Promises to Keep

by Jane Green

  Onward and upward, she thinks, standing up to move through the corridor under the stairs, and into the kitchen.

  “There you are!” she says, kneeling down to pet Fingal, who is already curled up in a huge dog basket in the corner, gnawing on what looks like a well-loved rubber toy.

  Large and bright, the room is airy, the table a large scrubbed farmhouse, the cabinets a pale gray. It isn’t perfect—the marble countertops are marked and stained, scratches from many decades dug deep into its patina—but this is what Steffi would call a true cook’s kitchen.

  She turns to see a professional La Cornue oven in the corner, complete with raised hot plate. Well, of course. As if she would expect anything less from Mason.

  Copper pots hang from a large baker’s rack above the island, and as Steffi moves around she keeps one hand on the marble, stroking it gently as she walks, feeling the love the stone has absorbed over the years.

  Yes, she thinks, breathing in deeply. This feels right. I belong here.

  The words come to her without her even thinking about it. But there is no longer any doubt. This house has been waiting for someone to come and breathe some life into it.

  This house has been waiting for her.

  Upstairs she finds the master bedroom at the back of the house, with those incredible views. A canopied bed piled with pillows; a Victorian claw-footed tub in the connecting bathroom that is bigger than the bedroom she grew up in; a fireplace—another one!—at the foot of the bed. Steffi kicks off her clogs and falls back on the bed, grinning.

  She shifts her bottom up into the air and digs her phone out of her back pocket. Forgetting about the time difference in London she types a text message.

  » It’s perfect. I LOVE it . . . may never leave.

  Minutes go by, then her phone beeps.

  » I knew you’d love it! When are you

  moving in?

  » Now? ☺

  » Is Fingal happy to be home?

  » He’s thrilled. He’s downstairs

  chewing on a ratty-looking rubber

  monkey.

  » That’s no rubber monkey. That’s

  Parsley! His best friend.

  » Oh sorry! (I thought you were his

  best friend?)

  » I compete with Parsley on a regular

  basis.

  » Srsly, I wasn’t planning on moving in

  properly until next w’end, but I don’t

  think I can ever leave now. r u ok if I

  stay?

  » Of course. That’s the whole

  point! ;-)

  » How’s London?

  » Wet. Gray. Fun. Amazing food.

  » Oh ha ha.

  » I’m not kidding. You should visit.

  » I will. Soon as I find myself a rich

  boyfriend.

  » No replacements for the rock star?

  » Nope. Free as a bird and happy to

  stay that way.

  » Sure it won’t be long before you’re

  snapped up.

  » Not this time. Need a break from

  men. Will get it here! So beautiful!

  » Don’t! * groaning * makes me miss

  it ☹

  » Come visit me!

  » Not sure wife would approve.

  » Bring her!

  » Told you—she hates the country.

  Unless it’s in a Four Seasons.

  » Fingal wants to go out. Thanks,

  Mason. So much. Not enough

  words . . .

  » My PLEASURE. Thrilled. Xx

  xx

  Mason drops the BlackBerry on his desk, stands up and stretches, a smile on his face. His heart is warm, he realizes. His beloved house is no longer sitting cold and empty, or rented to an unknown tenant, his most treasured possessions having to be boxed up and locked away in the attic.

  His beloved house now has Steffi inside. The thought spreads, warm and comforting, feeling very, very right.

  Vegan Spinach Quiche with Herb and Quinoa Crust

  Ingredients

  For the crust

  1 cup cooked quinoa

  2 tablespoons quinoa or spelt or rice or whole-wheat flour to bind (you may need a little more or less)

  2 tablespoons flaxseed

  Small bunch basil and thyme, finely chopped

  Salt and pepper to taste

  For the filling

  1 package firm tofu, drained

  Juice of 1 lemon

  10 ounces fresh spinach

  1 clove garlic, minced

  ½ teaspoon turmeric (for color)

  ½ teaspoon sea salt

  ½ teaspoon nutmeg

  ¼ cup nutritional yeast

  1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

  ¼ cup roasted pine nuts

  Method

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Mix the quinoa, quinoa flour, flaxseed and basil and thyme together, add the salt and pepper. Grease a flan tin with a removable base, and press the quinoa firmly and evenly over the base and up the sides.

  Combine the tofu with the lemon juice in a blender and puree until smooth. Add the spinach leaves and pulse until blended, then add the garlic, turmeric, sea salt, nutmeg, yeast and mustard, blending briefly until combined. Pour into the base, sprinkle the pine nuts over the top and bake for 30 to 40 minutes.

  Serve warm or cold.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callie sinks back on her hospital bed and watches blankly as the nurse inserts the IV. Once upon a time she was frightened of needles, of nurses, of medical procedures such as this. Once upon a time the thought of having an IV—something alien permanently in her body—would have made her feel ill.

  But the months of chemo five years ago have made her immune, and now she is just grateful that Mark is keeping her in to try to find out what is wrong.

  The good news: the scans do not show cancer. Nothing in her breast, and no metastases that are detectable. Lymph nodes, bone, brain: all clear.

  The bad news: they do not know what it is, but it clearly is something. An infection of some kind, perhaps? Meningitis? A staph infection? Bacteremia? They do not know, but they are putting her on antibiotics, steroids and a narcotic pain reliever to be on the safe side.

  Reece sits in the corner, his face as serious as Callie has ever seen it. She looks up at him beseechingly as the small plastic tube is taped to her arm, and he stands up and quickly comes to her side, sitting on the bed and taking her other hand, stroking it gently.

  “How are you doing, Loki?” he whispers.

  “Okay,” she says, attempting a smile.

  “You’re going to feel a whole lot better soon,” the nurse says cheerfully as she adjusts the bag. “The Dilaudid will kick in and the pain will go away, and there are all kinds of other good things in here to make you better. You’ll start to feel sleepy, but the sleep is good; that’s how your body heals itself.”

  Callie, in too much pain to move her head, rolls her eyes up to look at her, suddenly seeming so like Eliza that it makes Reece’s heart want to break.

  “Really?” she says. “What’s going in?”

  “The Dilaudid, the Decadron, which are the steroids, and then some regular old antibiotics in case it’s an infection.”

  “And Mark—Dr. Ferber—said that both the steroids and antibiotics are precautionary, right?”

  “That’s right.” The nurse nods. “Better to be safe than sorry. He’ll be in soon. I’m going to call him now and have him check in on you.’

  “Thank you.” Reece looks at her gratefully as she goes out of the room.

  “Don’t look so worried.” Callie smiles. “I’m going to be okay. And honestly? I’m happy they admitted me. I’m just . . . relieved they can make the pain go away.”

  “I didn’t realize it was that bad,” Reece says. For Callie has been insisting she’s been okay during each of these headaches, but earlier, when they asked her to number the pain on a scale of one to ten, she
gave it a seven, which for Callie, who does not complain, is about as bad as it gets.

  Callie says nothing.

  “I hate this,” Reece says suddenly.

  “What?”

  “This. That you’re here. I just can’t believe we’re back in this fucking hospital, and in the cancer ward too.”

  “Shh.” Callie reaches up her arms and draws Reece down for a hug. “Mark said we ought to be on the cancer ward only because he’s here all the time and can keep a proper eye on me. It doesn’t mean anything. And I know you’re scared, but I’m not going anywhere, I promise. They’ll do some more tests, they’ll find out what it is, and they’ll treat it and I’ll come home, okay?” She pushes Reece back so she can look him in the eye.

  “I’m not ready to go anywhere, you hear? I have you, Eliza and Jack, and you all need me. This is just a temporary blip.”

  Reece smiles though his eyes are watery. “A bump in the road?”

  “Exactly,” Callie says. “Just like before. Another fucking bump in the road.”

  The door opens and they both look over, expecting to see Mark, but it is Lila standing there, laden down with bags.

  “Jesus!” Lila marches in. “Could you have picked a room that was any farther from the elevator?” She dumps the bags and walks over to the bed. Reece gets up and moves back to the chair, making room for Lila to sit in his place. She sits, takes Callie’s hand and leans over, kissing her gently.

  “How are you, sweetie?” Her voice is low as she strokes Callie’s cheek softly.

  “I’ve been better,” Callie says. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”

  “When my best friend is in the hospital with some mysterious ailment? Not on your life. It’s not exactly as if they’re breaking down the door to use me. Great timing. I leave my job, albeit with a massive payout, and the world decides to collapse. Typical goddamned Lila.”

  Callie smiles as Lila talks.

  “Anyway, I’ve brought a few things,” she says, glancing around the room, “to make this room look a little better. Nothing worse than a hospital room.”

  Reaching down, she starts pulling things out of her bag. First a series of framed photographs—Callie and Reece, Callie and the kids, Elizabeth the dog, Callie, Steffi and Lila on vacation in Mexico, many moons ago.

  Callie, starting to feel sleepy, closes her eyes briefly as Lila places them on the windowsill, resting against the slatted blinds.

  “What else?” she whispers.

  “Supersoft blanket.” Lila shakes out a pale pink blanket, as soft as feathers, and lays it on top of the hospital-issue blanket. Callie sighs with delight.

  “Peanut M&M’s for when the cravings strike.”

  “My favorite!”

  “I know! A stack of magazines in case you feel up to reading, and an iPod loaded with audiobooks in case you don’t.”

  “You brought me an iPod?” Callie’s eyes are starting to close. “Oh God. I feel stoned. I feel like I’m drifting away.”

  Reece grins. “You’re supposed to. That’s what the nurse said would happen. How’s the pain?”

  “Better,” Callie murmurs.

  “On a scale of one to ten?” He is already adopting the hospital lingo.

  “Four,” she mutters. Her eyes close, her mouth falls slightly open and she is fast asleep.

  Lila doesn’t move. She sits, watching her friend, still holding her hand, stroking it back and forth with her thumb. After a while she lets go, folding Callie’s hand gently on the blanket.

  When she turns to Reece she is dripping tears, and when he stands to comfort her Lila dissolves into quiet, hiccuping sobs in his arms.

  Driving home, her mind full of Callie, Lila wonders whether to tell Callie’s friends, the ones who see her every day: Betsy, Laura, Sue, Lisa.

  She picks up her BlackBerry at a red light and hits the address book, about to call, but then she thinks: no. Not until Callie has said it’s okay. For while Callie is open, has no secrets from her friends, she has not told anyone quite how bad these headaches are, and perhaps she doesn’t want everyone to know.

  Not yet.

  Back home in Rowayton, she expects to see Ed’s Volvo in the driveway, but he is not there, which is no bad thing. She wants to talk to him, be comforted by him, tell him how scared she is, but first she wants to regroup: pour a glass of wine, light candles, take some deep breaths and try to center herself.

  Her phone rings as she walks in the house.

  “Hi, darling.” Ed’s warm voice instantly makes her feel better, and suddenly, more than wanting to regroup, drink wine, gather her thoughts, she wants Ed’s arms around her, wants to bury her head in his shoulder and not think about anything at all.

  “Hey.” Her voice is sad.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s . . . I don’t know. It’s scary. They don’t know what’s wrong, but the good news is, it’s not cancer.”

  “That’s not just good, that’s great, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I mean, of course. It’s just that she looks so frail. She looks ill.”

  “But she’s in the best possible place, with a doctor who knows her well. Do you want me to make some calls?”

  Oh bless him, thinks Lila. As a journalist he has contacts in every walk of life, and as a thoroughly good, likable man his contacts often become friends, and when anyone needs help, Ed always knows the right person to ask.

  “No, sweetie. Let’s figure out what it is first, then you can pull in some favors.”

  “How are the kids?”

  “Eliza and Jack? They’re fine. Why would they be anything otherwise? They don’t even really know, other than that Mommy’s not well. Honor’s there, and Reece left the hospital and went straight home. I think they’re fine.”

  “And Reece?”

  “Reece is scared too. He would never say it, but I can tell. Hey, how come you’re calling me anyway? You’re supposed to be home by now.”

  “Well -”

  Before he says anything, Lila feels herself tense. These conversations always start in the same way. Ed has to let her down because Mindy is demanding he do something with Clay. She forces Ed to make the choice, more and more often it seems, now that he and Lila are so serious: Lila or Clay? And she knows that his guilt over the divorce, over not being a father who can be present 100 percent of the time, will always have him choose Clay.

  “Good Lord, what does she want now?” Lila interjects, wishing she could keep the irritation out of her voice.

  “It’s not her,” Ed warns. “It’s Clay. He has a sore throat and he said he wants to be with me. I can’t say no when he’s sick.”

  Lila takes some deep breaths. Don’t explode, she thinks to herself. Don’t explode.

  “But . . . we were going to have a quiet night tonight, just us. You and me,” she says. “Did you even speak to Clay?”

  There is a pause. “No, but that’s not the point.”

  “Of course it’s the point. Mindy always does this when she has a date. She comes up with some reason why you need to take Clay and you always say yes.”

  “Lila, relax!” Ed soothes. “It isn’t nearly as menacing as you think. You always assume the worst . . .”

  “I’m not assuming the worst.” Lila feels the tears rise. “I just sometimes need to have some alone time with you, and tonight, of all nights, was one of those times. If Clay wants to come out here that’s fine, I love having him here, but you can’t leave me to go and stay in the city with him, that’s just not acceptable.”

  “Lila, I—”

  “No, wait.” Her voice is now calm. “My best friend has been admitted to the hospital today and they don’t know what’s wrong with her, and I’m scared, okay? I’m terrified. And I need you tonight. I need you here with me. Not on the phone, but here. With me. I was going to make dinner, and I just needed us to sit quietly and process this. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “Okay,” Ed says quietly. “
I hadn’t called Mindy back. I’ll tell her it’s impossible. I’m sorry. I do completely understand what you’re saying. Maybe she will let him come out here and stay with us tonight, even though it’s a school night. I’m sorry, baby. It’s just hard for me to say no to my son.”

  “It’s not your son you’re saying no to.” Lila sighs. “It’s your ex-wife.”

  Salmon Parcels with Watercress, Arugula, Spinach and Cream Cheese

  Ingredients

  1 bag watercress

  1 bag arugula

  1 bag spinach

  2 sticks cream cheese

  Zest of 1 lemon

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1 package puff pastry

  4 salmon fillets

  1 egg

  1 tablespoon milk

  Method

  Preheat the oven to 350°F.

  Blend the watercress, arugula and spinach in a food processor until finely chopped. Add 1 stick of the cream cheese, the lemon, salt and pepper, and pulse until blended. Put half to one side to serve alongside the salmon parcels.