Promises to Keep

by Jane Green

  “Yeah. Just make sure I don’t see you in any of Mom’s floor-length mirrored skirts.”

  “Don’t worry.” Steffi grins. “There’s only so far I’m prepared to go.”

  Cauliflower Soup with Parmigiano Reggiano and Truffle Oil

  Ingredients

  2½ sliced, chopped applewood-smoked bacon rashers

  1 cup chopped onion

  ¾ cup chopped celery

  2 garlic cloves, chopped

  6 cups cauliflower florets

  3½ cups chicken stock

  3 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, plus more to garnish

  ½ cup whipping cream

  White or black truffle oil for drizzling

  Method

  Sauté the bacon in a heavy pan until golden brown. Add the onion, celery and garlic. Cover and cook until soft, stirring occasionally, for around 7 minutes. Add the cauliflower, stock and cheese. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover and simmer until the cauliflower is tender—about 10 to 20 minutes.

  Puree the soup and add the cream. Return to the heat and bring the soup to a simmer. Season. Garnish with the cheese shavings and drizzle with the truffle oil.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Mommy!” Eliza and Jack run in and crawl on the bed, both of them fighting to get to their mother first, while Honor gives her daughter a kiss, then settles herself in the armchair in the corner of the hospital room.

  “Babies!” Callie croons, stroking their heads and kissing them.

  “I have lots to show you,” Eliza says, first to crawl off the bed and go to her backpack on the floor by the door. “I did this project on kangaroos, and Mrs. Brumberger said I could bring it home to show you even though no one else was allowed to bring theirs home, but because you’re in the hospital and you can’t come in to our presentation I brought it to you. I have to bring it back to school tomorrow so it can go up on the wall with everyone else’s, okay?”

  “Okay,” Callie says, as Jack cuddles into her, one arm flung across her chest, a beatific smile on his face as he raises his head from time to time to gaze at his mother with infinite love in his eyes.

  He raises his hand and strokes her cheek, then leans in and kisses her before resting his head again on her shoulder, happy to just lie there, close to his mother.

  “He would crawl back inside, if he could” had always been their joke, hers and Reece’s, for never had they known a boy love his mother quite as much as Jack loves Callie.

  This is the highlight of her day, when her children run in, filled with energy, chattering away to the nurses, asking lots of questions. Yesterday they were sad, but today they are bubbling, climbing all over her, covering her with kisses and knocking into the IV stand every few seconds. She doesn’t mind. She is tired, happy to just lie and be with them, her heart bursting with love.

  An hour later they are squabbling, as they so often do during “the witching hour.” Honor shoots a worried look toward Callie, who suddenly looks ill and worn-out, and announces it is time to go.

  And then the tears start.

  “Mommy!” They both cling to Callie, refusing to be pulled off the bed, while Honor tries to explain that Mommy is sick and it’s time to take her medicine.

  “I don’t want to leave,” Jack cries, his little body heaving as Honor tries to lift him.

  “Where’s Reece?” Callie implores her mother. “I thought Reece was bringing the kids tonight.”

  “He got stuck at work,” Honor says, feeling guilty that she even has to tell Callie that. “He said he’s coming straight to the hospital but he wouldn’t be here until around eight.”

  Callie says nothing, but her mouth is set in a straight line. She doesn’t have the energy for this, but what choice does she have?

  Callie has told the story of her marriage so many times, of how independent she is, how much she loves her space, how their time apart keeps the romance alive, gives her and Reece something to look forward to. And yet . . . when she is not around, like now, someone needs to be.

  When Reece shows up at the hospital, at nine o’clock, Callie wakes up slowly, kisses him and cuddles with him. She drifts up through the layers from her deep sleep, the time with the children having exhausted her, and after a few minutes, when she is fully awake and present, she looks at Reece.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I know, I know.” He runs his fingers through his hair as he sighs. “I’m late. I’m sorry. The traffic was terr—”

  “Enough.” She holds up a hand. Her voice isn’t loud, but it is determined. “I don’t want to hear excuses. You said you would bring the children here at six o’clock, and you weren’t here, and that isn’t good enough.”

  “I’m sorry, Callie, but when work gets—”

  “Reece? I don’t give a fuck what happens with work.” She is so angry, she spits the words. “I care about what happens to my children, and what they are feeling, and how they are coping with their mother not being there at all. Do you understand? This isn’t the same as when I had cancer and came in for chemotherapy while they were in school, and okay, was tired a lot of the time, and in bed a lot of the time, but I was home. Nothing in their lives changed. They didn’t need you.

  “Reece, they need you now. And I will not let you use work as an excuse. This is more important than work will ever be. And if I am not around, you will not bury yourself in work because it is easier to be at work than to deal with your children.”

  Reece has turned white. “What do you mean, if you’re not around?” he says, after a long pause.

  “If I die,” she says simply. With no emotion.

  “Do you . . . have the results come back? Is there something you know?” He can barely speak; his voice is a strained whisper.

  “No, there are no results back that tell us anything. And I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I am scared. Actually, no. I am terrified. And what terrifies me the most is what will happen to the children if you continue living the life I have always allowed you to live, and you do not step up to the plate.

  “Do you hear me, Reece? If I die, I cannot let the children fall through the cracks. I won’t allow it. You are their father and you have to start being their father. That means if you say you’ll be here at six o’clock, you will be here at six o’clock. Fuck work. Fuck the traffic. Right now, until they adjust, and until we know what is wrong with me, I don’t want you going to work. You can work from home. And once we know what’s wrong, and how long I’ll be in for, you will still be home every night at six o’clock, and you will be there to give them breakfast in the morning.

  “Not Jenn,” she continues, on a roll. “Not a babysitter. Not my mom, or my sister, or anyone else. And you have to step up now, Reece. Right now. No more excuses, no more traveling. I am asking you to be their father, and to be present in their lives. I am asking you to put them on the school bus every morning, and sit at the table with them for dinner every night. It has to start now, Reece.” Callie is crying. Sobbing. Her words are barely decipherable through her sobs, but Reece hears, and he is frightened.

  “Jesus, Callie. Stop. You’re talking as if you’re going to die. Will you just stop?”

  “No, Reece. I hope I’m not going to die. God knows I’m nowhere near ready to die, but do I feel as if I’m going to die? Yes. A lot of the time I do. And I cannot leave my children if I don’t think that you are going to be there for them, and I need to see it now.

  “Hopefully, I will be fine but whatever happens, while I am not around, you need to be, and you need to promise me.” She puts her hands on either side of Reece’s face and brings him inches from her own. “Do you understand, Reece? I love you so much. I have never loved a man like I love you, and I know you are capable of it. I know you can do it, and you have to promise me.”

  There are tears running down Reece’s face now. She pulls him down, his head on her chest, and they cry together.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she whispers, after a while. “
I’m just looking at the worst-case scenario, okay? I’m playing devil’s advocate, but right now, while I’m in the hospital, you need to be there. My mom is there which is great, but they need you.”

  “Okay,” he says, into her chest. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” He lifts his head up, his eyes red and swollen.

  “You have to promise.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “What do you promise? You have to actually say it.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I promise to put the children on the bus every morning, and to be home for dinner at six o’clock every night.”

  “I promise to put the children on the bus and to be home for dinner at six o’clock.”

  “Every night.”

  “What?”

  “Say it again, on the bus every day, and home for dinner every night.”

  And he does, his voice hoarse and cracking.

  “You can do this, honey,” she whispers. “I think I’ll be home by the weekend at the latest, so it’s just a few days, but even if it takes a bit longer, you can do this. You are the best dad in the world. You’re fun, and loving, and kind, and patient. They love being with you more than anything. They just need you to be around a little more.”

  “Callie?” he whispers back, after a long silence. “Do you really think you’re going to die?”

  “Yes,” she says. “But not right now. I’d like to think I have another fifty years or so.” She smiles and he raises his head and kisses her.

  Reece pours himself some coffee and pokes his head around the door of the TV room. Eliza and Jack are both sitting quietly on the sofa, watching some Disney Channel show. They have eaten cereal and Dad’s specialty: scrambled eggs, cheese and ketchup. The plates are in the dishwasher, Elizabeth has been fed and let out, and all is quiet.

  What on earth is Callie complaining about, he wonders, thinking of all the times he phones at breakfast time and there is screaming in the background, the children are fighting and Callie snaps that she’ll have to speak to him once they’re on the bus.

  This is easy.

  He sits at the kitchen table and flicks idly through the local paper, then glances up at the microwave: 7.47.

  Oh SHIT. Doesn’t the bus come at seven-fifty?

  “Eliza?” He runs into the TV room. “What time does the bus come again?”

  She shrugs, eyes glued to the screen.

  “Seven-fifty,” Jack says, and Reece runs over and turns the TV off.

  “Three minutes, guys.” His panic is becoming evident. “Shoes and coats on.”

  “But I haven’t brushed my teeth,” Jack says.

  “Why not? I thought you brushed your teeth when you woke up?”

  “He never brushes his teeth,” Eliza says. “He always tells Mom he has but he hasn’t.”

  “Quick!” Reece’s anxiety is rising. “Get your shoes on. Don’t worry about your teeth. We’ll do double brushing later, okay?”

  “No!” Jack says in horror. “I have to brush my teeth.”

  “Jack, please.” Reece is exasperated. “We’ll just do it later.”

  “No!” Jack starts to wail.

  “Oh God. Okay. Fine. Brush your teeth. But quickly.”

  Please be late, he thinks. Please, bus driver, whoever you are, be held up.

  He flings the coats on and opens the front door.

  “Eliza? Where are you going?”

  “To get my homework.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay. You look in the bedroom, I’ll look in the kitchen.”

  Ten seconds later he finds the homework in the kitchen. “Eliza?” he yells up the stairs. Nothing. “Eliza? I have your homework. Let’s go!” Nothing.

  Reece starts up the stairs. “Eliza?” He is now yelling at full volume.

  “Coming!” she shouts back.

  They race out of the door, to see the bus disappearing down the street.

  “Shit,” he mutters. Now he’ll have to drive them, and it will take an extra twenty minutes, and he still has to make that conference call in twenty minutes. Oh God.

  “In my car,” he orders, and they both cheer, for being driven in by a parent is their most favorite thing of all.

  “Mommy always puts my homework in my backpack at night,” Eliza mutters.

  “Well, good for Mommy.” Reece bites his tongue. “But Mommy isn’t here and I’m doing my best.”

  “Daddy?” she says suddenly. “If Mommy dies and you die, will we be orphans?”

  Jack starts to cry.

  “Oh Eliza!” Reece shakes his head, thinking: why ask that now? “Don’t worry, Jack, no one’s going to die. And Eliza, first, Mommy isn’t going to die, and I’m not going to die either, so there’s no point even talking about it.” He pauses, unsure of whether he should be saying this, knowing that he should be more honest, but now, on the way to school, is not the time to have this conversation.

  “But if you both did, then we’d be orphans?”

  Reece sighs. “Technically, but that’s never going to happen, okay? It’s just not going to happen.”

  “It happened to the children in Lemony Snicket,” Eliza says knowingly, looking out of the window, while Jack’s sobs continue to escalate.

  “Jack, honey, there’s nothing to cry about. Mommy is sick, and they’re going to give her medicine and then she’s going to get better. Remember when you had your tonsils out?”

  In the backseat, Jack nods.

  “And it really, really hurt for a lot of days, but you kept taking your medicine and then you got completely better?”

  Jack nods again, the sobs subsiding.

  “That’s what it’s like with Mommy. It’s really hurting right now, but when she takes her medicine it stops hurting, and soon it’s going to get better.”

  “I thought it was cancer,” Eliza says suddenly.

  “No, sweetie. It isn’t cancer.”

  “Julia says her mom told her that Mommy’s cancer is back.”

  “Julia is wrong.” Reece wonders if he ought to speak to the school. “Mommy doesn’t have cancer anymore. This is something else.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I’ll find out from the doctor.” For now, he has run out of answers, and unlike when Callie is truly exasperated and cannot answer any more of their questions, he cannot simply direct them to “ask your father.”

  They pull up outside the school and as they unbuckle Eliza says, “What’s for snack, Daddy?”

  “Snack?” Reece’s heart sinks. “What snack?”

  “Snack! You have to pack us a snack every day. In a brown bag. With our name on it and a big heart, like Mommy does.”

  Oh shit. Why couldn’t someone have told him? Honor, who had clearly been up all night, judging from the empty mugs in the kitchen sink, has been snoring away in the damned guest room this morning and he’s supposed to figure this all out by himself.

  “I’ll bring the snack back,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know.”

  “Okay. So can I have the pink wafer cookies, please?”

  “Sure. Are they in the pantry?”

  “No. You have to buy them. And some marshmallows.”

  Jack’s face lights up. “Yeah! Marshmallows.”

  “Marshmallows for snack? Mommy gives you marshmallows for snack? Are you sure?”

  “Every day,” Eliza says solemnly. “All the kids get marshmallows for snack. Bring them back, okay?”

  “Okay, sweetie.” Reece sighs.

  “And Dad?” Jack kisses him good-bye. “Did you put the note about my playdate with Jasper in my folder?”

  “What playdate with Jasper?”

  “I’m going to Jasper’s house after school today and his mom is picking us up and you have to send in a note.”

  “Can I just email?” Reece says, not really thinking Jack will know the answer
, but this all suddenly seems very complicated.

  “Yes,” says Jack confidently. “You can email. I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, buddy,” Reece says, and with an unexpected surge of relief, and love, he watches his children bundle into school.

  Today has been surprisingly peaceful. The house is quiet, Reece was only a few minutes late for the conference call, and he has been able to successfully manage his work from home.

  Honor has gone to the hospital to sit with Callie, but not before making him a grilled tuna melt for lunch. He could kind of get used to this.

  At three-twenty he stands up and stretches, then grabs his coat to go and meet the bus.

  “Reece!” April, their neighbor from up the street, presses the switch to open the window of her Porsche Cayenne. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How’s Callie?”

  “She’s good,” he says, for what else do you say?

  “Really? Honor seems to be very worried. Do they know what it is yet?”

  Wow. How much do they know? He had forgotten how much women talk. “Not yet,” he says. “But the next round of results should be in tomorrow and I hope they’ll tell us something.”

  “It’s so awful,” April says. “Especially after the . . . well, a few years ago. But I hear it’s not cancer, which must be a huge relief, right?”

  “Huge,” Reece agrees.

  “So, Jack has tae kwon do tomorrow with Will. Callie and I carpool but I’m really happy to take them.”

  “Oh.” Reece has no idea what the children do after school. He makes a mental note to actually read the kids’ schedule that is stuck to the front of the fridge. “Thank you. That would be great.”

  “He can stay for dinner too, if he wants. Nothing fancy. Pizza.” She shrugs in resignation.

  “I . . . Thank you. Another time would be great, but I’m taking the kids to have dinner with their mom, in the hospital. It’s kind of a nightly thing.”

  “Of course. I totally understand. That’s so nice. Listen, do you need anything? Anything at all? Maybe food? I cook every day for my family and it would be no problem to drop some food in . . .” She looks up at him expectantly.