Jillian's Promise

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  I brushed back Drew’s hair. “He remembers you, honey, but . . .”

  “What?”

  I took a deep breath. “He’s lost all his memories from the past seven years. He thought it was 2008 and the unit had just deployed to Iraq. He only remembers you as a little kid.”

  “So he doesn’t know about Marcus,” Bianca said.

  “Right.”

  “Or Bryan,” she added, pronouncing my boyfriend’s name with disgust.

  “Bryan!” For the first time since hearing about Keith, I remembered I was supposed to drive Bryan to Houston. Was he still waiting for me?

  I unzipped my purse, pulled out my phone, and read the last of several text messages he’d sent. “Hope everything’s okay. Leaving now, but I’ll call you later.”

  I sighed and texted a quick apology.

  “So we can’t see Dad until tomorrow?” Drew asked.

  “No, it’s late and he needs his rest. We’ll come back to the hospital in the morning.”

  “What time?” Drew demanded.

  I placed a hand on his back, wanting to shelter him from the implications of his father’s condition. “I don’t know, honey. We’ll just have to be patient.”

  Drew broke into an enthusiastic smile that revealed two deep-set dimples. “Patient with the patient.”

  My parents and sisters returned Drew’s smile and nodded with relief. Unfortunately, it would take more than one of my son’s quirky sayings to give me relief.

  *

  In the morning, the boys and I walked to the hospital to see Keith. Like most Rose Island residents, I seldom drove. The mild, gulf coast climate, tree-lined sidewalks, and numerous pedestrian paths allowed me to walk or ride my bike almost everywhere.

  Usually, I forbade electronics on our walks, forcing my children to interact with me IRL (in real life). This morning, I made an exception and allowed the boys to plug in to their devices so I could have time to think.

  Learning Keith had put himself at risk to save the lives of those around him in the convenience store hadn’t surprised me. He was a highly decorated soldier who never hesitated in the face of danger. Never showed weakness.

  And, once upon a time, I’d loved him with my whole heart.

  At one time, I would’ve given him everything. Had given him everything. All that changed when my brother died and Keith returned angry and depressed.

  Then I’d lost the baby I’d hoped would bring healing to our family. After that, Keith detached even further, throwing himself into work and volunteering for every mission available. The army, not the boys and me, became his family.

  A year later, he received orders for Fort Polk, Louisiana. I said I wasn’t moving unless he sought counseling for his alcohol problem. He insisted he didn’t need help and told me I was being selfish. Told me I cared more about my parents and sisters than I did him.

  At the time, he hadn’t been wrong. Yet, how could I leave the island and my family when Keith didn’t care enough to seek help? If he’d fought for me, or expressed any inclination that he wanted to save our marriage, I would’ve gone with him.

  But he hadn’t. He’d simply packed his bags and left.

  Now, I had Bryan—a generous, wonderful man whose company I enjoyed. Bryan was incredibly kind and considerate. When I’d called last night to explain why I’d missed our date, he’d been extremely understanding. For a guy who didn’t have kids and had never been married—nor intended to marry—he went out of his way to accommodate my chaotic lifestyle. Plus, he was great with the boys. I honestly couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

  So, why did I find myself filled with thoughts of Keith and our past? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about how safe and comforted I’d felt in his arms yesterday? Why had I felt the need to take extra time with my hair and makeup this morning? And when Bryan phoned earlier today, why had I sent his call straight to voicemail?

  I seriously needed to have my sisters slap some sense into me. Not Bianca, of course. No, Bianca adored Keith and would love to see us reunited. Vicki, thankfully, was sensible, and she wouldn’t hesitate to remind me that a relationship with Keith would only hurt me.

  Regardless, nothing good could come from these feelings I harbored. Nothing. The sooner I remembered that the better.

  *

  At the hospital, Dr. Jacobs met Matt and Drew in the cafeteria to talk about their father’s amnesia, while I was given the task of preparing Keith to see his children. Goose bumps crept up my arms as I rode the elevator to his room on the second floor.

  No matter what, I had to remain detached. It might be difficult, but Keith was depending on me to show him the reality of our situation. Being too kind would only confuse him.

  Taking a deep breath, I entered the room to find Keith sleeping on his side with his back to me. His hair was cut short in the military style, and my fingers betrayed me by tingling at the memory of rubbing my hand over his freshly shaven head.

  From out of nowhere came an insane desire to crawl under the covers with him, wrap my arms around his chest, and press my stomach to his back. I wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Tell him we were going to be fine.

  But how many times had I tried to do that in the past? And how many times had physical intimacy failed to reunite us? If only a relationship could survive on desire alone, we’d still be together.

  I set down the backpack I’d retrieved from Keith’s truck. Most likely, it contained his laptop and other personal items, but I hadn’t looked. His life was none of my business.

  Cautiously, I moved toward the bed, my stomach in knots. Warning bells shrieked, telling me to be careful, but I ignored them and placed my hand on the warm skin of his shoulder.

  “Jills?” he whispered, turning over to face me.

  My pulse kicked and I pulled my hand away. “Hey, how are you?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I knew you’d come back.” His voice was strong. Confident. Faithful.

  Keeping my distance, I lifted my chin. “Dr. Jacobs asked me to speak with you before the boys came.”

  Keith stared at me with eyes that were bloodshot as if he’d been crying, which I doubted because in the last few years, he hadn’t been one for tears. Most likely, he’d been awake all night, given the fact it was impossible to sleep in the noisy hospital.

  “I had a long talk with that shrink this morning,” Keith began.

  “Oh? What’d he say?”

  “We discussed my medical condition. Apparently, I’m going to live.”

  I smiled. “Of course you’re going to live. Your injuries could’ve been so much worse. You were really lucky, you know?”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited because apparently I have something even worse than my physical injuries.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pressed a hand to his head. “Doc said there’s something wrong with my brain, but I can’t remember what he told me.”

  “Memory loss?” I asked, tentatively.

  “No, that’s not it.”

  I squeezed the guardrail. The amnesia must be affecting his short-term memory as well. This was a really bad sign. I’d have to gently remind him of his condition. Working in elder care had given me plenty of practice with diplomacy, but I was nervous with Keith.

  “You have something called psychogenic amnesia,” I began. “Do you remember Dr. Jacobs talking to you about that?”

  A sly smile brushed his lips before turning into an all-out grin. “Gotcha!”

  “What? Keith! Don’t mess with me like that.”

  He laughed, and despite myself, I joined in with a smile of my own. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s kind of funny,” he said.

  I shook my head, and he reached out to capture my hand. I halfheartedly tried to pull away, but he held on tight. We both stared down at our entwined hands, and he stroked the back of my knuckles with his thumb. For a brief moment, it felt like old t
imes. Like nothing had changed between the two of us.

  “See,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “We’re okay. Just a rough patch, right, Jills?”

  He stared up at me with eager eyes, but I pulled my hand away, and this time, he let me go. “It’s not just a rough patch. We’re divorced. We have been for several years.”

  He shrugged. “That can easily be fixed.”

  “No, I’m afraid it can’t.”

  “You’re the love of my life, Jills. I’d have to be insane to let you go.”

  Heat crept up my neck, reaching my cheeks. I self-consciously brushed back my hair, which, according to Bianca, desperately needed to be cut and colored. “Have you talked to Mac Baumguard? He’s one of your best friends.”

  Keith shook his head. “No. Doc said I should. Eventually I will, but I’ve never even heard of this Baumguard guy. It seems strange to call when we’re supposed to be great buddies, and I don’t even remember meeting him.”

  “Mac’s a good man. He’ll be able to explain things to you.”

  Keith’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want some stranger helping me understand my life. I want my family. My wife.”

  Irritation permeated his voice, but there was also a trace of vulnerability. He was scared, and he had every right to be. I could only imagine how terrifying this was for him.

  “I know you wish things were different,” I said. “I do, too, but it’s been a long time and—”

  He stared at me hard. “You haven’t gone off and married someone else, have you?”

  I smiled sadly. “No, I haven’t remarried. I’m dating someone, but—”

  “What?” Fire burned in his eyes, making me regret mentioning Bryan. I hadn’t meant to be so insensitive; it’d just slipped out.

  “You’re with someone else?”

  Nodding, I reminded myself this wasn’t cheating. Keith and I were divorced, and I was free to date whomever I wanted. Still, I should’ve waited to tell him about Bryan.

  “I can’t believe you just moved on like that.”

  “Keith . . . it’s been seven years.”

  He shook his head and didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, he heaved a great sigh. “If I’ve really forgotten seven years, then Matt has to be fifteen and Drew thirteen. I can’t imagine them that old.”

  I sighed with relief that he wanted to focus on a neutral topic like the boys. “I can’t believe they’re that old either, but they’re such good kids. They’re so proud of how brave you were yesterday.”

  Keith’s gaze narrowed. “What about you, Jills? Are you proud of me?”

  My stomach twisted. “We’re all proud of you. My parents, Vicki, Bianca, and me.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window. “So what did Doc want you to tell me before I saw the boys?”

  “Nothing in particular. He just wants you to feel comfortable around them. I think he’s worried it may be difficult.”

  Keith gritted his teeth. “It’s not going to be difficult on me. They’re my own flesh and blood. My children.”

  I cringed at the sharpness in his voice. Once again, I was only making things worse. Someone more capable should be here helping him, but who? If only his mother was still alive, she’d be able to help Keith and give him the support he needed.

  The door opened, and I turned to see Drew step into the room. He hesitated, his familiar brown shoebox clenched tightly under his arm. I gave an encouraging nod and beckoned him closer.

  Slowly, he approached the bed and smiled at Keith. The overhead light caused Drew’s braces to shine. “Hey, Dad.”

  Keith sucked in a sharp breath. He studied Drew then looked at me. “Who is it?”

  Chapter 4

  Keith

  “It’s me, Dad, Drew. Don’t you remember me?”

  The disappointment in the boy’s voice was more than I could take, and I pressed my knuckles into my chest, needing to ease the ache.

  Breathe, just breathe. I grabbed the plastic cup of water on the nightstand and tried to drink, but my hand trembled so violently I splashed water all over myself.

  “Here,” Jillian said kindly, taking the cup and wiping the spilled water with a tissue.

  “Thanks.” I looked back at my son, wanting to say the right thing but unsure what that was.

  Drew rubbed his foot in the ground like he was squishing a bug or something. “Dr. Jacobs said you have amnesia, so you might not remember me.”

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay if you don’t remember me because I remember you.”

  He stared at me with such honest emotion; the only thing I could do was nod.

  “And Dad? I just want you to know that until your memory comes back I’ll help you, okay?”

  I inhaled slowly. “Okay, Drew. Thanks.”

  Hearing me say his name put him at ease, and he flashed me a huge smile. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m Drew. Your favorite son.”

  “Andrew,” Jillian said, her disapproving voice mixed with humor.

  Drew laughed. “Just joking. I know you don’t have favorites,” he said with a well-timed wink.

  “Anyway, in case you don’t remember, my name is Andrew Joel Foster, but everyone calls me Drew. I’m thirteen years old and in the seventh grade at Rose Island Middle School. Now, I’m not trying to bug you, especially given your condition, but if I had the new smart phone, like everyone else in my class, you could text me anytime you wanted. I could answer your questions night or day.”

  I glanced at Jillian in confusion. “The new smart phone? What’s that?”

  Drew stepped closer, placed a hand on my arm, and shook his head. “Oh, Dad. We’ve got a lot of work to do here. How about you just buy me one and I can show you how to use it? I’m seriously the only kid on the island who doesn’t have one. Probably the only kid in the whole world.”

  I looked to Jillian for confirmation, and she shrugged. “I imagine it’s true, but until he starts remembering to turn in his homework, make his bed, and feed the dog, he’ll have to wait.”

  Drew groaned and held out his hands helplessly. “I just forget sometimes.”

  “My point exactly.” She ruffled his hair. “I’m not going to waste money on something you can’t be responsible for.”

  “But, Mom, if you don’t let me try to be responsible, how are you going to know whether or not I can be?”

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes as I finally saw my little boy in this teenager. I blinked hard, not wanting to cry in front of Drew and Jillian. Although my son had changed in appearance, his enthusiasm for life was the same. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words clung to my throat.

  “Do you want more water?” Jillian refilled my cup with water and handed it to me.

  “Thank you.” I drank the water and studied Drew. “So, other than wanting a smart phone, what else have you been doing for the past seven years?”

  Drew grinned and launched into a detailed explanation of all his activities and projects. He talked about school, playing soccer, and riding the sky coaster at Schlitterbahn two summers ago. “Do you remember, Dad? You rode it with Matt and me? Grandma Linda was worried, but you told her it was safer than half the things you did in the army. She said that wasn’t very reassuring, but we all just laughed. Remember?”

  I wanted to say Yes, of course I remember, but I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  His face fell. “That’s okay. If you want, I can tell you about it now.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He grinned and told me all about our trip to the water park. Soothed by his continuous monolog, I smiled at Jillian. “This really is the same kid who used to sit in his highchair, chattering nonstop to the dog, us, his food, or anyone else who would listen.”

  She returned my smile. “He hasn’t changed much.”

  Drew thrust a hand to his chest, pretending to be insulted despite the grin on his face. “Are you saying I talk too
much?”

  “No.” I gave Jillian a pointed look. “Your incessant chatter proves that some things don’t change.”

  She winced at the barb, but Drew beamed and continued talking. Only the opening of the door quieted him as a scraggly looking teenager entered. I tensed, automatically reaching for my weapon, which of course wasn’t there. Was this the gunman who’d tried to rob the convenience store yesterday? Had the punk escaped custody and tracked me down?

  “It’s Matt.” Jillian placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “Matt, your son.”

  I shook my head, willing myself to recognize the stranger before me. If this was really my oldest son, gone was the skinny, freckle-faced little boy. Gone were the short military haircut, the infectious smile, and the baseball glove he carried everywhere.

  The teen had a hint of stubble, muscular shoulders, and a deep voice. I struggled to sit up straighter in bed. “Matty?”

  Irritation flickered across his face. “Yeah?”

  Drew shifted his shoebox and leaned toward me. “He doesn’t like to be called Matty anymore. It’s Matt now. If you really want to make him mad, you can call him Matty or Matthew Aaron Foster.”

  Matt narrowed his eyes, but Drew kept going. “You could also call him Sir Matthew Aaron Foster.”

  “Shut up.” Matt flipped the bangs off his face and clenched his fist.

  Drew put his hands up in mock surrender. “Just trying to help.”

  “No, you’re not,” Jillian said. “Stop provoking your brother.”

  Drew pushed out a breath. “Sorry.”

  “And in our family, we don’t use the phrase ‘shut up,’” she told Matt.

  “Okay,” he said, his tone blatantly disrespectful.

  I hated this exchange between Jillian and the boys. I almost said something, but these people were strangers and I felt like such an outsider.

  Instead, I focused on Matt, beckoning him closer with an unsteady hand. “Come here, Son. Let me look at you.”

  He reluctantly edged forward. My throat clogged, and I blinked hard. “I can’t believe you’re all grown up. You’re practically a man.”

  He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”