Jillian's Promise

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  My chest constricted. “It is a big deal, Matty. It’s a big deal to me.”

  “Matt,” he said, pushing back his hair. “People call me Matt now.”

  A moment of tense silence followed, then I said, “Right . . . Matt.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he yawned. “So, a war zone is safer than Rose Island? It’s only in Texas that you get yourself shot?”

  “Matthew,” Jillian warned.

  I rubbed my shoulder and ignored my son’s accusatory tone. “I guess so, but I don’t remember. The police questioned me this morning. Apparently, I stepped in front of a bullet.”

  Drew lowered the guardrail and sat on the edge of my bed, the shoebox balancing precariously on his lap. “That’s so awesome, Dad. Not the memory part, but the fact you stood up to that bad guy. What did it feel like to have a gun aimed right at you? To stand and face danger? Did you see your whole life flash before you?”

  Matt shook his head with disgust. “He doesn’t remember.”

  “I was just asking,” Drew said, wounded.

  I gently rapped my knuckles against Drew’s shoebox. “I’ll make a deal with you, buddy. As soon as my memory returns, I’ll tell you all about it, okay?”

  “Sure.” Drew sounded skeptical as if he didn’t believe the return of my memory was possible.

  “Hey, want to hear something cool?” I asked, needing to lighten the mood. “The owner of the convenience store stopped by. He wants to give me and my family free soda and burritos for the rest of my life. How’s that sound?”

  Drew’s jaw dropped. “Cool!”

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” Matt said, a hint of excitement breaking through his tough guy demeanor. “We go there all the time, you know.”

  No, I didn’t know. My gut clenched in rebellion at this new reality. How was I supposed to get used to this life they had without me? I’d offer to be shot again if it would restore my old life. Or at least my memory. Doc insisted I had to be patient with the amnesia, but I didn’t want to be patient. I wanted my wife and kids back. I wanted my life back.

  Shifting on the bed, Drew swung his legs and gave a little bounce. “Do you really not remember anything except from when we were little?”

  “Not really.” I adjusted my leg, trying to get more comfortable. I hated being confined to bed like an invalid. Hated not knowing my sons as teenagers or understanding how I’d lost my marriage.

  I wanted to go back to the days where I helped Matt and Drew set up their little plastic army men. Back to the days where I’d thrown the boys over my shoulder and raced around the backyard while Jillian squirted us with the garden hose.

  Even if my memory returned, those days were gone. My children were no longer little kids, and I was no longer married to Jillian.

  Drew shook the shoebox high above his head. “Are you ready, Dad?”

  “Ready for what?”

  Without answering, he dumped the entire contents of the box onto the bed. Pictures, medals, patches, and newspaper articles scattered across the blanket.

  My eyes darted between Jillian, Drew, and the items on the bed. “What’s all this?”

  Sadness encompassed Jillian’s face, but Drew beamed, his dimples dancing as he spoke like a dramatic game show host. “This, Major Foster, is your life.”

  “These are all mine?” I ran my hand over the items.

  Drew nodded, and for the next twenty minutes, he elaborated on every medal, award, and picture. During my years of military service, I’d earned the Bronze Star, Purple Heart, Combat Infantryman’s Badge, and several other awards. I’d been honored by dignitaries, leaders of State, and even the Vice President of the United States.

  Drew had saved every picture and newspaper article commemorating my achievements. When feasible, he’d obtained a copy of each medal for his own records.

  “The Silver Star?” I asked, holding up the medal with the five-pointed star. I turned it over and read the inscription, For Gallantry in Action. “Did I really earn the Silver Star?”

  Drew’s smile was a mile long. “Yep. The third highest military award for heroism in combat.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe I don’t remember any of this.”

  Drew thumped his chest. “That’s what you have me for, Dad.”

  I swallowed. It was all so overwhelming. I’d achieved more than I’d ever dreamed of in my military career, yet I remembered none of it.

  More than that, I’d achieved it without Jillian next to me. She hadn’t been in one single photograph. Not one! Had I just tossed her aside as I pursued my career? Why?

  Jillian moved her purse from one shoulder to the other. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but we’re on our way to church this morning—”

  “Don’t go,” I said, sounding pathetic even to myself.

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ll bring the boys back tonight, but we need to go so we aren’t late.”

  I nodded, remembering she couldn’t stand being late for church.

  “Boys, tell your father good-bye.”

  Matt mumbled something and offered an awkward wave before ducking out of the room as fast as he could. Drew, however, threw his arms around me. “I love you, Dad. I’m so glad you’re home and you’re going to be okay.”

  I pulled my youngest son close. Okay? How could I ever be okay when I’d lost my marriage and my family? I held Drew another moment before watching with disappointment as he headed toward the door.

  Jillian hesitated. “Is there anything we can bring you when we return?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “My memory?”

  She smiled sadly. “I wish I could.”

  “What about a Dr. Pepper?” I asked. “Please tell me they still have Dr. Pepper in the twenty-first century.”

  “Of course they do,” Drew said.

  Jillian nodded as if everything was now fine. “We’ll bring you a Dr. Pepper this afternoon.” She reached for the door.

  “Jills, wait!”

  She turned and looked at me, her hair spilling over her shoulder.

  “Stay just a minute,” I begged, gripping the edge of the bed. “I need to ask you something in private. It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “That will give me time to bring you the soda,” Drew said. “Lots of ice and a straw, right, Dad?”

  I rubbed my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Jillian handed Drew a five-dollar bill. “Just the soda for your father. The last thing you need before church is a shot of caffeine and sugar.”

  He gave a sly smile. “What about a donut?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Nice try, though. Please hurry, okay?”

  He ran out of the room. Jillian returned to my bedside. “I’m sure this is difficult, but it will get easier. I promise.”

  “Where’s your brother?” I blurted out, suddenly realizing neither Jillian nor the boys had even mentioned Marcus. “Is he still in the army? What about Anna? Please tell me they’re still together. They aren’t divorced, are they?”

  Her face crumpled, and I was overcome with a sickening feeling that things were even worse than I imagined.

  Chapter 5

  Jillian

  My head pounded as I searched for a response to Keith’s question about Marcus. I didn’t want to relive the horrible details of my brother’s death and its aftermath. Yet, Keith needed to hear the truth.

  Exhaling slowly, I pushed away my sadness. “What’s the last thing you remember about my brother?”

  Keith looked down at his hands. “That morning we deployed. You, Anna, your sisters, and your parents were worried about Marcus. I promised to watch out for him. I did that, right? He’s okay?”

  I shook my head. “Marcus didn’t make it.”

  Keith’s eyes locked on mine. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. He was assigned to security detail for the battalion commander, and when Williams’s vehicle was attacked, Marcus—”

  Keith’s voice broke.
“Are you telling me he was killed?”

  I nodded, my throat aching.

  “He was just a baby. Just twenty-three.”

  “I know.” Years of telling people about my brother had taught me how to hold back my tears, but this time, my bottom lip trembled and my eyes watered.

  I sat on the bed beside Keith and took his hand. Wordlessly, he pulled me against him, holding me tight—not crying, not talking, but simply taking one ragged breath after another.

  Finally, he brushed back my hair and pressed his lips to the top of my head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I know.”

  “I shouldn’t have let this happen. I promised to look after him. How could I fail you like this?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I should’ve talked him out of enlisting.”

  I shook my head and straightened so I could see Keith’s face. “You tried, but Marcus was stubborn, and he wouldn’t listen to you.”

  “I should’ve—”

  “Don’t!” I snapped, taken off guard by the spark of anger shooting through me.

  Keith flinched and met my gaze.

  “I’m sorry.” I softened my voice. “I just don’t want you blaming yourself. I can’t live through that again. Losing Marcus was horrible, but watching you blame yourself made it worse.”

  “Jills, I—”

  I brushed away the tears I could no longer control. “Although my brother’s service cost him his life, he was proud to be a soldier.”

  “I know he was, but I should’ve brought him home.”

  I shook my head. “You couldn’t have, Keith. Please don’t go back down that road.”

  Keith frowned. “You said I made everything worse. What do you mean?”

  I thought of what Dr. Jacobs said about giving Keith time to absorb reality without overwhelming him. How would Keith react to learning he’d dealt with the pain of war by becoming an alcoholic just like his father?

  “Jills, tell me how I made it worse.”

  I licked my lips and took a deep breath. “Okay. Basically, you blamed yourself and became very angry. You started drinking all the time and didn’t want to be around us anymore.”

  He blinked and looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are. I am, too.”

  “Anna must hate me,” he said, referring to my brother’s widow.

  “No, of course she doesn’t. Nobody blames you for what happened. Least of all Anna.”

  A beat of emotional silence followed, then Keith asked about Anna and Travis.

  I smiled. “They’re doing great. Anna stopped flying for a little while after Marcus died, but she recently renewed her pilot’s license and is back to teaching. Travis just turned eleven, and he looks exactly like Marcus did at that age. He and Anna are living in Germany now.”

  Keith raised his brow, and I explained that Anna had married another soldier named Nick Peterson who adopted his nieces, Hailey and Gabby.

  “Anna remarried?” Keith asked, disgusted. “She just found someone new and moved on? Doesn’t that bother you? She was so crazy about your brother.”

  I sighed. “Marcus is gone now. Nobody wanted it this way, least of all Anna, but Nick is a good guy and he makes Anna happy. When your memory returns, you’ll see.”

  “Will I?” A chill swept through the room. “I understand Anna’s situation, but I’m still alive. I can’t imagine ever being happy about seeing you with another man.”

  His jaw clenched. I didn’t blame him for feeling resentful. If faced with the same situation, I would probably be angry, too.

  *

  My heart was heavy as the boys and I left the hospital and walked to church. Drew ran ahead, eager to see my parents and tell them all about Keith.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Matt, lagging behind, his feet scuffing on the sidewalk even more than usual. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. For the first time that morning, I noticed how bad his ripped jeans had become. In theory, he was supposed to wear nicer jeans to church, but he’d grown so much this spring that these were the only pair that still fit. Thank goodness he mostly wore shorts to school.

  I gently patted his back. “I’ll take you shopping this afternoon, okay? I’ll see if Drew can stay at the ranch with Grandma and Grandpa, and we’ll go downtown. Just the two of us.”

  “Sure.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder. “I guess that means we’ll have to stop by Vicki’s Bakery for coffee and a piece of chocolate cake.”

  When the mention of his favorite treat failed to elicit a smile, I tried a different approach. “Look. I know seeing your dad in the hospital wasn’t easy, but he’ll be okay. Before you know it, he’ll be back to his usual self.”

  Matt gave a skeptical look. “That’s a good thing?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It’s just, how can he not remember us? He remembers you, and he remembers he likes drinking Dr. Pepper, but he doesn’t remember his own sons?”

  The emotion in Matt’s voice broke my heart. “He remembers you as a little kid, but he can’t control the years he forgot. It’s not like he forgot on purpose.”

  “Whatever.” Matt kicked a pebble down the sidewalk. “I wonder if he remembers her.”

  “Who?”

  “That reporter. Lyla Gray.”

  My stomach did a free fall. Matt knew about Lyla? Had he told Drew?

  And what exactly did Keith remember about the woman who not only witnessed my brother’s death but widened the crack in my marriage?

  Chapter 6

  Lyla Gray

  Sitting at her desk in the study, Lyla read the local news on her computer. There was another article about Major Keith Foster and his heroic actions at the convenience store. While the report named Keith’s children, there was no mention of his ex-wife Jillian.

  Lyla’s stomach tightened with guilt. She’d always felt partly responsible for Keith’s divorce. Not just because of the night he’d spent at her house but because of what happened out in the desert when Jillian’s brother died.

  Lyla had tried to redeem herself by including Marcus in the book of military heroes she wrote. But a book was a poor substitute for a life.

  “Mom, what time?” Avery asked, looking up from the couch where she played with twenty-five of her favorite Barbie dolls.

  “What time is it?” Lyla said, automatically correcting her daughter’s speech.

  “Yeah, what time is it?” Avery repeated.

  Lyla gave a sad smile. “It’s nine o’clock, honey.”

  Frowning, Avery mumbled something Lyla didn’t catch. Because it was late, and they were both frustrated and tired, Lyla didn’t ask for clarification. At age six, Avery was a bright, outgoing child who spoke too quickly and omitted words in her sentences. She also had an unusually shaped palate that slurred her speech even more than usual for a child with Down syndrome.

  Last week, however, a cleft palate specialist claimed surgery could give Avery the anatomy to achieve comprehensible speech. Lyla had been elated at the prospect.

  The insurance company, however, classified the procedure as elective, meaning Lyla was going to have to ask Ronnie for more money. He’d give it to her of course, but she hated depending on him. Hated feeling obligated and trapped because of finances.

  “Want Daddy.” Avery began to cry. “He not coming for my birthday.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Lyla walked to her daughter, sank onto the couch, and gave Avery a huge hug. Why had she said anything about Ronnie coming tonight? She should’ve let it be a surprise, in case his plans changed, like they often did. She knew better, and she did her best to tolerate their less than ideal arrangement, but sometimes she couldn’t stand waiting around for him. Sometimes she hated being the other woman.

  She needed to stop using Avery as an excuse and end things with Ronnie. She’d never meant to become involved with a married man. Never meant to have a daughter with him.

>   Avery wiped her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. “I know. Let’s go Daddy’s house.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Lyla pressed her lips together, knowing the question had more to do with Avery’s stubborn streak than her intellect. “You know why, sweetheart.”

  “Daddy’s real wife.” Avery’s short fingers stabbed the air and the word “real” came out sounding more like “wheel.”

  Lyla had never wanted Avery to find out about Ronnie’s marriage. Thanks to extensive media coverage of his latest campaign, Avery had witnessed Ronnie kissing his wife on TV.

  “Who Daddy kissing?” she’d asked, a hand thrust to her hip in disgust.

  Lyla had tried to explain, but how did you explain infidelity to any child, let alone one lugging around an extra chromosome? Now, Avery blamed Daddy’s real wife for everything that went wrong, including the broken laundry machine and missing car keys.

  Although Lyla found her daughter’s accusations somewhat humorous, she didn’t want other people finding out about Ronnie or his wife, so she constantly warned Avery not to talk about it.

  “Why?” Avery would ask, her natural sense of curiosity shining through.

  Never in a million years had Lyla imagined she could love another human being like she loved her daughter. Without a second thought, she’d given up everything for Avery—her career, her ambition, her friends. Even her self-respect. Other than royalties on the two biographies she’d written and an occasional check from one of her freelance jobs, she barely earned a living.

  Instead, Ronnie supported them, paying for not only their daily expenses, but all the early intervention programs designed to stimulate intellectual and physical development in children with Down syndrome.

  The only thing Ronnie didn’t pay for was Lyla’s house—a historic bungalow located just off the square on Coronado Boulevard. Lyla had inherited the Rose Island home from her grandmother before Avery was born. At the time, she’d had a decent job and was able to spend all her energy and money updating the house. She’d ripped out old carpet, refurbished the wood floors, pulled down wallpaper, and replaced every window. Now she could barely afford a can of paint, let alone the property taxes.