A Sister's Promise (Promises)

by Lenfestey, Karen

  She had updated her husband on Joely’s situation over the phone several times. Just a few hours ago, she’d told him the overt side effects of the treatment were surprisingly mild, and upon Joely’s insistence, Kate was heading home. Now that she was here, she realized she had never once asked what he’d been up to in her absence.

  Kate found Mitch in one of the spare bedrooms rolling tan paint in a continuous W pattern across the wall.

  Despite his mussed up hair and faded Purdue T-shirt, he made the breath catch in her throat. Mitch was trim with broad shoulders and had hair the color of midnight. He always laughed and changed the subject, however, when she said he reminded her of the guy in the Ralph Lauren ads.

  His forehead shined with sweat as he looked over his shoulder at her. He stopped singing. “Glad you’re home. How’s Joely?”

  “OK, I guess.” Despite giving him an otherwise accurate play-by-play on the telephone, Kate had failed to mention the pivotal moment before Joely received her first treatment. You didn’t say something like that over the phone. That was a face-to-face kind of conversation. “She’s starting to feel less pain.”

  Mitch put down the roller and gave Kate a kiss on the lips. “Well, that’s good.” He seemed to wait in case she had more to say. When she didn’t speak, Mitch pointed at the wall. “Do you like it? It’s called Bar Harbor Beige.”

  She shrugged.

  “I’m finally going to put together a home office. Now you can have a dinner party without having to clear my stuff off the dining room table first.”

  If they had a baby, that would be the end of the dinner parties. No doubt that was just one of the many sacrifices she hadn’t even thought about yet.

  He scratched his unshaven jaw. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

  “Sure.” Even though she was not so sure. In the back of her mind, Kate always intended to paint this room pink, for Anna Jo, the niece she was convinced would be born to her sister someday. She hadn’t realized that someday had an expiration date.

  Mitch’s coffee-colored eyes studied her face. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded.

  He paused then scanned the room. “Where should we put the computer desk?” He pointed to the corner by the window. “How about there?”

  No, Kate thought. That’s where she envisioned the Victorian-style dollhouse with real wooden shingles. A canopy bed with a peppermint-striped bedspread stood against the opposite wall. She and Anna Jo would’ve hung out in there braiding each other’s hair, eating Thin Mints and creating the kind of carefree childhood memories Kate wished she had. She would’ve let Anna Jo stay up late, too, hours past when Joely said bedtime should be. The next morning, she would’ve fed her grumpy, sleep-deprived niece waffles, packed her overnight bag and sent her back home.

  That was the level of commitment with which she felt comfortable. How could she handle the constant demands of motherhood?

  Mitch dipped his fingers in the paint tray and acted as if he were going to flick some toward Kate.

  She backed away. “Don’t. These are good clothes.”

  “Go change then, so you can help me. It’ll take your mind off of things.”

  Reluctantly, she agreed. A few minutes later, dressed in a Foxworth High School staff T-shirt and jeans fraying at the bottom, she re-entered the room. Mitch handed her a brush and asked her to do the trim.

  Feeling lightheaded, she tried not to breathe as she went along the baseboards. She really should tell him. But what would she say? That she wanted to have a baby? That wasn’t exactly true. That Joely coerced her into saying she would have a baby? That was kind of what happened, but Kate wouldn’t have offered unless on some level she wanted to, right? She took a deep breath and decided to try to explain it to Mitch.

  Just as she opened her mouth, Mitch accidentally put too much paint on his roller and splattered blobs of Bar Harbor Beige across her forehead.

  “Yuck!”

  Mitch laughed, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “Sorry.”

  She mustered a tight smile then headed to the bathroom for a rag.

  When she looked in the mirror, she saw her mother staring back at her—straight blondish-brown hair, cobalt blue eyes and ghost-white skin. Upon closer inspection she noticed a rogue strand of gray and laugh lines that no longer faded away. She washed her face and realized she could not go back. “Mitch, I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Fifteen minutes later she sat on a wooden bench in the park, filling her lungs with fresh air. What better place to think things through? She studied the children playing on the monkey bars and gliding down the slide. As high-pitched giggles danced in the air, the burnt-orange leaves of the maples rustled. A redheaded boy jumped off a swing and ended up on all fours like a frog. “Be careful,” a woman said in a singsong.

  There would never be any nieces or nephews. Since Mitch was an only child, Joely had been her one chance.

  Kate opened the unlined notebook she kept in her purse and wrote “Pros” and “Cons” at the top of a blank sheet.

  The first item on the pro list was to honor the promise she had made to her sister. The next best reason was the chance to provide the kind of loving, enriching environment she wished she had experienced. She tried to think of more, but words failed her.

  “What are you going to be for Halloween?” Kate heard a tiny voice ask.

  A girl with her hair in pigtails grinned, showing off her missing front tooth. “A princess—just like last year.”

  “I’m going to be a cat.”

  Kate added to the list trick-or-treating, someone special to buy Christmas presents for and Easter egg hunts. All of the holidays suddenly took on new meaning.

  She rubbed her temples, coming back to reality. How could she make a twenty-four-hour-a-day commitment to a person she hadn’t even met? There were so many cons she didn’t even need to write them down. She had no doubt now that a potentially fatal disease ran in her family, which was major. Maybe Kate would pass the lupus gene on to her baby. Or maybe she would become ill and not be able to take care of the child, just like her mom.

  From across the playground a little Hispanic boy in a blue Cubs windbreaker ran up to Kate. She made eye contact with him, but neither of their faces yielded a smile. She looked down to see a baseball near the heel of her right foot. The little boy reached under the bench to retrieve it.

  After he scurried away, Kate wrote down some more in the pro column: playing catch in the backyard, buying cute baby clothes, having tea parties.

  Another con: they would vacation in Walt Disney World instead of Paris.

  Smiling, she remembered her and Mitch’s trip to France last year. People had asked them what the special occasion was—a milestone anniversary or something, but there wasn’t one. They just went because they wanted to. They went because they could. That was the beauty of not having kids. Most of their friends were knee-deep in diapers while they were eating quiche and drinking champagne. In addition to the obvious—the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and Notre Dame—they had discovered quaint shops and bakeries whose pastries were works of art.

  Her happiness faded. If she hadn’t gone to Europe, she could have given the money to Joely. Maybe Joely could have harvested her eggs.

  Sighing, Kate looked at her lists. Ironically, the best and worst trip she and Joely had ever taken together was to Disney World. It was a few weeks after their dad had died, which made it especially dismal. She and Joely spent two sweaty days in Aunt Suzy and Uncle Burt’s station wagon with the broken air conditioner, feeling as if they were just additional pieces of baggage. Everyone knew they had not been part of the original plan.

  Once they arrived, Joely had pestered Kate to speak to her in Pig Latin so people wouldn’t know what they were talking about. Unfortunately, Joely kept asking her to repeat herself and translate what she had said. Kate shook her head, remembering how frustrated she had been. Then she thought of her sister’s laughter as they spun around in the
teacups and how they had clung to each other when a squid wrapped its tentacles around the 10,000 Leagues Under the Sea submarine. By the end of the day, Kate was humming “It’s a Small World” as she let Joely talk her into buying Mickey Mouse ears to match hers. Joely always had a way of making Kate have fun in spite of herself. Grinning, Kate realized that “Vacations to Walt Disney World” also belonged on the pros side.

  She tapped her pen on the notebook. This was one decision she couldn’t undo, once it was made. Was there anything else in life as permanent as becoming a parent? You could switch careers, move to a new house or a new town, get married or choose to be alone, but a kid would always be there. Was she ready for that?

  A plump squirrel crawled down an oak and grabbed the leftover corner crust from someone’s sandwich. He paused, looked around, then scampered back up the tree and started nibbling. The daredevil boy shouted, “Watch this!” as he jumped off the swing again.

  Kate had to admit that most of her pros seemed trite. What was the mature reason for starting a family?

  She crossed her legs. Maybe she was overanalyzing this. Maybe it was all biology. People had kids because of an innate need to perpetuate the species. It was supposed to be pre-programmed into their DNA. So why did she need to convince herself to take on the role that so many women embraced without hesitation?

  Across from Kate sat a thirty-something woman with blond hair from a bottle. “Ella, come here. Time for your snack.” The woman reached in a cooler and pulled out an apple and a juice box.

  A little girl with freckles waved good-bye to another girl on the swing. She ran toward her mother, her golden hair blowing in the wind behind her. Then she hopped up on the bench and drank from the miniature straw.

  Almost without thinking, Kate flipped to a blank page in her notebook. She searched in the shadows of her purse for a pencil. When she couldn’t find one, she gave up and started sketching the two of them with her pen. The little girl kept fidgeting, so Kate worked fast. She started with their heads, at a slight angle to each other. Quickly she shook her wrist to add the matching wavy hair. She didn’t waste much time on that, knowing she could add details later. Then she focused on getting the daughter’s eyes right—bigger and rounder than her mother’s. Next, she drew the nose, smaller than her mother’s, yet in the same shape.

  A few minutes later the girl made a slurping sound, indicating that her juice box was almost empty. Kate started to hurry and accidentally made a line across the girl’s face. Darn it! Why hadn’t she brought a pencil so she could erase?

  “Now, eat your apple,” the mom said.

  The line was faint, but it was definitely noticeable. Kate inwardly fumed. It had been coming along so nicely.

  “I don’t want an apple,” the girl whined. “Can I have some candy?”

  “No, sweetie. We only eat candy on special occasions.”

  “This is a special ‘casion,” she said.

  Kate glanced up. The mom smiled at her with a “you know how it is” look, which Kate couldn’t return.

  As the leaves softly floated in the breeze, a strand of hair brushed against Kate’s cheek. That was it. Maybe she could make it look like a lock of hair had blown into the little girl’s face. It was worth a try.

  Fixing the mistake as best she could, Kate became lost in her endeavor. When the girl grew tired of her apple, she handed the crescent-shaped core to her mom and ran back to play.

  Kate wondered if this woman had ever been like her. Did she have her hair colored every six weeks in a salon? Had she ever bought Jimmy Choo shoes even though she didn’t need them? Had she walked hand-in-hand along the Champs-Elysées? Here she sat in the park with nutritious snacks, well-worn flats and her dark roots showing. And yet. . . she seemed content.

  Kate looked down at her drawing. Not bad, considering how rushed she was. And the fly-away hair just added a bit of realism to the little girl. Kate took a moment to finish up.

  Should she give the portrait to the woman? She felt a little self-conscious and silly. What if the woman didn’t like it? Her high school art teacher said that art was meant to elicit some kind of an emotional reaction from its audience. Whether or not it was what the artist intended was the chance one must take. But Kate had never been a big fan of chance.

  Then again, why did she keep drawing if she was just going to add it to the pile in her bottom drawer? Kate stood up and walked toward the woman. Just before she reached her, a heart-stopping scream pierced the air. Silence enveloped the park as everyone stared at the little redheaded boy crumpled on the ground, crying. An empty swing swayed haphazardly behind him. The adults searched one another’s faces, waiting for someone to rush forward.

  “Mom-my!” the boy shrieked. No one wailed like that unless they were seriously hurt. Kate’s hands trembled as she wondered if someone should dial 911.

  Then she saw her. An auburn-haired woman sprinted toward the boy, abandoning her picnic basket and purse.

  The woman whispered words of assurance as she examined the boy’s wounds. Kate worried with every second they delayed getting help. Maybe his injuries would become permanent.

  The young voice talked so fast his words ran together. The crying became intermittent. He sounded slightly less agitated. His mother continued whispering to him and Kate watched in awe. A few minutes later he tried to put pressure on his foot. He limped as they headed over to their picnic blanket, where he allowed his mother to stroke his red hair and snuggle, as if that was the best medicine of all.

  Kate breathed deeply, stressed and relieved from simply being a witness.

  Normal playground chatter returned with a slow crescendo. Kate noticed that the blond mother had left the bench and now lingered near her daughter as if she needed reassurance that her own child was OK. Kate decided to place the portrait under the woman’s cooler so it wouldn’t blow away. As Kate walked toward her car, she kept looking back, hoping to see her reaction.

  Finally, the woman discovered the picture. She glanced up with a questioning look, made eye contact with Kate and waved. Staring affectionately at the sketch, the mother grinned. Kate couldn’t help but wonder: Was it Kate’s creation she admired or her own?

  Kate continued toward the parking lot, marveling at the woman who forgot about her purse when she heard her son cry. Shaking her head, Kate crumpled her list and threw it in a wide-mouthed trashcan.

  She climbed into her car. Then she thought of one more con. Mitch didn’t want kids. Ever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I can’t believe I told Joely I’d have a baby, Kate thought as she drove to work the next morning. Given their background, she wasn’t sure either one of them should’ve ever considered having kids. Of course, Joely always had been more optimistic about life than Kate.

  So what had compelled Kate to say such an absurd thing? Was there some part of her that did want a child? She needed to figure that out before she said anything to Mitch that might threaten their marriage—the marriage they agreed would remain childless.

  Maybe she had just felt so distraught over her sister’s illness that she had been willing to say anything.

  Did Joely really have the same thing that Mom did? Because whatever Mom had, killed her. The doctor said the treatment of lupus had come a long way in the past twenty years, but that didn’t mean Joely wouldn’t. . . . Kate squeezed the steering wheel, leaving nail marks on the leather.

  Minutes later she parked outside Foxworth High School, constructed decades ago of red brick. A necessary addition, laid with mismatched maroon bricks, was attached to the building, as if it were Cinderella’s ugly stepsister. As always, once Kate saw the history and character inside, she forgot about the unfortunate exterior.

  Grabbing the massive oak banister of the main staircase, she headed toward Trish’s classroom. She hoped her friend could help her sort things out.

  “Welcome back,” Rhonda, the director of guidance, said as Kate passed her on the landing. “There are several students
waiting to talk to you downstairs.”

  Kate paused. Since she had been gone for a week, she felt obligated to take care of business. She turned around and walked to her office. Five students from the lobby followed her, crowding the small room as they vied for her attention. Her voicemail light blinked and she noticed several notes from students taped to her computer screen. Overwhelmed, she listened to the students as best she could until the first bell rang and they left for class.

  Knowing Trish wouldn’t be free to talk until lunch, Kate sighed. She gathered the notes into one pile and rubbed her forehead. How would she deal with all of these student requests when all she could think about was Joely?

  Squeak. She looked up. Rhonda stood in the doorway, her silver hair in a bun, making her look more like a librarian than a counselor. She closed the door behind her and sat down.

  “How is she?” Rhonda asked in her soft voice.

  “OK, I guess. I talked to her this morning—that’s why I was late.” Kate omitted the fact that she kept hitting the snooze button because she had been compulsively reading lupus websites until two a.m. She found out a sibling of a lupus patient was twenty-five times more likely to develop the disease than the general population. She shook away the thought. “Thanks for understanding about my taking time off.”

  “You take all the time you need.”

  Kate remembered when Rhonda regularly missed work last year to take her own father to chemotherapy. No doubt she understood the need to sit by someone’s side even when there was nothing you could do.

  “I appreciate your offer,” Kate said. “I hate to be gone. . .but she doesn’t have anyone else.”

  Reaching across the desk, Rhonda placed her hand on top of Kate’s. “I understand. Family comes first. You know I feel that way.”

  Kate hadn’t thought it possible, but her dreariness lifted a little. That was the benefit of having a counselor for her supervisor. But Rhonda meant so much more than that to her. At times like this, Kate sensed Rhonda slipping into a maternal role and Kate was more than willing to benefit from her need to nurture.