Promises to Keep (32 page)
“Why, Roz,” she said, “I expected you to be in bed by now.”
Mrs. Kinshaw waved a hand and hooted in amusement. “I’m afraid we lost track of time, Janis, dear. Roz and I have just been talking away like a couple of chatterboxes.”
Speak for yourself,
I thought. Aloud, I said, “I’m glad you’re home, Mom. How’s Mr. Monroe?”
“He’s just fine. He was sleeping soundly when we left.”
“Thanks be to God,” Tillie added as she slowly unbuttoned her coat. “Both Lyle and I are still alive and well. Lyle came through the surgery just fine and should be out of the hospital in a couple of days. As for me, I’m tired. I feel as though I’ve been broadsided by a train.”
“It’s been a long day for you, Tillie,” Mom agreed. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and get some rest.”
Tillie nodded. “I’m not going to argue with you there, Janis. My feet are yelling ‘Traitor!’ and my bones are begging me to lay them down for the night.”
“Well, you go on then,” Mom said with a small, wan smile. She looked pretty weary herself. “Esther, thanks for taking care of the girls. Can I reimburse you for your time?” She unsnapped her purse and dug around for her wallet.
Mrs. Kinshaw shook her head. “I wouldn’t hear of it, Janis. What are neighbors for, if not to help each other? No, I’m just glad to do it.”
“Well, thank you. You’ve been a huge help. Can I at least walk you home?”
“You don’t even have to do that, dear. I don’t imagine I’ll get lost between here and the house next door.”
Mom wiggled out of her coat, then walked to the hall closet to help Mrs. Kinshaw on with hers. As they stood at the front door a moment and talked, Tillie moved to the kitchen sink to get herself a drink of water. “Oh, Roz, I almost forgot,” she said. When the glass was full, she turned off the faucet, took a long drink, and settled the glass on the counter. “Lyle said to tell you it was a friend of yours who drove him to the hospital and stayed with him last night. Nelson Knutson. He said something about your meeting this fellow at the library. Anyway, Lyle wanted you to know he thinks the world of Mr. Knutson now. He says Mr. Knutson stuck with him just like a brother right up to the minute he had to leave for work this morning.”
“Are you talking about that man from the boardinghouse?” Mom asked, joining us in the kitchen. When Tillie nodded, Mom said, “Good thing he was around to help. Lyle says he’s the only boarder at the house who owns a car. Or, at least one that runs. We’ll have to thank him for what he did.”
“I intend to do that very thing,” Tillie agreed. “Soon as Lyle’s out of the hospital, we’ll go on over to Charlotte’s and thank that young man for his good deed.”
Mom nodded and kissed the top of my head. “We used to have a neighbor by the name of Nelson Knutson. Remember, Roz?”
Mom started putting away the clean dishes on the rack while Tillie said good-night and headed for the stairs. I stood dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen, sure that the smallest move would leave me unraveling at the seams.
Finally I mustered up the strength to say, “Sure. I remember him. Well, I’m going to go to bed now, Mom. I’m really tired.”
I slunk off and slowly climbed the stairs, wondering how Daddy was going to get himself out of this one.
When I stepped into homeroom the next morning, Miss Fremont motioned me to her desk. “I just wanted to thank you for the chocolates, Roz.”
Puzzled, I watched as she patted a large box of Whitman’s with her fingertips. “Your uncle Nelson said they were from you and” – here her thin painted lips hinted at a smile – “from him as well.”
I felt my eyebrows reach for each other across the bridge of my nose. “My uncle Nelson?” I asked warily.
“Why yes,” she said. She smoothed her heavily teased hair and pushed her cat-eye glasses farther up her nose before going on. “Your uncle who sometimes leaves notes and whatnot in your desk.”
“You know about him?” My heart speeded up and my knees felt weak.
“Of course. I was the one who told him which desk is yours. Such a nice man. To think he stops by early in the morning to leave you surprises. I wish every child had a family member like your uncle. You’re very lucky, Roz.”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked again at the chocolates, my mind spinning so fast I almost felt dizzy.
“He left something for you in your desk today,” Miss Freemont went on. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know. You didn’t forget, did you?”
“No.” I held up a paper sack filled with prepackaged dime-store cards. “I brought a card for everyone. One for you too.”
She nodded. “We’ll exchange them at the party this afternoon.”
I turned toward my desk, still trying to understand why my father would give Miss Fremont a box of chocolates.
“Roz?”
I turned back reluctantly. “Yes, Miss Fremont?”
She made a small line of her lips and looked around the room at the kids who were filing in, hanging up coats, putting books into their desks. “I was wondering . . .”
“Yeah, Miss Fremont?”
“Your uncle . . . I noticed he doesn’t wear a wedding ring. But, well, I suppose he’s married?”
The flash of hopefulness in her eyes made my stomach drop. Miss Fremont – sixth-grade teacher, stern-faced spinster, the butt of her students’ jokes – had a crush on my father. I wanted to run from the room, screaming. Instead, I forced myself to stay, to swallow the bile at the back of my throat, and to whisper, “Yeah, he’s married. But he works construction, so he doesn’t like to wear his wedding ring.”
The hope slipped off Miss Fremont’s narrow face like drooping wallpaper. She tried to smile, but her trembling lips failed her. “Of course,” she said quietly.
As though I felt the need to drive the knife deeper still, I added, “And he’s got kids.”
She sucked in her cheeks and lifted her pointed chin. “I wasn’t aware of any Knutsons in this school.”
“They’re too young for school,” I lied.
“I see. Well, you may take your seat, Roz.”
She pushed the box of chocolates to the far edge of the desk as I moved away. I hung up my coat on the rack at the back of the classroom and took my seat. Slowly I lifted the lid of my desk to see what Daddy had left inside.
There, amid the pencils, erasers, and discarded gum wrappers I found another bouquet of Sugar Daddies, tied together with a red ribbon. It lay atop a heart-shaped Valentine’s card, my name scrawled across the front in Daddy’s distinctive handwriting. Miss Fremont stood and began to speak, but I wasn’t listening. I opened the card and read.
Dear Roz,
I am giving you all of my love on Valentine’s Day. The time is almost here when we will be together again as a family. Do you know what February 29 is? Leap year day, a lucky day, a day for love. Only two more weeks.
Love,
Daddy
I was so excited I could scarcely sit still all day. Just two more weeks. If Daddy could avoid seeing Mom and Tillie at the boardinghouse in that time, we’d be home free. He’d make his grand entrance back into our lives on February 29, and then we’d be a family again. On top of that, I wouldn’t have to keep my secret anymore. Letting go of the secret would be like letting out my breath after holding it beyond all human endurance.
After school I went to the public library hoping Mara would be there. She’d left school before lunch because of a dentist appointment, and I hadn’t seen her all day. I was eager to tell her the news. I scurried from table to table until I found her. Happy and relieved, I dropped my books and reached into my coat pocket for Daddy’s note.
“Look, Mara.”
“What’s that?”
“Read it.”
She did. When she finished, she raised her head slowly and looked at me. I pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from her.
“Daddy’s coming home,” I whispered.
“I see that.”
“Well? Aren’t you happy for me?”
She stared at me a long while, her jaw working as though she were chewing on her words. Then she said, “Yeah.”
“It’s what we’ve been praying for,” I reminded her.
“Yeah.”
I was trying to hold on to my excitement, but Mara wasn’t making it easy for me. “You don’t seem very happy for me,” I said.
“It’s just that . . .” She hesitated, her words trailing off.
“What, Mara?”
“It’s just a feeling I’ve got.”
“About what?”
“Your daddy. And this whole thing.”
“You still don’t think I can trust him, do you?”
“I don’t know. Like I said before, I don’t know your daddy.”
“That’s right,” I said. “You don’t know him. He’s a good man. He took Lyle Monroe to the hospital and stayed with him all night when he didn’t have to.”
Mara nodded. “I know. You told me that.”
“He’s every bit as good as your father.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
“Then what
are
you saying?”
She gave me back the note and leaned forward a little. “I still think you should have told your mom.”
“That would ruin everything.”
Her jaw worked again. “Did you hear back from your uncle Joe yet?”
I shook my head, reluctantly, and flopped back in my seat. “I haven’t mailed the letter yet.”
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t? What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know, Mara. I just . . .” I looked at the desk, the ceiling, the rows of books stretching out beside us. Anywhere but at Mara. “I don’t know,” I finished lamely.
“You’re afraid of finding out the truth.”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are.”
Our eyes met then, locking angrily. After a tense moment she said, “Mail the letter, Roz. You still have two weeks.”
I slipped Daddy’s note back into my pocket, gathered my books, and stood up. “I’ve got to go.”
Mara said something, but I didn’t catch it, and I didn’t look back as I headed for the door.
On Friday afternoon when I got home from school, I found Tillie in the kitchen making a pot of chicken soup. “Is that for supper?” I asked.
“Nope.” Tillie shook her head as she stirred rice into the pot. “It’s for Lyle. Johnny drove him home from the hospital this afternoon.”
“So he’s all right?”
“He’s fine. He’ll need to rest a few more days before going back to work at the hardware store, though.”
“I didn’t know he was working at a hardware store.”
Tillie nodded absently. “Just until he can get a teaching job.” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, blew on it, tasted it, added more salt. “I thought a little homemade chicken soup would help him get his strength back. I’m going to take it to him tonight. Esther Kinshaw is coming over in a little while to stay with you and Valerie.”
“What about Mom?”
“She’s coming with me.”
“She is?”
Another nod. “She’d like to see Lyle, and we’d both like to thank that Mr. Knutson for what he did. That is, if he’s there tonight.”
My heart dropped to my toes. In my mind’s eye I saw myself running through the snowy streets of Mills River, beating a path across the miles from McDowell Street to Cisco Avenue so I could warn Daddy not to be at the boardinghouse tonight. But I couldn’t run that far, not in the cold, not even without the cold . . . not even in a million years. If I could have, I would have called him at work, but I didn’t know where he was working, or even whether he
was
working. But I had to warn him somehow that Mom was coming, because if I didn’t . . .
“Tillie?”
“Yes, Roz?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and laid one cool palm across my forehead. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my stomach.” I clasped both hands across my midsection. “I have a stomachache.”
“Hmm . . . well, I can give you some bicarbonate of soda. That should help.”
I shook my head. “I think I’d better lie down.”
“It’s probably just a little indigestion. What’d you eat for lunch?”
I tried to think back that far. Lunch seemed years ago. “We had . . . oh yeah, meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“That explains it,” Tillie said knowingly. “No telling what the ladies down at the school cafeteria put in their meatloaf. I’ve known the head cook, Thelma, ever since she was born. Did you know she failed home economics back in . . . now what year was that? . . . she was in Paul’s class, I believe, and it was the year they were seniors – ”
“Um, Tillie . . .” I interrupted, clutching my stomach more tightly. “If I don’t lie down, I might throw up.”
Tillie raised her hands in surrender. “By all means, then, go lie down. And here” – she grabbed a plastic bowl from the counter – “take this with you, in case you need it.”
“Will you send Mom upstairs when she gets home?”
“Soon as she walks in the door.”
I went to my room and got in bed, fully dressed. I knew I’d be there for at least an hour before Mom got home, but I had to make it look good. If Tillie believed I was sick, chances were Mom would too. When Tillie came upstairs a few minutes later with a glass of Coca-Cola, I pleaded my case by moaning.