A Vow to Cherish (14 page)

J
ulia Sinclair stood at the kitchen counter up to her elbows in the sticky bread dough she was kneading. Little clouds of flour puffed out with each turn of the lump, dusting Julia’s navy sweatshirt with a fine white powder.

The phone rang from the den. With a groan she raced to beat the answering machine, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she ran.

“Hello. Sinclair residence.”

“Yes, Julia Sinclair, please.”

“This is Julia,” she said cautiously.
So help me, if this is another sales call, I’ll scream.
She had been interrupted twice in the space of an hour, and her patience was beyond thin.

“Yes, Ms. Sinclair. This is Paul Cravens at Parkside Manor. You submitted an application a few weeks ago…?” His voice trailed off in a question. “I apologize that it’s taken so long to get back to you. I guess I should ask you first of all if you’re still interested in the job?”

Julia had mailed the application almost two months ago and had given up on getting even a negative response. But, yes. Yes, she was very interested. She told him so.

“Good, good. Well, I must say we were very impressed with your résumé. We’d like to set up an appointment for an interview. Now we do have a couple other people we are considering for the job, but those interviews haven’t been scheduled yet, so the calendar is pretty wide open.”

They agreed on the following Monday morning, and Julia quickly arranged to get the morning off work. She’d been up front with her boss about this job search. She liked her accounting job at the small medical clinic, but she became more determined each day to get the boys out of the city.

The school year was quickly coming to a close, and a sobering look at her financial state decreed that the boys could not go back next year to the private school they now attended. Martin’s insurance had been generous, but Julia was acutely aware that the funds would have to stretch over many years—until the boys were on their own. College expenses alone were going to kill her. She pushed the thought from her mind. They still had many years of private schooling to fund before that. To her, it was unthinkable to throw the boys into public school in this city after their sheltered years at St. Mark’s.

She had applied for jobs in several small towns in the surrounding communities, but so far nothing had panned out. The prospect of this job and the small-town life that would accompany it filled her with optimism. She sighed and returned to kneading the pliant dough. It was so good to be looking forward to something instead of looking back.

As she patted the dough, mindlessly forming the fragrant loaves, her thoughts delighted in the possibilities ahead, and her voice whispered a prayer of hope.

Julia hurriedly parked the car, gathered her purse and tote bag from the seat beside her and wobbled on a new pair of heels toward the door of Springhill Medical Clinic. Of all the days to oversleep!

It was her last day of work at Springhill, and she met it with ambivalent feelings. She had loved this job. Some of her closest friendships had begun in this office. Of course she would keep in touch with her friends here—Calypso wasn’t that far from Chicago—but she knew things would never quite be the same. Without the bond of working in the same environment, without the shared problems of the workplace, it was inevitable that friendships would change and perhaps even fade.

She would have dreaded this day had she not been so excited about the new job awaiting her in Calypso. The independence she felt in making this decision for herself and her sons was exhilarating. The boys’ lack of enthusiasm tempered her own a bit, but Sam and Andy were young; they would adjust quickly. She honestly felt this move would do all of them a world of good. It was time for a change.

She hung her jacket in the cloakroom and opened the door to the accounting office.

“Surprise! Surprise!”

She looked up to see the office decorated with streamers and balloons. A computer banner spanned one wall, declaring, “We’ll miss you, Julia! Best wishes on the new job!”

Her eyes burned and the faces of these people she loved like family shimmered liquidly before her. She grinned through her tears, at first embarrassed by her show of emotion, then suddenly unconcerned if they saw her break down.

There were hugs all around, and Julia was led to a table laden with cakes, punch and a beautifully wrapped gift. She was overwhelmed. She’d never considered they might do something like this for her.

“Oh, you guys! I can’t believe this.” Her voice grew stronger as she teased them about the fuss they’d made over her. “Mindy Durham, did you have anything to do with this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” But Mindy’s grin told the truth.

“You sneaky little thing, you. I didn’t have a
clue.
I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

The emotion of the moment gave way to jovial laughter, joking and the warm camaraderie of friends in the workplace.

Over cake and coffee they presented Julia with the gift. “Ooh, this is almost too pretty to unwrap.” She slid the lamé bow off and ran her fingers gently under the seam of the gilded wrapping paper, being careful not to crush it. The paper fell away to reveal a thick white box. She removed the lid with candid curiosity.

Inside was the oak mantel clock she had coveted ever since she saw it displayed in the window of an exclusive gift shop down the street from the clinic.

The tears started anew. “Oh! It’s beautiful. I’ve wanted this so badly! But…how did you know?”

Then she recalled that several of her coworkers had seen her admiring the clock when they walked by the shop together after lunch one day. She noticed a card attached to the back of the clock, and she opened it and read the blurring words of the inscription. “To Julia…a time for everything.”

Though the lump in her throat kept her from speaking for a minute, the emotion she felt was like a warm quilt around her shoulders. This had been the most difficult time of her life, yet through it all she had been taken care of. She knew it was the hand of God that had carried her through the valley of grief, but she marveled that He had done it in such tangible ways—through the arms of her parents, the joy of her sons, the perfect fitting together of circumstances. And now through the love of these friends who surrounded her. She felt her faith swelling in slow motion, as though she were witnessing the unfolding of a flower through a time-lapse lens.

In the weeks following Martin’s death, she had struggled to see a speck of truth in the biblical promise that “all things work together for good.” Now the meaning of those words was coming into focus, clearer and sharper each moment, and she felt blessed beyond imagining that the promise was for
her.

She spent the rest of the day relishing precious last moments with her friends. When she cleaned out her desk that afternoon, her sadness was defused by a sense of gratitude, purpose and joyful anticipation for the future.

F
or John Brighton, the weeks filed by like marching soldiers, and life settled into a neat, cheerless routine. He came home from work each evening and changed clothes. Then he went to Parkside, usually arriving just in time to walk Ellen back from the dining room.

Occasionally he brought Chinese takeout to her room and ate there with her for old times’ sake. The China Garden had closed down years ago. The restaurant had changed ownership several times over the subsequent twenty years, and the food never was as good as it had been when it was “their” restaurant.

He smiled, remembering how Ellen had actually shed tears that long-ago afternoon when they drove by and saw the boarded windows and the “Closed” signs plastered across the doors of their old haunt. Still, now and then through the years they had ordered egg foo yong at a new Chinese place, just for tradition’s sake.

Now John doubted his feeble effort to continue the habit made a whit of difference to Ellen. He was pretty sure she didn’t remember the significance of the feast he brought. But somehow, it comforted him to keep alive a tradition from happier days.

Only two months after Ellen moved into Parkside, a private room became available. The room was large and full of light, with a view of the residents’ enclosed courtyard. The walls were papered in a soft shade of yellow, and the draperies were a cheerful floral. Much effort had been made to avoid an institutional look. It was a huge improvement over the sterile shared room, and John felt incredibly fortunate that it had become available so quickly.

At first he was grateful mostly for the kids’ sake. And they were happy and relieved to have more privacy with their mother. But after Ellen was settled in the new room and they’d brought in some furniture, paintings and the rest of Ellen’s little collection of porcelain birds, John realized how much easier his own visits had become. He could bring a book, lounge on the couch and read. He didn’t have Stella to deal with; he didn’t feel as though he were in a fishbowl with everyone watching to see how he was handling everything. His time with Ellen felt more like companionship now that her room felt more like home.

He walked with her nearly every night. When the weather was warm, they went outside and strolled along the sidewalks on the grounds. When it was chilly, they walked the long corridors inside the building.

Almost weekly, John saw a decline in her physical state. She had increasing difficulty getting around, her steps an uneven little shuffle. But her doctors said she should continue to walk as much and as often as possible. So John tried not to miss, except for the nights he had school board meetings or other obligations with his job.

After spending an hour or so at Parkside, he usually went straight home to fix a light supper, and then read or watched TV until the news was over. His last thought before sleep overtook him each night was that he would wake tomorrow to a day no different than this one had been.

He tried not to dwell on his circumstances, tried not to feel sorry for himself. It wasn’t easy. He was starved for companionship, hungry for conversation.

Except for Alexander, John had no one at all in whom he could really confide. Alexander was a godsend—a good listener, a respected source of advice and one of the few people in Calypso who could beat John at tennis. But Alexander had a busy life of his own, and John tried not to burden him with his woes too often. Most of the time, it just felt good to play a challenging game of tennis and talk about nothing more than the weather or the football game the night before.

John’s job became his lifeline. He wasn’t sure he could survive the loneliness without it.

One morning late in July, John arrived at the office to find that his secretary had scheduled an early appointment for him.

“I apologize, Mr. Brighton,” Barbara said. “I told the woman you may not be in, but she was very insistent that she see you right away. I hope there’s no conflict.”

Barbara seldom made appointments without checking with him first. “No problem. Did she say what she wanted?”

“Something about transferring her kids to Calypso schools. I believe the family is moving here from the city. I told her she needed to file the applications with the principals, but she insisted that she speak to you personally. She was very persuasive.”

“I see.” John curbed a grin. Barbara was not easily persuaded. “Well, I have to run over to the high school for a few minutes, but I should be back by eight-thirty or so. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

When John returned, the door to his office was open, and he saw that someone was waiting in the upholstered chair in front of his desk. He cleared his throat to announce his arrival, shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door.

The woman fumbled with the purse in her lap and started to stand, but John motioned her to keep her seat. He extended his right hand.

“Hello, there. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m John Brighton.”

“Good morning. Julia Sinclair.”

“Good to meet you. How can I help you, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“Julia, please.”

She had a warm handshake and a friendly smile. She spoke in a low, melodious voice. He guessed her to be in her mid-thirties, and while she wasn’t classically beautiful, there was an aura of confidence and poise about her that was very striking. She was simply but stylishly dressed in a pale blue skirt and matching blouse. She wore her dark hair smooth and straight in a short, no-nonsense cut. She wore no jewelry save for a simple gold band on her left ring finger. John noticed because Julia Sinclair spoke with her hands. Her fingers were long and slender, and her hands were as expressive as some women’s eyes.

“Well, Julia, what can I do for you? My secretary tells me you’re moving here from Chicago?”

“We hope to. That’s why I wanted to talk to you personally. I realize that enrollment usually goes through the principals, and I apologize for taking your time about this, but you see, we’ll be in two different schools here, and I want to be certain we can get both boys enrolled in the district even though we’re not officially residents yet.”

She smoothed a crease in her skirt. “I’ve just started working at Parkside Manor—I’m an accountant there—and we do plan to move to Calypso as soon as possible. Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee we’ll have found a place to live by the time school starts.”

The reference to Parkside startled John, and he struggled to concentrate on what she was saying.

“I’ve just started house hunting. My two sons have been attending a private school in Chicago, but I would like them to be able to start school here in the fall. Sam will be a sophomore and Andy an eighth grader. I really hope we’ll be moved by then, but there aren’t many houses on the market here right now.”

“That’s for sure. We’ve had so many people moving into Calypso recently. Your husband’s job is in Chicago?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have explained. My husband…passed away. It’s just the boys and me.” Julia swallowed hard. Her grief was obviously still fresh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Martin was killed in a car accident. It’ll be two years ago in October. It’s been pretty tough.” She swallowed again, blinking back tears. “It’s been especially rough on Andy—my eighth grader—but we’re managing okay now. I want to get the boys out of the city. I can’t afford their private school any longer, but I just can’t bear to put them in public school in the city. They’ve never known anything but small classrooms and a private school setting. I feel very fortunate to have found this job at Parkside. It’s a really nice place, and they’ve been very understanding of my problems with the commute and the boys’ schedules.”

John could have reaffirmed her praise of the facility, mentioning his connection to Parkside. But he found himself drawing back—pointedly dodging the subject.
Why?
Then it struck him: most everyone in the small town knew his situation with Ellen. This was the first time he’d been faced with an opening for explaining his circumstances to a stranger. Was he ashamed of Ellen?

He fought to focus on the woman’s words.

“So, what do I need to do to get the boys enrolled for the fall?” she asked.

John cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate and answer her question. “Well, assuming you find a house, just show up for enrollment next month. I’ll send you a schedule as soon as the dates are set. Unfortunately, we do have a large number of requests for out-of-district enrollments, and with the influx of new people we’ve had into town, enrollment is up anyway. So just in case you haven’t moved by then, we’ll get your name on a waiting list. Of course, you’re at an advantage getting your name in early, and we’ll definitely take into consideration your plans to move here and your employment here.”

She graced him with a relieved smile. “Oh, that’s good news.”

“And if I can brag just a bit,” he said, “Calypso is ranked as one of the best school districts in the state. My three children all graduated from CHS, and from a parent’s point of view, I can’t say enough good things about the district.

“We’ll have you fill out an application here today, which we’ll file with the school principals. Then after the regular enrollment is tabulated, the board will decide how many out-of-district applications to accept. Unfortunately, that cuts it pretty close for those who are rejected. Um…if you could possibly find housing in the district—even just a rental—that would guarantee the boys’ enrollment. In the meantime, we’ll see what we can do. I think we can probably work something out.”

Julia thanked him again and filled out the necessary forms. They chatted amiably while she wrote. Her eyes sparkled when she spoke, in spite of the sadness that hid behind them.

When she left, John felt a disquieting mixture of emotions. He’d experienced a strange elation at meeting this warm, candid woman. It had been a long time since he’d had a pleasant conversation with a woman who wasn’t expressing sympathy for him over Ellen. He realized that pity, though well intentioned, was cloying. It had been refreshing to relate to someone without the specter of his tragedy coloring their exchange.

And yet, he felt guilty that he had been so reluctant to mention Ellen. He had consciously avoided any mention of her, when under other circumstances, her name would have come up several times. No doubt about it: what should have been an unremarkable encounter with Julia Sinclair had been strangely unsettling.

When John got home that evening there was a message on the answering machine from Brant. His voice had a hint of urgency in it, though his message was nonchalant.

“Hey, Dad. Brant. Uh, give me a call when you can. I’ve got to work tonight, but I should be back by nine or so. Catch you later.”

At nine-fifteen John dialed Brant’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, you’re home. What’s up?”

“Dad! Thanks for calling back. What’s up? Well, um…quite a bit, actually.” He sounded embarrassed. John could almost hear him squirm.

Finally Brant blurted, “What would you think if I told you Cynthia and I are going to get married?”

“Are you serious? When?” John was incredulous. He hadn’t expected this.

“Well, we’re talking about next winter. Cynthia has always wanted a winter wedding. And, well…” He launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. “I know it will be hard when Cynthia still has so much school left. I’d probably have to get a second job, and I know money would be tight, but…well, we think it will be easier if we’re married and not using up so much energy thinking about each other all the time and trying to get together. We think we can make it work.” He paused and caught his breath. “You have any opinions on that?”

“I sure do. I think…” John tried to sound stern and paused for effect, but he was sure the smile in his voice would give him away. “I think you’re absolutely right. You two have gone together for a long time, and I know you wouldn’t make a decision like this without thinking it over carefully. I’m happy for you.”

He could hear Brant’s relief on the other end.

“I have to tell you, son, the first time you brought Cynthia home, your mom and I told each other we hoped you wouldn’t let her get away. She’s like family already.”

“You really think so?”

“You know I do, Brant. I want you to know that you two have my blessing.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Dad?” Brant’s voice broke. “Do you think Mom…do you think she should come to the wedding?”

Emotion hung heavy between them, silence filling the lines.

“Oh, Brant.” John sighed heavily. “It’s up to you and Cynthia, but I’m afraid it would be hard for everybody. Mom doesn’t know anyone these days. By next winter…” He let his voice trail off. He couldn’t bring himself to predict how bad things might be by then. “You know Mom would have given you and Cynthia her blessing before she got sick. She’ll be with us in spirit no matter what you decide.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Hey…” He attempted to steady his voice. “You tell Cynthia congratulations. And give her a hug for me. I’m very happy for you two.”