The Promise (19 page)

 35 

I
t was good to be home.

It wasn't so good doing laundry. Marilyn had been at it for almost an hour. Ten days of luxurious living in the Tuscan countryside could almost make a person forget that all these clothes you packed would face a day of reckoning when you got home. Jim had suggested she wait until tomorrow, but then she'd have it hanging over her head until then.

Besides, she had an extra hour to kill. When they had gotten home, Doug had called saying he'd like to go out to dinner with them but that it would take an hour to get home. He was driving back from Flagler College in St. Augustine, where he hoped to attend in the fall. She couldn't believe it—her little baby was graduating high school in just a few weeks.

Then she and Jim would officially be empty nesters.

Another reason to get the laundry done was that it kept her moving. If she sat for even a little while, she'd fall fast asleep. For her body clock it was already past midnight, and it felt like it.

She moved a load from the washer to the dryer and put a fresh load in the washer. She decided to make sure Jim hadn't
fallen asleep on the bed. He was supposed to be getting showered and changed. She looked at her watch. Doug should be getting home in about ten minutes. She decided to sneak over to the little apartment above the garage, to survey the damage.

Doug had moved up there last year. He'd been keeping up with things a little better, but that was with Marilyn's constant supervision. What would she find after being gone ten days? As she cleared the final step, she braced for the hit. The door opened, and to her great surprise, everything looked . . . fine. A little lived in, but that was all.

From here, she could see only the living area and kitchen. She hurried across the carpet to peek in his bedroom. My, my. Her little boy was growing up. The bed was made, the clothes hung up, even his shoes were in the closet. “Good for you, Douglas.” She headed back through the front door, down the stairs, then across the walkway toward the main house.

Jim would love this. They both had noticed a positive change in Doug since he'd gotten a job at a grocery store a couple of months ago. She walked through the French doors into the great room, then around the stairway toward their bedroom suite on the first floor. She could hear Jim singing in the bathroom.

“How's it coming?” she said.

“Almost done, just gotta do my hair.”

That sounded funny to her.

“Can you pick out a shirt for me? All the ones I like are in the trip laundry.”

She came up from behind as he stood at the mirror and gave him a hug. “You smell nice. Doug should be here any minute.”

“I'll be ready. Any idea where we're going?”

“How about we let Doug pick?”

“Fine,” he said, “as long as it's not Italian. Think I want something nice and American for a change.”

Marilyn laughed. “I'm with you on that.”

“I could even go for a nice burger,” Jim said.

A hamburger actually sounded pretty good to Marilyn. Maybe she'd suggest that to Doug. “Here's something nice.” She told him all about what she'd found in Doug's apartment. When she finished, her phone rang. It was her friend Charlotte.

“Don't get that,” Jim said. “You guys will be talking for twenty minutes.”

She slapped his arm. “No we won't.” She headed toward Jim's side of the walk-in closet as she answered the phone. “Hey, Charlotte.”

“So you made it home okay?”

“We're home but, listen, I can't really talk. We're about to go out for dinner.”

“This'll only take a sec. Just confirming you're still going to the orientation meeting with me tomorrow. You know, at the crisis pregnancy center.”

Marilyn had forgotten all about it. “Yes, I'm going. Not sure how awake I'll be.” She selected the shirt she wanted and walked it over to Jim.

“Hope it's okay, but I went ahead and also signed you up for counseling training Saturday morning. If you don't want to go, you can cancel it. But the spots were going fast.”

“I guess.”

“Whatta ya mean, you guess. You'll be great at it.”

“I'm sure that's fine.”

“Good, then it's settled. Well, you all have a nice dinner. So glad you got back all right.”

Forty minutes later, they were sitting down with Doug at the Beef Joint, a local mom-and-pop place that made great burgers the old-fashioned way. It had a condiments bar with every imaginable thing you could ever want on a burger. Marilyn was
already in her seat; Doug was heading this way and Jim was still fashioning his masterpiece at the bar.

Doug looked great, and he was so excited about some news he'd picked up at the college. Back at the house, he had given them both a warm hug when they'd greeted.

Doug slid into the booth. “So, what was your favorite thing of the whole trip?”

“Let's see . . . probably just having all that time with your dad. Either that, or driving that BMW one hundred miles an hour on the Autostrada.” She pretended as if she were still deciding.

“You drove a BMW one hundred miles an hour?”

Marilyn nodded.

“And Dad was okay with that?”

“It was your dad's idea. He set it up.”

“No way.” Jim walked up and sat next to Marilyn. “Dad, you let Mom drive a hundred miles an hour in Italy?”

“Let's pray over the food, and then I'll answer that.” Jim led them in a short prayer of thanks. He looked up at Doug. “Yes, I did. But I was a nervous wreck.”

“He was,” Marilyn added. “But he had no reason to be.” Jim and Doug began to devour their burgers. She was hungry, but she'd also gained six pounds on the trip. I'll start working on that tomorrow, she thought as she bit into the burger.

For the next twenty minutes, they exchanged stories. Of course, it wasn't exactly a free-flowing dialogue. Jim and Marilyn talked all about Italy; Doug's side of the conversation was more like an interview with one-sentence answers and follow-up questions.

The only disappointment came when Jim asked Doug if he'd made it to church on Sunday. A long pause was their answer. Doug quickly apologized. “The guys were over late Saturday playing Xbox. Sorry, I overslept.”

To help Jim resist the urge to turn the conversation into a
lecture, Marilyn remembered something they hadn't talked about yet. “You still haven't told us about your time at the college. You said you had some good news.”

“Oh, right. I had a great meeting with the guidance counselor. While you were gone, my acceptance letter came in. So I made an appointment—”

“You got accepted?” Marilyn said. “I'm so excited for you!”

“That's great, Doug,” Jim said. “I'm proud of you. You worked hard to get your grades up this past year. See? It paid off.”

“It did. And here's the thing. Turns out, I can graduate almost a year early if I take courses during all the summer semesters. You'll even save a little bit, Dad, if I do this. The classes will cost the same, but you won't have to pay as much room and board since the summer semesters are shorter.”

“You want to graduate early?” Jim asked.

“Sure, if I can. The thing is, I'd have to move into the dorm just a week after my high school graduation.”

Marilyn's heart sank. “You mean, you wouldn't be moving out in the fall? You'd be leaving us in June? That's less than six weeks.”

“But it's only an hour and a half away, Mom. I'd be coming home for visits all the time.”

Marilyn doubted that. More likely, once Doug left home they'd see him less and less. He was already so independent. She set her burger down on the plate.

Suddenly, she had lost her appetite.

 36 

L
ater that evening, Henry invited Tom outside on the patio with him. A sliver of light remained in the western sky. The temperature was a pleasant seventy degrees. Myra had poured them glasses of fresh iced tea. “Have a seat, Tom. I was thinking maybe we could have that chat. The one we were going to have before you talked with Jean.”

Tom sat in the wicker chair, set his glass on the round end table between them. “What's the point now? The whole thing is so messed up.”

“I don't think things are as bad as they seem, Tom. I don't know for certain why God let it play out this way. I'm sure he has his reasons. But things aren't just unraveling here. I believe God is still in total control of everything going on, even now.”

“If that's true,” Tom said, “then I guess he must be trying to punish me for the lousy way I've handled this.”

Henry smiled as that verse about God disciplining those he loves came to mind again. “You might be on to something there, Tom.”

Tom looked up, puzzled. “You think God really is punishing me?”

“Maybe,” Henry said. Then he quoted the verse in Hebrews. “Actually Tom, the whole chapter where that verse sits—I think it's chapter 12—is all about God's discipline. I've been disciplined by God more times than I can count. Every Christian has. We might not always recognize it, and because we don't, we often don't learn the lessons God's trying to get through to us. But because he loves us, he stays at it until the lights finally come on.”

Tom reached for his iced tea. “You're saying this whole mix-up with Jean is . . . God loving me?”

Henry nodded. “The Bible says God disciplines those he loves. He's not like earthly parents, who discipline their kids when they get fed up or embarrassed by what they're doing. His only motivation is love. And that his child learns the lesson he's trying to teach him.” Henry sat back in his chair and waited a few moments to let all this sink in.

Tom set his glass down on the table and stood up. He walked to the edge of the patio and stared out toward the backyard. He was breathing so heavily that Henry could hear him from where he sat. This went on for a minute or two. Henry felt like maybe he should say something comforting.

Finally, Tom turned, blinking back tears. “I think you're right, Uncle Henry. I've been making excuses this whole time for every wrong thing I've done. Ever since I got that pink slip from the bank. All these lies to Jean and everyone else. Blaming everybody but myself.” He looked down at the ground. “I don't even know why I did it. In the beginning, I thought it was to protect Jean. But as time went on, I knew that it wasn't the real reason.” He walked slowly along the back edge of the patio, where it bordered the grass.

Henry stood and walked toward him. He felt a strong nudge about where this conversation should go next. “Who are you protecting, Tom? Do you know?”

Tom shook his head, not really looking at Henry. “I don't know. I just . . . I thought it was Jean, but after the lies kept piling up, it became more about me not getting caught in all these lies. Or what Jean and my folks would think when they found out the truth. Oh man . . .” He reached up and began massaging his temples. “They're going to find out now.” He took a deep breath. “My parents, they might already know.” A long exhale.

There it was again, Henry thought. It confirmed his suspicions. Tom seemed to be retreating inside himself. Henry had to do something to reach him before he slipped into full-blown despair. He put his arm on Tom's shoulder. “I think I know why you did it, son.”

Tom looked up. “You do?”

Henry nodded. “It's because you're an Anderson man. It's our legacy. A sad one, but there it is.” Tom was listening but clearly didn't understand. “The thing is, if you don't learn this lesson, you'll pass it on to little Tommy, just as surely as your dad passed it on to you, and my dad passed it on to us. Aunt Myra and I've been seeing this thing play out for a while. You're already headed in that direction with little Tommy.”

“I am? What direction? I don't get it. What are you saying?”

“Let's go back over to those chairs a minute, and I'll explain. It won't take long.” Tom followed him back to the wicker chairs. Henry took a long swallow of his iced tea.

“What do you mean, I'm an Anderson man? You're saying it like it's a bad thing.”

“I'm talking about the way you were raised. You had no say in it, but it happened just the same. It was the way my dad raised me and your grandfather, the way your grandfather raised your dad, the way he raised you. Tell me something: during all those months of lying, who were you more afraid would find out, Jean or your dad?”

“Jean,” Tom said without hesitation. “I see her every day.
There was a lot more danger in her finding out than my dad. I only ever see him every week or so. If Jean found out, I knew it would be all over. There's no way she would keep this thing between us. What am I saying? She's probably already told them.”

“Told who?” Henry knew the answer.

“Told my . . .” Tom stopped. He saw it.

“Your folks?” Henry said. “More specifically . . . your dad?”

Tom nodded, lowered his head. “He's going to think I'm a total loser. I really screwed things up. Now, he's gonna know.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “About the job, the house, the cars, the maxed-out credit cards.” He looked up. “We're going to lose everything, Uncle Henry. Everything.”

The tears came stronger now. He looked down at the ground again. “He told me to get that certification, right after I graduated. But I didn't listen. He told me not to buy the house when I did, not to get that second car. He's gonna blow his stack when he sees how much debt I've racked up on those cards.” He looked up at Henry. “We don't even believe in credit cards, did you know that? They're a trap. You know how many times I heard that growing up? Hundreds. Now look. I'm in a hole so deep I'll never get out.”

His head fell into his hands. Henry heard him say, “I'm a screwup. A total screwup.”

Henry rubbed his back gently. It was hard to be an Anderson man.