Promise Me (32 page)

He glanced around the quiet room. The apartment was exactly the way he remembered it. Their furniture was back. The wood paneling was gone and the walls were painted vanilla
yellow, adorned with their pictures. On the front room wall, above the sofa, was Charlotte's bridal picture. He was back. Two thousand eight was back. He looked to the open bedroom door and cautiously took a step toward it. Then he heard a voice. “Matthew?”

Just then Charlotte stepped out of the bedroom, her head cocked to one side as she fastened an earring. She wore a bright Christmas sweater tight enough to accent the small bump of her waist. “Where have you been, love?”

He just stared at her and her stomach. “You're okay.”

She smiled. “Of course I am, silly. I told you it was just a little late afternoon morning sickness. Where have you been?”

He stared at her. “I, uh, went for a walk.”

“Without a coat?”

He walked up and threw his arms around her. “Charlotte.”

She laughed. “Careful, you'll muss me up. Now hurry and change, we'll be late for Mom's party.”

“Of course.” He went into the bedroom to dress. Some things in the room were the same, some different. There were new clothes in the closet mixed in with clothes he recognized. He put on some corduroy jeans and a sweater he'd never seen before. Charlotte was waiting by the door holding a small wrapped package when he walked out.

She looked him over. “I love that sweater. Didn't Mom give that to you for your birthday?”

“I don't remember.”

“I think she did. She'll be glad you're wearing it. Do you have the keys?”

“No. Where are they?”

“Where we always put them.”

Matthew went into the kitchen and was relieved to find that the keys were in the same drawer they always were. He looked around the room. It had changed. It was decorated in Tuscan design.

“Come on, Matthew, we're late.”

“I'm coming,” he said.

Charlotte took his hand as they walked out of the apartment. “That was so sweet of you, hugging me like that. I don't know what's gotten into you, but don't let it out.”

“I was just thinking how I'd never get over it if something happened to you.”

“What made you think of that?”

“I don't know,” he said. He looked back at her. She looked different now. He could still see the little girl in her. “How old were you when you were diagnosed with celiac?”

“That's random,” she said. “I don't know. Just little, I think six.”

He nodded. “Six,” he said. “Of course.”

Snow was lightly falling as they walked out to their car. Matthew opened the door for her, then climbed in the driver's side, turned on the heater and pulled out of the apartment's parking lot. The streets were mostly deserted and he pulled into the turn lane at the first intersection they came to. Charlotte looked over at him. “Where are you going?”

“I thought we were going to your Mom's.”

“This isn't the way to Mom's.”

He turned through the intersection, then pulled over to the
side of the road. “You know, I have a really bad headache. Would you mind driving?”

“I'm sorry. Of course.”

Matthew climbed out of the car and walked around while Charlotte slid over to the driver's seat. He climbed in and fastened his seat belt.

“I didn't know you weren't feeling well,” Charlotte said. “Are you feeling up to this party?”

“I'll be fine.”

Charlotte pulled out into the street, made a U-turn, then drove south up toward Big Cottonwood Canyon. Ten minutes later they pulled into a gated subdivision of large, exclusive homes. The road was blocked by a wide red-and-yellow-striped gate arm festively strung with Christmas lights, next to a security guard's shack. The uniformed guard opened his window. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you,” Charlotte said. “We're visiting my mother, the Breinholts.”

Breinholts?

“Just a minute, please.” The guard lifted a phone, spoke to someone, then waved them forward as the gate arm rose. A minute later Charlotte pulled into the circular driveway of a large stucco and rock home near the end of the subdivision.

The home was a towering, gabled structure with a massive rock chimney and large gaslight fixtures across the front of the house that flickered against the gray winter sky. Even in winter the landscaping was lush, and large pines in the yard had been professionally wrapped in twinkling Christmas
lights. Matthew looked at it in awe. “How many years has she lived here?”

“Ever since she married Kevin.”

He looked at her.
Kevin?

“How long ago was that,” Charlotte said to herself, “fourteen years ago? I think I was ten or eleven.”

Matthew looked over the structure. “That is one big house,” he said to himself.

Charlotte stopped the car beneath the stone portico leading to the home's entrance. “You sure you're feeling okay? How far did you go on your walk?”

You have no idea
, he thought. “A ways.”

“Well, if you need to leave, just let me know. Mom will understand. By the way, Kevin had some cancers removed from his arm, so he has a bunch of bandages, in case you're wondering.”

“Is he okay?”

“They were just being cautious. You know how Mom is when it comes to cancer.”

They got out of the car and walked up beneath a long portico to the front door—a tall, arched, carved-wood door with heavy brass metal fixtures. Charlotte pushed it open into the bright, marble-floored foyer, and they were met by a rush of light and warmth. “Mom, Dad, we're here,” she called.

A well-dressed, elegant-looking man, with gray temples walked into the foyer. He wore a broad, pleasant smile. “Charlotte, Matthew, Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” Charlotte said, running to him. They hugged.

“How are you, Matt?”

“Great,” he said. “Merry Christmas.” He motioned to the bandages on Kevin's arm. “You okay?”

“It's nothing. All benign, but thanks for asking. You need to try some of my wassail. I think I finally nailed it.”

“I'd love to.”

Kevin said to Charlotte, “Your mom is still putting her face on. She's been up there for nearly an hour. Maybe with you here she'll finally come down.”

“I don't know why she does that,” Charlotte said. “It's just us.”

“I told her that. But you know your beautiful mom, she always wants to look her best. I'll let her know you're here.” He walked to the foot of the circular staircase and shouted, “Beth, the kids are here.”

Just as a journey of a thousand miles ends with a few steps, a wait of decades ends with a few seconds. The time has come.

Beth Cardall's Diary

I was sitting on the bed when Kevin called upstairs.

“I'll be right down,” I shouted. I walked back into the bathroom and took another look in the mirror. Even if I could hide the puffiness of my eyes, I couldn't hide the wrinkles. If he did remember, would I look old to him? Of course I would. To him I was nearly twenty years older. He would look the same as he did last week when he came over to help Kevin install the new television downstairs.

I can't hide up here forever
, I told myself. I took a deep breath, then walked out of the room, down the hall to the stairs. Charlotte and Matthew were in the foyer below. They both looked up at me. “Merry Christmas, Mom,” Charlotte said.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie. You look darling. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.”

I turned to Matthew and said a little too formally, “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I kissed Charlotte,
then Matthew. “You need to try Kevin's wassail,” I said to them.

“He offered,” Matthew said. “I was just making my way to the kitchen.”

“Always something new,” Charlotte said. “Fortunately, everything he makes is fabulous.”

The door chime rang, and before I could even take a step toward the door, it swung open and Roxanne stepped inside. “Anybody home?”

“Rox,” I said.

“Baby doll.” She ran over to hug me. “Merry Christmas, oh, don't you look delicious. Ray, you just keep your eyes to yourself.”

Ray was a dozen feet behind her, huffing a little and leaning against his cane. “Merry Christmas, Beth.”

“Merry Christmas, Ray. Kevin's in the kitchen. There's cold beer in the refrigerator.”

“I'm on it.”

“What is that you're wearing?” Roxanne said, looking at my cameo. “Is that new?”

“No. It's very old. I got it back in Capri.”

“Is it—” she stopped herself. Roxanne rarely practiced restraint, but the topic of Capri had always been off limits.

I looked over and noticed that Matthew was staring at me. “It is beautiful,” he said. “When did you get it?”

“Many years ago. A dear friend gave it to me.”

Roxanne said to Matthew, “Hello, you handsome Italian devil. Give me a kiss.”

Matthew grinned. “Hi, Rox.” He kissed her cheek.

“Always the cheek,” she said. “Always the cheek. Just once I'd like a big smack on the lips. And look at you girl,” she said, patting Charlotte's stomach. “You look just precious with a bun in the oven. And what is that heavenly smell? What is Kevin up to this year?”

“No matter what Daddy makes, you know it's going to be good,” Charlotte said.

“He's trying something new this year,” I said. “Italian.”

“
Mamma mia
,” Rox said, “I just love Italian. Everything Italian. You too,” she said to Matthew. “I should have married me one of them.”

“Should have,” Ray said from the kitchen.

“Let me take your coat.”

I hung her coat in the hall closet, then glanced over at Matthew, who was now walking around the house looking at pictures with one hand in his pocket, a glass of wassail in the other. Kevin called from the kitchen, “Beth, would you mind serving the antipasti?”

“Of course.” I went to the kitchen. Kevin had filled a plate with his bacon-wrapped scallops impaled with toothpicks. I lifted one and popped it into my mouth. “Delicious, honey.”

Kevin smiled at me. “Thanks.”

I lifted the tray. “Scallops, anyone?”

“I'll have one of those,” said Ray. “Or ten.”

“Matthew?”

“Sure. Thanks.” He took two. “One for Charlotte,” he said.

“She can't have one,” I said.

“She can't?”

“You know . . . pregnant women and shellfish.”

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot.” He started to put it back.

“No, keep it. A strapping young man like you can have them both.” I started to walk away, then stopped. “Matthew, would you mind grabbing the napkins?”

“Sure.” He looked around. “Where are they?”

“Where you put them away last time,” I said. He didn't move. I pointed toward a drawer. “Next to the dishwasher.”