . . . she’s been moved into the . . .” Ali stopped reading because the next words her mom had written were hospice unit.

  “She’s been moved into where?” Mason asked, looking over.

  Ali swallowed. “A room on the third floor.”

  Mason didn’t even stop at the security desk, and because the guards had seen him so often and knew his mom wasn’t well, they didn’t stop him. He pushed the button, and they waited, watching the light indicate the elevator’s slow descent, seeming to stop at every floor. “I’m taking the stairs,” Mason said finally, turning away in frustration. He and Ali—because their moms both worked there—were very familiar with all the different halls and doorways, and he pulled open the heavy metal door and took the steps two at a time with Ali at his heels. They reached the nurses’ station, and Mason immediately recognized one of his mom’s friends.

  “Hi, Mrs. Carroll, do you know which room my mom is in?”

  The older woman looked up and saw Mason. “Oh, Mason, dear,” she said, getting up to give him a hug, but Mason was already backing down the hall. “Your sweet mom is in room 310,” she said, gesturing behind him. “It’s the last one on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said, sprinting down the hall.

  Ali watched him go, and then searched the woman’s kind eyes. “How is she?” she asked quietly, but Sally Carroll just pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  Ali nodded, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Your mom is with her.”

  Ali brushed back her tears as she walked down the hall. Mason had been right—his mom had been hanging on until he graduated. She peered around the door and saw him standing next to the bed holding her hand while her own mom looked on. Sue looked up, saw Ali in the doorway, and got up. “I’ll be right outside, Mason,” she said. Mason nodded and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Hey, hon,” Laurie said weakly, and even though her breathing was labored, she mustered a smile. “You did such an awesome job today.”

  Mason bit his lip, tears welling up in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said. “It was too much . . . it took too much out of you.”

  Laurie shook her head. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she whispered. “I loved it. I loved everything you said.”

  Mason shook his head and tears spilled down his cheeks. “I need you, Mom,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

  Laurie squeezed his hand. “Mason, I love you more than you’ll ever know, and I will always be with you.” As she said this, she reached up and touched the middle of his chest. “Right here. I’ll be watching over you—just like in that old song you love so much.”

  Mason swallowed and shook his head. “Please don’t leave,” he whispered.

  Laurie reached up and gently brushed away his tears. “You are an amazing young man, and you’re going to be an amazing pilot . . . and I’m going to be with you on every flight, making sure you’re doing it right,” she teased with a grin.

  Mason bit his lip, feeling his heart break. “Oh, God, I can’t do this,” he cried in anguish.

  “I know it hurts, sweetie, but it won’t always feel like this. When your grandpa and grandma died, I thought I was gonna die, too . . . but I didn’t. . . . And then you came along and filled my heart with more love than I ever thought I could feel. That’s how life is. . . .”

  She winced in pain, and Mason squeezed her hand. “I love you so much, Mom,�
�� he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  “I love you, too, Mason.” Her eyes brightened. “Don’t forget your promise . . .”

  Mason shook his head. “You are my mom,” he said defiantly. “Nothing is ever going to change that.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I would never want that to change. I just want you to try.”

  He shook his head slowly, trying to understand.

  “Promise me?” she said, eyeing him.

  He nodded solemnly, and she touched his cheek. “You’re the best son a mom could ever ask for, Mason. You’ve blessed my life with so much joy and light and love.”

  “You’re the best mom,” he whispered, his vision blurred by tears. “You’ve blessed my life more than you’ll ever know.”

  She smiled and squeezed his hand, and then her breathing slowed.

  “Oh, God,” Mason cried out.

  Hearing him, Sue hurried into the room and put her arms around him while Ali stood by, watching.

  “Oh, Mason, hon,” she whispered, realizing her friend’s life was slipping away. “I’m so sorry.” But Mason just sobbed inconsolably, his shoulders sagging with grief.

  21

  “MAYBE YOU’RE DEHYDRATED,” MAEVE OFFERED WHEN GAGE CAME INTO the kitchen the next morning, rubbing his temples.

  “Maybe,” he said, reaching for the Tylenol. He shook a couple of capsules into his hand, popped them in his mouth, and downed them with the rest of his coffee. Then he kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for making my lunch,” he said, picking up his cooler. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Feel better.”

  “Thanks.” He stepped out into the summer heat with Gus happily trotting beside him, and as he glanced at the Adirondack chair in which he’d been sitting just six hours ago, he shook his aching head.

  Maeve poured a cup of coffee and watched him pull away. Gage had mentioned not being able to sleep, but she hadn’t even noticed him missing from their bed. She had slept like a rock, risen early, caught up on her morning devotionals, showered, and made lunch for both of them, and she still had a half hour before she had to leave for work. She toasted an English muffin, spread it with some homemade marmalade she found in the fridge, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened her laptop. With everything going on the last few days—the picnic at Macey’s, packing up her apartment, moving in with Gage, unpacking, and going out to dinner with Gage’s brother—she hadn’t even had time to check her email.

  She clicked on her Facebook page and slowly scrolled through her newsfeed—smiling and “liking” posts. She wasn’t a huge fan of social media. She enjoyed seeing what her friends were up to, but it sometimes made her feel a little jealous. They all seemed to be living lives that were much more exciting—and perfect—than hers. They posted photos of themselves in all kinds of amazing places—from long sandy Caribbean beaches to the breathtaking sights and summits of national parks. They posted photos of artistically plated food and frosty craft cocktails with comments like It’s all in the presentation! . . . and they posted photos of their families. When she did find time to go on Facebook or Instagram, she usually found herself scrolling past photos of cute kids doing amazing things—winning games, holding up trophies, going to proms, and hugging their moms. All the fun and love in their lives made her feel oddly sad, and sometimes, for her own mental health, she just had to avoid it. She wanted these things, too, and she often had to remind herself how lucky and blessed she was to have the wonderful family she did have, including sweet Harper—who’d brought light and love and laughter to all their lives—but Maeve would love to have a child (or three) of her own someday. The one time she and Gage had talked about children, she’d teasingly said, “A whole tribe!” but he’d only smiled and said, “Maybe one or two.” She’d found it ironic that he—who’d come from a family with six kids—only wanted two, and she—who’d come from a family with only two—wanted more. Now, here they were, both almost thirty-six and they weren’t even engaged. A family was beginning to seem less and less likely.

  She was just about to close her laptop when the notification of a new friend request popped up. She clicked on it and discovered it was from Chase. Without hesitation, she confirmed him, and then curiously clicked to his page. There he was, the handsome young man she’d met the previous night, and although he absolutely looked like Gage, their personalities were very different. Chase was much more easygoing, and his style of dress was definitely trendier than Gage’s casual, faded Levi’s and T-shirts . . . and with those classy sunglasses, he looked like he should be a model. In the large background picture behind his profile picture, he and Liam were standing shirtless and tan—Chase’s hair so blond it looked white—on the deck of a gorgeous wooden sailboat floating on clear blue-green water. It was a stunning photo, and she clicked on it to see if he’d added a location. There in the sidebar were the words: Finally . . . Mykonos! Inclusion of the word finally made her think it had been a destination they’d wanted to visit for a long time, but she had never even heard of it. She googled “Mykonos,” and when images of a lovely Mediterranean island appeared, she found herself nodding approvingly. “Nice,” she murmured. “I would love to go to Greece someday.”

  She scrolled through Chase’s timeline and saw photos of all kinds of exotic places, and it suddenly dawned on her that they’d never talked, last night, about what Chase and Liam did for a living—just that they lived in DC and owned their own business. “Sheesh, Chase, what the heck do you do?” she murmured. She clicked on his bio and discovered that he and Liam owned their own travel agency, and when she clicked on the link to their website, she realized their agency specialized in LGBTQ-friendly destinations. She’d never even considered there might be places that wouldn’t be friendly, but he and Liam had obviously found a need and filled it—that’s what you do when you have an entrepreneurial spirit. She scrolled through the pictures, looking at all the lovely destinations. Yep, Chase was definitely a millennial—sophisticated, tech savvy, and worldly!

  Gage, on the other hand, had very little interest in technology. He had an iPhone, but that was it, and he only used it for texting, calls, and listening to music. She’d tried to tell him that having a website might help him get into a gallery, but he was leery of putting his personal info online. He was only ten years older than Chase, but he seemed to be from a previous generation when it came to technology.

  She took a bite of her English muffin and licked her lips, savoring the sweetness of the marmalade. “Oh, my goodness, this is really good,” she murmured, and then, feeling like an unrepentant snoop, clicked on the left side of Chase’s page to see all of his photos. As she scrolled through them, she told herself she wasn’t trolling or stalking. She was just interested. She scrolled past an old photo of all six brothers standing in front of a sign that had TENNESSEE TENNYSON DAIRY FARM painted on it. She clicked on the picture and studied the larger version that popped up. It looked just like the photo that she’d seen in the newspaper clipping about Cale’s accident. In it, Gage looked to be about seventeen, which meant the little towhead on the far end must’ve been around seven. She looked at the description to the right of the picture and realized that all the brothers except Cale and Gage had been tagged—which meant they all had Facebook pages, too—and the name of the farm was also highlighted in blue, which meant it also had a page. What a gold mine! she thought. She clicked on the farm’s Facebook page, and found herself looking into the soulful brown eyes of several cows. Behind them was a big white barn. As she scanned the page, she realized the farm also had a website and an online store! Why hadn’t she thought of looking the farm up before? Of course, they’d have an online presence—they were a brand with a following. She was just about to click on the website when she heard a loud ruckus outside and looked out the window. Pilgrim was squawking and flapping his wings frantically inside the fenced-in area around the coop. Maeve pushed back her chair, knocking it over, and flew outside just in time to see the fox pulling itsel
f through a hole under the fence with one of the hens in its mouth.

  “Nooo!” she screamed, running toward it, but the fox just stared at her and then raced off with the hen still clutched in its jaws.

  “Dammit!” Maeve shouted, tears springing to her eyes. She stared up at the blue summer sky. “Why?” she asked angrily. “Why did you let that happen? It was just a sweet little hen.”

  She clenched her fists, not knowing what to do, and then pulled out her phone to call Gage. She tapped his number and waited, but he was either driving or didn’t hear his phone because he didn’t answer. She left a message and reluctantly hung up, and then opened the gate into the pen and tried to console the rooster and two remaining hens. Pilgrim was still strutting around, squawking anxiously while the poor hens were in the back corner of the coop, clucking nervously. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s gone.” Maeve felt terrible—but how did she know the fox wouldn’t come back? The defenseless chickens were easy prey and the fox knew it. She stepped back out, closed the gate, found several big stones, and piled them in and around the hole, and then walked back to the cabin. She finished her coffee, closed her laptop, grabbed her lunch, and glancing one last time at the henhouse, prayed they’d be okay.

  22

  HOLDING A FOIL-COVERED PLATE, MAEVE KNOCKED ON THE LAST DOOR AT the end of the hall. Even though Bud Hawkins had been with them for more than two weeks, he still preferred having dinner in his apartment.

  “It’s open,” he called.

  She turned the knob, pushed open the door, and peered in. “I brought your dinner,” she announced cheerily.

  “Thank you,” he replied from his recliner. “You can leave it on the table.”

  Maeve walked over and set the plate on the table. “It’s roast beef and gravy with mashed potatoes,” she said, “so don’t let it get cold.”

  “I can warm it up.”

  Even though he was gazing out his sliding glass doors and not looking at her, Maeve nodded. But then she spoke: “Sal knows you like it rare, so don’t warm it up too much.”