Promises to Keep

by Jane Green

  “So what do you think?” Walter says, sitting at the table.

  “I think it’s pretty shitty,” Steffi says, and her father gives her a look.

  “Language,” he says.

  “Sorry. But as Callie was saying earlier, who knows what they’ll develop in the next year? They’re coming up with new cancer treatments all the time. Mark said a year, but Callie pointed out that they may have come up with a cure by then.”

  “She’s a fighter, our daughter,” Walter says, looking Honor straight in the eye for the first time.

  “She is.” Honor smiles. “I just don’t know whether this is a fight she can win.”

  “Mom!” Steffi says. “We can’t think like that. We have to be positive; we have to presume she can get through this.”

  “You’re right,” Honor says. “I’m sorry. Did she say anything else to you?”

  “Yes. I told her I was going to be with her every day, and she told me absolutely not.”

  “She doesn’t want you there?”

  “That’s what I asked, but she said she doesn’t want everyone showing up with depressed faces. She understands that this is a huge shock, and we’re all going to feel like shit.” She looks at her father. “Sorry, Dad. She knows we’ll all feel horrible for a while, but she doesn’t want us to. She said if she can’t go out and live her life, we have to live it for her.”

  “What does that mean?” Walter asks gruffly.

  “That means she doesn’t want us to mope around her and burst into tears, although, God knows, I’m a disaster. You know Callie—she’s never been able to stand being around depressed people, and she says if we all carry on the way we are now she may have to kill herself in way less than a year.”

  Honor and Walter both smile. That’s their daughter, all over.

  “She said it’s not that she doesn’t want us all around, but she wants us all around in a happy way. Apparently the radiation is going to be rough. She’ll be exhausted and sleeping a lot, so when she’s awake she wants to hear good things.”

  “Any other directives?” Honor asks.

  “Yes. Guacamole. She wants me to make her guacamole. She says she has a craving.”

  “Well that’s good!” Honor is excited. “If she’s showing an appetite that must be a good thing, no?”

  “I would think that must be a good thing,” Walter agrees. “Is there anyone doing any research on this disease of hers?”

  Steffi nods. “Lila’s boyfriend, Ed, is a journalist. He’s apparently spent all night on the computer doing research. They’re going to come over later. I’m going to run down to the store and get some avocado and cilantro. Anyone want to come?”

  “I’ll come,” both Walter and Honor chime at the same time.

  “Great!” Steffi cannot hide a big grin. “I’ll drive.”

  Reece has just paid the pizza-delivery man, and is wondering where in the hell everyone is. He wants to get back to the hospital to see Callie, but there’s no one at home. They’ve done ice cream, done a movie, done the playground on the way home. He was hoping to dump the children on Honor, then run off to Callie, but there’s no one here, no note, nothing.

  As he places the pizza on the table, the back door opens and—thank you, God, for listening!—Steffi and Honor troop in, followed by Walter.

  “Walter!” Reece walks over and gives him a man hug just as the children come running into the room.

  “Grandpa!” they both yell at the same time, climbing up his legs. Walter scoops them up and covers them with kisses.

  “Eliza! Look how big you are! And so pretty! When did you get to be so beautiful?”

  “I think it was last year,” Eliza says very seriously, laying her head on his shoulder and stroking his cheek.

  “And Jack! Show me your muscles!” Jack flexes his little arm proudly and Walter throws his head back and laughs, then squeezes the children tightly, burying his head in their hair and inhaling their smell.

  There he is, thinks Honor, watching them in amazement. There’s the real Walter. She has never imagined him as a grandfather, has had no idea what he would be like, would never have dreamed that his grandchildren would be able to unlock his stiffness, his awkwardness.

  But look at him now! Warm, and easy, and loving.

  There he is, at last. She smiles to herself. Who knew?

  Guacamole

  Much of this is done to taste, so start with this recipe and adjust to your liking.

  Ingredients

  2 ripe avocados

  ½ red onion, minced (about ½ cup)

  2 tablespoons cilantro leaves, finely chopped

  1 tablespoon fresh lime or lemon juice

  ½ teaspoon coarse salt

  Dash of freshly grated black pepper

  Dried red pepper flakes

  ½ ripe tomato, seeds and pulp removed, chopped

  Method

  Halve the avocados and remove the stones. Scoop out the flesh, put it in a mixing bowl and mash it with a fork.

  Add the onion, cilantro, lime juice, salt and pepper, and mash some more. Add the red pepper according to taste.

  Cover with plastic wrap, placing it directly on the surface of the guacamole to prevent oxidation. Refrigerate until ready. Just before serving, add the tomato to the guacamole and mix.

  Garnish with red radishes or jicama. Serve with tortilla chips.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “What do you need me to do?” Lila has dragged the armchair up to the bed, and is holding Callie’s hand.

  “I need you to look after the children.”

  “I will.”

  “No, I mean even now, when I’m in the hospital, or when I’m home but can’t be around for them. I know you’re their godmother, but I want you to really look after them. What I need is for you to do something with them a few times a week, while I’m having radiation. I know they’re at school, but if you could take them to a class, or the playground, or something.”

  “Of course,” Lila says, trying not to show a glimmer of panic. Children, she has always said, are fine in small measure, and as long as they belong to other people.

  “I know parenting’s not your strong point.” Callie squints at her and Lila smiles. “But they’ve known you their entire lives, and they love you. My mom’s in her late sixties and she’s tired, and I’m worried about giving Steffi this kind of responsibility. It won’t be forever, but just while I’m going through the radiotherapy.”

  “I would do anything for you,” Lila says. “Ed too. He’s been up all night reading up on your disease.”

  “He’s a great guy, your boyfriend. Did you know that?”

  “I do. I’m lucky.”

  “Not lucky. You deserve it. I’m glad you found each other. Did he uncover anything?”

  “Well. As you know, it’s not great. Apparently, though, there are cases of people living up to two thousand days.”

  “Lila, I have no brain cells at the moment. What is two thousand days?”

  “Five and a half years.”

  “Really?” For the first time in days a light switches on in Callie’s eyes.

  Lila grins. “Really.”

  “In five and a half years,” she muses, “Eliza will be thirteen and Jack will be eleven. That would be . . . okay. I could leave them then. Screw the statistics, I’m going to be the one who outlives them all.”

  “That’s my girl.” Lila squeezes her hand. “I know you can do it.”

  “You know I have an ulterior motive in having you look after my kids too, right?”

  Lila sighs. “Go on, then. You’re trying to turn me into a mother. Have you been talking to Ed?”

  “Not since I’ve been in here,” Callie says, “but I did talk to him once and he said he’d love to have more children.”

  “Why don’t you come right out and say what’s on your mind?”

  “I have to say these things. I don’t have time to mess around. I have to tell the people I love what I really think
. I think you should have children with him.”

  “No way!” Lila holds up a hand. “We already had this discussion and I said no.”

  “I know. And I’m going to change your mind.”

  “By having me take your kids out? That’s not going to change my mind. The only reason I love your kids so much is because I can hand them back at the end of the day. Trust me, if your kids were with Auntie Lila twenty-four/seven, there’d be no love lost between us.”

  “What if I asked you to have kids and then I die?” Callie grins, with an evil glint in her eye.

  “Don’t you dare, because then I’d have to, and I don’t want to. I’m serious, Call. You can ask me anything but don’t force something on me that I don’t want to do.”

  “Oh but, Lila, you’d have these little chubby toddlers with curly black hair who’d speak in plummy English accents. They’d call you “Mummy”! And I know you’d fall completely in love.”

  “Hmmm. I told Ed I’d think about it, so that’s what I’ll say to you. I’ll think about it.”

  Five and a half years.

  Five and a half years.

  Steffi feels some of the heaviness lift as she drives back home to Sleepy Hollow. Even if it’s just one person who lived for five and a half years, why can’t Callie? Hell, why can’t she live even longer?

  “I am putting Callie on a strict vegan diet,” she announced that afternoon, after they all heard the good news that Callie is coming home as soon as they get the pain under control—and it is looking hopeful that this may be in the next day or so. “I’ll make something else for you guys, but Callie cannot eat animal products. If she has any chance at all of making it through this, she has to do everything she can, and there are amazing stories out there of veganism helping people recover from cancer.”

  Everyone shrugged their agreement—whatever might help, they are willing to try.

  Steffi stops at the big food market on the way home, inspired now to start cooking. She will cook for Mary this week, and for Amy. And she will cook for Callie. For when she does not know what else to do, what else can she do, but cook?

  And she is fired up. Recipes fly through her mind. Cookies and cakes for Mary, fish and chicken for Amy, vegetables and nuts and grains for Callie.

  Two hours later she is whizzing around the kitchen in a happy blur. Her iPod is plugged in and Sarah McLachlan is filling the room at top volume as she chops, and blends, and tastes. She doesn’t hear the truck, and only hears the knocking on the door after several minutes.

  Stanley is standing on the doorstep, with a bunch of gas-station flowers and a six-pack of Budweiser.

  “Hey,” she says, surprised. “It’s you again.”

  “Yup. Me again.” He shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “I heard that your sister was sick, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I brought you these.” He proffers the flowers.

  “Wow. They’re beautiful,” Steffi lies, touched beyond measure by the gesture. “Thank you.”

  “And I thought maybe you could do with a drink.”

  “You know what? I’d love a drink. Come in and let’s have a beer.”

  Stanley surveys the mess in the kitchen. “Are you ever not cooking?” he asks.

  Steffi sits down at the kitchen table and looks around, laughing. “I guess not. It’s what makes me happy. And when I’m sad, or depressed, or lonely, the only thing I know to do to make me feel better is cook.”

  “Is this all for you?” he says in amazement.

  “NO!” She swats him. “What do you think I am, some kind of glutton?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything.”

  “The cookies and cakes are for Mary’s store, and the rest is split between Amy and my family.”

  “Is it true you’re a vegan?”

  “Kinda, sorta,” she says, raising a beer as he cracks off the top and passes it to her. “I was. I worked in a vegetarian restaurant, so I still used eggs and dairy, even though I didn’t eat them myself, but it’s harder out here in the country. In New York it’s easy to be anything you want, but you’re much more limited outside any major city. Also, you kind of see things differently when you know where your meat is coming from. If I’m going to eat it, I want to know it’s from an animal that’s been raised on a family farm, grass fed, led a happy life and killed humanely, and there are enough small farms out here that I do know that.”

  “Really?” Stanley shrugs. “I don’t much care how it’s raised as long as it tastes good.”

  “But you should care.” Steffi turns serious. “Most animals are shoved together in tiny pens, filled with diseases, living horrible lives.”

  “I guess I’ve never thought about it much before.”

  “I don’t want to lecture you about it, but you should think about it. And it tastes better when it’s local. Everything does. Here”—she looks around the kitchen, then jumps up and brings back a pot—“this is homemade pesto. Try it.” She dips a spoon in and holds it out to him, expecting him to take the spoon, but he covers her hand in his and dips his face forward, eating off the spoon they are both now holding.

  It is suddenly shockingly intimate, and there is a silence as he holds her eyes while chewing. Steffi feels her stomach lurch. Oh God. She wasn’t expecting this quite so soon.

  “Wow,” he says eventually. “That’s amazing.”

  Steffi recovers quickly, smiling with delight. “See? That’s basil grown outside in the garden, with garlic grown next door. Everything’s fresh and you can taste the difference, can’t you?”

  “I don’t know whether it’s because it’s fresh but that is really good.”

  “Do you want more?” She grins. “I’ve got tons. I was making a fish recipe. Do you like fish?”

  “I love it. And yes, I’d love some.”

  Steffi is not hungry in the slightest—cooking has always killed her appetite, so she sits and watches Stanley as he eats. He is aggressive, head down, almost shoveling the food in, and she is happy he is such an enthusiastic customer.

  “Do you want some salad?” she says, when he is finished.

  “Oh man,” he groans. “I couldn’t fit anything else in. This is so nice of you. I came here to see if you were okay, and you end up feeding me. That’s just freaky.”

  “It’s not. It’s nice. I like feeding people.” Steffi shivers, aware now that she has stopped whirling around the kitchen cooking that the temperature in the house has dropped, and it is chilly.

  “You want me to build a fire?” Stanley says.

  “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I build great fires. I don’t mind.”

  “Okay,” she says finally, with a shrug. “Let me clean up in here and then I’ll come in.”

  Steffi knows what will happen tonight. She didn’t expect it to happen quite so quickly, or quite like this, but she knew, the second she laid eyes on Stanley, that all things being equal—no wives, girlfriends or stalkers to get in the way—they would end up in bed together.

  She drags out the cleaning-up process, not sure whether she actually wants this. Her mind feels so full of Callie, but what did Callie say to her just today? She wants Steffi to live. She wants Steffi to have adventures. She wants Steffi to be able to come and tell her stories.

  If Callie wants to live vicariously through Steffi, let’s be honest here, there isn’t anything terribly exciting about grocery shopping and spending the rest of the day cooking.

  Steffi wipes a cloth over the counters, and bends to check her hair in the dark window. From this angle, she looks pretty damn good. Oh shit, she thinks. Bad underwear. She had shoved the lacy Victoria’s Secret stuff to the back of the wardrobe, happy instead to pull on flesh-colored T-shirt bras and panties—no sex appeal whatsoever, but so much more comfortable.

  “I’ll be back in just a minute,” she calls to Stanley, as she races upstairs and roots around for her “good” underwear.

  She runs into the bathr
oom and scrapes a razor under her arms, then sniffs to make sure. All good. The old underwear is stuffed into the laundry basket, and the new is put on. Her stomach isn’t quite as flat as it was when she was living in New York—all that walking definitely helped keep the pounds at bay—but she will have to do.

  Back into the living room. Steffi tries to be casual, to pretend that neither of them knows what is on the menu for the rest of the evening. Stanley is lounging back on the sofa, one arm holding his beer, the other resting along the back. He looks perfectly comfortable. And shockingly sexy.

  Where should she sit? Well, she knows where she should sit, but it feels too obvious, so she sits in the chair by the fire.

  They talk, softly. He asks about Callie, and she finds herself telling him, welling up when she gets to the prognosis.

  “Come here,” he says, holding out his arms, and he puts them around her to comfort her. She leans her head on his chest and remembers just how good this feels, to be held in the arms of a man.

  And when he finally kisses her, it comes as no surprise whatsoever.

  Steffi wakes up slowly, pulling the covers tightly around her, wondering what time it is. It is dark outside, but that means nothing. The mornings have been dark outside for weeks now. She pulls her watch over from the edge of the nightstand and squints: 6:04 a.m. Time to get up—chickens and goats to feed, dog to let out, heating to be turned on. There must be a way, she thinks, to time the heating so it is off during the night, then comes on automatically at around 5:00 a.m., so every morning is not like climbing out of bed and into a fridge.

  But she hasn’t been able to figure it out. It doesn’t seem possible to regulate the system. It is either boiling hot or freezing cold. She has sent an email to Mason but has yet to hear. She will ask Stanley—she knew there was something she had forgotten last night.