Promise Her

by Johnston, Andrea

  The bomb of their separation hit me harder than I would have expected. It also reminded of how detached from their life I’ve been these last few years. I wish I had known how bad things were; I could have helped in some way. As much as I wish I could have supported them, thinking of the demise of their relationship, the loss of love they had for one another, the same love I envied, tore me to pieces.

  “You know he had his own demons. It was never about you. He loved you more than anything. I know he would have fixed things if he knew how. But, honey, you have to know his issues ran as deep as his veins.”

  Sighing, I wait for her to respond but hear a commotion in the background and then a song I know well. “Scarlett, are you watching Curious George?”

  “No?” It’s a question not an answer, and I can’t stop the laugh that bellows from me. When I get my bearings, I take a long sip from my coffee. “Don’t make fun of me, Taylor Cain. You were fine when I was recapping my other show. I like this movie. It’s soothing. Plus it has the best music ever. Jack Johnson is dreamy.”

  “Oh, Red. You never cease to amaze me. Look, I’ve got to grab something to eat and hit the market before I head into the bar tonight. If you need anything, shoot me a text or call one of the guys. You know they’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

  “Don’t worry, Connor stopped by on his way to the job site today, and Grant has sent me a text every hour, checking in.”

  Smiling, I’m glad those two listened to me last week when I told them we needed to be on top of taking care of Scarlett. She’ll never ask us for help until it’s too late. We need to be there for her, to support her during this time.

  “I bet Beth, I mean, Mercy, would be happy to hang out with you. Shit, that’s still weird for me. What a small world.”

  I still can’t get over the fact that in the largest state in the union, I ran into a former employee in the small town of Fayhill. At my best friend’s funeral. Beth, now known by her first name, Mercy, had Scarlett pulled into a tight hug, whispering kind words in her ear when I walked up and did a double take. She didn’t look as surprised to see me as I was her. Once I got my act together and stopped saying “This is a trip,” she hugged me and introduced me to her boyfriend like it was just a regular day, and ending up in the same small town wasn’t as weird as hell.

  Knowing there was someone else I knew and trusted in town to care for Scarlett made leaving her easier.

  “Some may call it kismet, Taylor.”

  “I don’t know if it was anything like that, but it sure was a trip.”

  We both start laughing and finish our call before I head to the bathroom for a long shower. There’s a breakfast burrito with my name on it just five minutes away. It’s been too long since I’ve had my Rosa’s fix, and I’m due.

  Chapter 8

  Scarlett

  4 weeks later

  I would never make it in prison. Life in a small concrete box with only a small window for sunlight. Let’s be honest, my attitude and bitchiness these last few days would probably have me in solitary so there wouldn’t even be sunlight. Nope, I’m not meant for solitude. I need people. Laughter, music, and conversation. Gosh, I miss conversation. As many problems as we had, Henry was my best friend and knew me better than anyone. I’ve managed to make a few friendships with the women in town, some in my knitting group, but it isn’t the same.

  The kind smiles and hand pats are almost more than I can take each day. Between my part-time job at the local dentist’s office and the knitting group, I’m tapped out with sympathies. Everyone has the best of intentions, and I would never believe anyone in this town is judging me. Okay, not true, I don’t believe anyone intends to judge me, it’s just something that comes to people naturally.

  Then, there are the expectations, perceived behaviors, and reactions a widow is supposed to portray. I don’t think I have any of those. Instead, I scream and I yell. I talk to Henry and curse at him. Then I slip into a nice warm bath, and cry while I make promises to my son. I tell him stories of his father and his uncle Taylor.

  Taylor. In the last few weeks, those talks in the bath have turned to me telling my boy how handsome his uncle is. How smart and kind and selfless he is. I regale him with stories told to me over the years by his father and those who know both men well. It’s then that my tears return as I realize I’m happily telling my son about his pseudo uncle and not his father.

  Hatred and self-loathing consumes me, then I tell myself to get my shit together and grow a fucking pair. And apologize to my son and remind him only adults swear and sorry in advance for his mommy’s potty mouth when she’s angry. Mostly, I remind myself of where I am in my life. That each new day isn’t a promise, it’s a reward.

  Looking at my weekend bag, hands on my hips, and bottom lip tugged between my teeth, I contemplate my next move. A weekend in Austin doing some retail therapy, maybe a trip to a day spa, and some live music is option one. Mercy said she could sneak away, make it a girl’s trip and introduce me to her old roommates. Option two is more of a risk. Drive to Lexington and surprise Taylor, visit with Addy, and not have to worry about being Henry’s widow.

  Decision made, I toss in a skirt, peasant top, and my favorite cowboy boots before placing my makeup and toiletry bags on top. Carrying my bag out of my bedroom, I check the back door to ensure it’s bolted and flip on the light over the sink so the house isn’t completely dark.

  As I exit through the front door and take the first step, my neighbor, Mr. Stanton, is cutting across his lawn toward me, huge smile spread across his face. About seventy-five, Mr. Stanton has been one of the only people to offer his sympathies once and then move along with our lives. He still stops by once a week to bring me the extra coupons from his paper and waves each evening when he takes his daily walk. Maybe I should walk with him instead of sitting on my ass waiting for it to grow.

  “Off somewhere, Scarlett?”

  Taking the last step I reply, “Just a few days away. I need a little change of scenery.”

  “That’s good. I look forward to my annual guys’ trip. This year is Cabo.”

  Okay, I didn’t see that coming. Who knew sweet Mr. Stanton went on guys trips to Mexico?

  “Wow! Cabo, that’s a true vacation. Sadly, I don’t have such grand plans.”

  “Trips don’t have to be grand to serve their purpose. Sometimes a new landscape is all we need to reset ourselves.”

  Truer words have never been spoken. I hope a few days outside of this house and its memories will reset not only my body but my mind.

  “Did you have any more packages coming?” Mr. Stanton asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Deliveries. There was a young man at your door the other day, said he had a package for you that required your signature only. He stood there for quite a few minutes, knocking away on the door. Even caught him peeking in the window, probably hoping you were inside.”

  I don’t recall having any deliveries due. Of course, I left the house with two different shoes on and forgot my purse at the grocery store the other day. Anything is possible with this pregnancy brain.

  “No deliveries for me, but, if you see the courier again, would you mind asking him to call me to reschedule?”

  “Of course. You drive safe and enjoy yourself. That little one will be here soon enough and your days will no longer be your own,” he warns, gesturing toward my stomach.

  Smiling, I nod and walk to my car, popping the trunk and placing my bag inside. Once I’m settled behind the wheel, I take a deep breath and pull out of my driveway. New landscape. New mindset.

  The drive to Lexington is long. Much longer than I thought it would be. It may have something to do with my constant need to stop and stretch my body. And use the restroom. I cannot imagine making this drive on a motorcycle like Taylor did for Henry’s funeral.

  No wonder he was exhausted when he arrived. And ravenous. Snacking is usually my preferred way of eating. Grazing my wa
y through the day with various chips, dips, crackers, and an assortment of cheeses is what Henry teased me about over the years. Now, I want nothing but to get out of this moving car, drink a large mocktail, and devour some red meat.

  A new and strange craving of the last few days. I’ve wanted nothing but red meat in any fashion. Put it in a shell, on a French roll, or grill it up in steak form, I’m not choosy. Instead, I’m driving down this highway, my audiobook not helping my overactive hormones, and all alone. It’s been miles since I’ve seen another car or truck. Deep in the back of my mind, I realize how irresponsible it was to hop in my car without telling anyone where I was going. A simple breakdown on this stretch of road and I’ll be stranded. At least I had the forethought not to listen to one of my favorite true crime podcasts. With my luck, the most recent edition would be about a woman kidnapped on a road trip.

  As my favorite narrator, Hawk Weaver, describes every inch of the heroine’s body he plans to lick, I squirm in my seat. Hormones don’t only make me cry at the drop of a hat and forget my groceries at the market, they also make me horny as hell. Another new development in the last few weeks of my pregnancy. I must have skipped over this part of my pregnancy books. Or chose to ignore it because it isn’t like I have someone to help me through this hump.

  “You’re painstakingly wet, Love. Do you know what that does to me?” Hawk’s voice is like the deepest darkest chocolate oozing down the side of a freshly baked cake, and I am here for it. I want to crawl in this book and let him do all of this to me. With his perfect British accent and deep gravelly voice essentially coating my body with each breath and syllable I feel like I’m living the life of the heroine.

  Fine, I realize it isn’t actually Hawk Weaver doing these things, and I also know my imagination is running amuck. I have no idea what he looks like in real life. He’s an anomaly. Heck, for all I know he’s a seventy-year-old man who wears dentures and lives with seven cats. But, for now, I choose to live in my own fantasy that this man exists and would only be happy to do sinful and amazing things to me.

  The shrill of my phone interrupts the dirty talk filling my small car and startles me. Looking around, as if anyone is going to see me jumping in my seat, I tap the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  “Scarlett.” Grant sighs.

  “Hey, Grant.”

  “Don’t hey me. Where the hell are you? I went by the house, and it’s all locked up. That nosy neighbor was arguing with me about a package and a signature.”

  Laughing, I can’t stop the snort that escapes. “Mr. Stanton is not nosy. I’m actually headed out of town for a few days. I forgot to call you this morning.” Lies. I’m a liar. I did not forget.

  “Oh. Where are you headed? I saw Mercy at the diner today, and she didn’t say anything about you girls going on a trip.”

  “That’s because I’m by myself.” I mumble the end of my statement, hoping he can’t hear me. I don’t need a lecture but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to get one.

  “Red—”

  “Nope, I’m not doing this with you, Grant. I’m going out of town for a few days and will be fine. Please don’t push me on this.”

  A long silence with only his breathing filling the line has me wishing for more Hawk Weaver as my company. I tap the steering wheel a few times as I wait for my friend to gather his thoughts and, likely, attempt to muster a response that won’t piss me off.

  “Drive safely and let me know when you’ve arrived wherever it is you’re going.”

  Smiling, I savor this small victory. Having three men looking out for me and my baby is great, but goodness, are they a little overbearing. And, not in the sexy book boyfriend way.

  Chapter 9

  Taylor

  “Ashton Sullivan, I swear to all that is holy if you do not put that box down I am going to call Jameson.”

  Huffing and rolling her eyes, my senior bartender, friend, and royal pain in the ass employee sets the box on the bar and turns to face me. Hands on her hips, she looks absolutely ridiculous. Wearing a pair of maternity shorts and a flowy tank top, her dark hair is piled high on her head, while the expression on her face screams “Shut your mouth!” But it is the pair of slippers on her feet that make me laugh. Ashton has a few more weeks left in her pregnancy and refuses to stay home, regardless of how many times I remove her from the schedule.

  “Taylor, do not tell me what to do. It is rude and makes me want to kick you in the nuts. Of course, after I birth these children, since they make it so I cannot wear regular shoes, nor can I lift my legs high enough to reach said nuts.” Ashton scrunches her face and sighs as I approach her and guide her from behind the bar to one of the stools on the opposite side.

  “I know taking it easy and staying home is killing you but, girl, you can’t be behind the bar in slippers. We agreed when you got to this stage, I’d remove you from the schedule and you’d help me with the paperwork bullshit I hate. From home. Why can’t you just hold up your end of the bargain?”

  Filling a glass with water, I pop a straw in the glass and slide it across the bar to her as she sniffles. Dammit, not another crying pregnant woman. The difference between Scarlett and Ashton and their crying fits is that Ashton would rather have her fiancé comforting her than me. She’s told me that on more than one occasion in the last few days. So, instead of pulling her into my arms like I would Scarlett, I hold a bar napkin out for her.

  After blowing her nose, taking a drink of water, and sitting back in the chair and resting her hands on her stomach, she smiles at me. “Sorry. It happens when I least expect it. I know I shouldn’t be behind the bar. I’m sorry.”

  “What did you do now, babe?”

  A huge smile appears on her face as Ashton turns to face Jameson. He leans down and places a kiss on her forehead as he settles his hand atop hers. Watching my friends, together with their hands resting atop of where their two unborn children are pulls at me. These two are going to be amazing parents, and I have no doubt their children will be kind, smart, and so full of piss and vinegar we’ll all be laughing as they toss back Ashton’s very own snark and sass. Something tugs at me, not envy, but something that reminds me I’ll probably never know that feeling. Parenthood isn’t in the cards for me, and as much as I wish things were different, this is the life I’ve chosen.

  “I didn’t do anything, did I, Taylor? That was a blanket apology. I’m feeling apologetic.”

  “That’s right, man. She’s been weepy and apologetic all day.”

  Ashton and I exchange a knowing smile. If Jameson knew she had been behind the bar or trying to move boxes, he would flip his lid. He’s worried she’ll fall or hurt herself, or the babies, if she isn’t careful. I can’t say I disagree. But we are also talking about Ashton Sullivan here. She may be the most stubborn woman I know.

  “You ready to head home? I want to get that second crib put together tonight,” Jameson says, extending his hand to Ashton.

  “I suppose. You’ll be okay tonight, Taylor? We really need to get another bartender in here. Since I’m off the schedule, you’re already shorthanded. It’ll take at least two newbies to fill my spot while I’m on maternity leave.”

  Chuckling, I shake my head at Ashton. I hate to agree with her, but she’s right. It’ll take at least two mid-level bartenders to pick up the slack with her being out for a few months. If she even comes back. Something tells me once she holds her children in her arms, she’ll call me and tell me to replace her permanently.

  “We’ll be fine. You guys have a good night.”

  Waving goodbye, they head toward the front doors of Country Road. Once the door closes behind them, I look around the expansive space, checking for any customers who may have entered while I was talking. Confirming there are only the few patrons already served, I quickly finish stocking the beers Ashton was carrying.

  It’s taken a lot of time, and I’m proud of what I’ve built and the staff that has stuck with me over the years. But Ashton is rig
ht. I need help. I guess it’s time to put up a sign and get the word out that I’m looking for staff.

  The happy hour crowd is settling their tabs, and I excuse myself from behind the bar for a quick break. It’s the usual time Scarlett sits down for dinner, and I know from my time with her it’s also the loneliest time of day. I understand completely, and that’s why I work nights.

  I open the door to my office, pull my cell from my pocket to call her, and see a text notification. Throwing myself into the chair behind my desk, I kick my feet up on the wood surface and tap the text icon. A text from Grant about an hour ago appears.

  Grant: Head’s up, I think you have a visitor coming your way tonight.

  A visitor? Maybe Connor is on his way to town. He mentioned wanting to see the bar, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he showed up one day without much notice. Thankfully, my couch is comfortable.

  Me: Connor trying to sneak into town or something?

  Tossing my phone on the desk, I thumb through the mail of the last few days when my phone signals a response.

  Grant: Red skipped town. When I spoke to her, it was very obvious she didn’t want me asking many questions. I assume she’s headed your way.

  Me: She didn’t call me. I’ll ask my sister and see if she’s heard from her. Thanks for the heads-up.

  Grant: Take care of her.

  Me: Never a question. I’ll let you know when she gets here.