Jillian's Promise

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  “Have you ever heard of Mrs. McMahan’s Dress Boutique?” Justine adjusted the baby in the sling as she crossed the room to the closet.

  Lyla nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

  “Well, Margaret McMahan is my grandmother and . . .” Instead of finishing her sentence, Justine swung open the door, revealing an enormous, well-lit, walk-in closet filled with exquisite evening gowns.

  Avery sucked in a huge, audible breath, and covered her mouth with both hands. “Wow!”

  Grinning, Justine stepped into the closet and touched several of the gowns. “It makes no sense to keep all these dresses, but I used to work at the shop on Saturdays, and my grandmother often paid me in merchandise. Even though some of the gowns are terribly outdated, I can’t bring myself to get rid of them.”

  Justine walked to the back of the closet. “Avery, I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before, but I have the perfect dress for you.”

  “For me?” Avery entered the closet, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

  “Yes.” Justine held up a dress. “What do you think?”

  Avery gasped with delight.

  Not wanting to be a bother, Lyla started to protest, but when she actually looked at the gaudy, Pepto Bismol pink garment, she laughed. The floor length taffeta monstrosity boasted more ruffles and sequins than she’d ever seen in her entire life.

  “This was ordered and paid for a few years ago,” Justine explained, winking at Lyla. “For some reason, the customer changed her mind.”

  “Beautiful,” Avery said.

  Justine laughed. “I thought you’d like it. If your mom says ‘yes,’ you can have it.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes. For you.”

  “Are you sure?” Lyla asked.

  “Definitely.” The baby started to fuss and Justine gave her a gentle bounce. “Avery would be doing me a favor by taking the dress off my hands. As you can see, I’m running out of room. Plus, I don’t know anyone else who likes the color pink as much as she does.”

  Had the dress been the least bit redeemable, Lyla would’ve declined the offer. Instead, she agreed. Avery whooped and swiftly shrugged off her clothes in order to try on her new dress.

  Justine handed Lyla the baby and helped Avery climb into the gown. “It’s a little big,” Justine said, tugging at the bodice, “but I can easily alter it. I’ll leave a generous amount of fabric on the hem so you can wear it for a long time.”

  Avery’s body trembled with delight. She thrust out her arms and spun around in circles. “I princess, Mommy.”

  “Yes, you are,” Lyla agreed, thinking she’d never seen her daughter so happy.

  “It’s almost as if the gown was made for you, and . . .” Justine retrieved another dress, this one elegant with simple lines. “What do you think about this for your mother?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Avery clapped her hands.

  Lyla held the baby close and looked longingly at the gown. “It’s beautiful, but I couldn’t accept it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I just . . .” How did she express the fact that she didn’t want to become Justine’s charity case? After spending years beholden to Ronnie, she wanted to make her own way.

  Justine placed a hand on Lyla’s arm. “Please let me help. I’ve been so self-absorbed with my pregnancy and new baby that I’ve been a horrible neighbor. I’ve lived next door to you for almost a year, and in all that time I’ve never reached out to you.”

  Lyla felt ashamed because she hadn’t reached out to Justine either. In fact, she’d done just the opposite, purposely keeping her distance in order to hide her relationship with Ronnie.

  “I haven’t been the most-friendly neighbor, either,” Lyla admitted.

  “Let’s change that.” Justine exchanged the dress for the baby and slipped Madison back into the sling. “This is something I can easily do for you. Please let me help. It would mean a lot to me.”

  Lyla looked longingly at the dress. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Justine laughed. “I’m so happy.”

  “Me, too.”

  It’d been a long time since Lyla had accepted such a strong gesture of friendship, and doing so felt like a risk. Yet, she was ready to begin taking more risks in her life, especially when it came to making new friends.

  Chapter 18

  Jillian

  Between my ex-husband living in the backyard, Matt’s expulsion from school, and trying to find a new location for the charity gala, my stress level reached an all-time high. My sister Vicki suggested a relaxing, therapeutic massage, but I didn’t think any kind of massage would solve my problems.

  After work on Tuesday, my mother phoned, asking if I could help plan a wedding reception for Nick and Anna who were coming back to the island for a visit.

  “Sure,” I answered, pretending I was the type of person who loved taking on additional responsibilities when stressed.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

  Nick had once compared my mother to the mom from the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I thought it was a fair comparison in that both women were loud, large, and opinionated.

  “I’m fine, Mom. I just have a lot going on in my life.”

  “Yes, you do. What about Bryan? He’s not too jealous of Keith, is he?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, be careful. Bryan’s a good catch, and he’d make a wonderful husband.”

  I sighed. “Mom, you’re not going to want to hear this, but Bryan doesn’t want to get married.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No. He told me when we first started dating, and I’m okay with that. I don’t want to get married again, either. At least not now.”

  “Honey—”

  “Mom, please.”

  “All right,” she said in her disapproving tone. “If that’s how you really feel.”

  “It is.” I steered the conversation back to Nick and Anna’s wedding reception. We talked about flowers, the menu, and decorations. Then, Mom had to go because my father was dragging her off to look at a used tractor he wanted to buy.

  Five minutes later, Bianca called asking what I’d done to upset our mother.

  “Nothing,” I insisted. “I’m just overwhelmed with everything I’m supposed to do. I told her I’d help with the reception. Is she really upset?”

  Bianca ignored my question about Mom. “Why are you overwhelmed?”

  “Where do I start?” Bianca listened to me rattle on about my stressful life before offering me her brilliant suggestion that I homeschool Matt.

  “Homeschool? Are you serious? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? At this point, it seems like your only option.”

  I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear so I could pull the towels out of the dryer to fold them. I was constantly washing towels because my children insisted on using a new one every time they bathed instead of hanging up their wet towel.

  “If I homeschooled Matt, we’d drive each other crazy. Plus, I have a full-time job, not to mention a charity event I’m failing to organize, and Keith living in my backyard.”

  She laughed. “How is that hunky ex-husband of yours?”

  “Fine. I think.”

  Just at that moment, I glanced out the laundry room window to see Keith sitting on the back porch, brushing Bella. Each spring, the Lab shed her winter coat, losing an unbelievable amount of fur.

  I watched Keith’s lips move as he spoke to our sweet Bella. Although I couldn’t hear what he was saying, his gentleness knocked the wind out of me.

  “Are you listening?” my sister demanded, breaking my trance.

  “No. What’d you say?”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I said, don’t be a martyr. Nobody ever said you had to save the world single-handedly.”

  I turned away from Keith and folded another towel. “I’m not trying to save the world, just fulfi
ll my obligations and responsibilities.”

  “Okay, Saint Jillian,” she said in the sarcastic middle-sister tone she’d perfected.

  On Bianca’s side of the line, I heard a door creak open, and I imagined her stepping onto the apartment balcony above the hair salon she owned. She often ate dinner or drank coffee on the balcony that overlooked our quaint Main Street. Our younger sister, Vicki, lived in the apartment next door above her bakery.

  “Bianca?”

  “Sorry, Vicki just left for a date, and I was trying to figure out if I knew the guy.”

  “Maybe you should use your binoculars,” I suggested.

  “I am, but I can only see the back of his head.”

  I laughed. “Don’t let her catch you spying on her.”

  “No worries. I’m very stealth-like. Anyway, I know you’re stressed, so why don’t you give Keith the task of homeschooling Matt?”

  “Are you serious?” I shot another glance out the window, watching Keith come to his feet with the aid of his cane. Although he was growing stronger every day, he still had a ways to go before healing completely.

  “Other than physical therapy, Keith is free most of the day, isn’t he?” Bianca said.

  “Yes.”

  “You mentioned he’s been helping the boys with their schoolwork.”

  “That’s true, but he’s only here temporarily. Once his convalescent leave is over and he goes back to work, I’d have to come up with a different solution for Matt.”

  Bianca hesitated. “Do you think Keith will actually be able to go back to work?”

  I glanced out the window, but Keith was no longer there. “I don’t know. I guess it will depend on the amnesia.”

  “Well,” she replied, a smile in her voice, “Keith’s living situation doesn’t need to depend on the amnesia. The two of you could still work things out even if he never remembers anything.”

  “Bianca?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good night.”

  *

  The next morning, Bianca surprised me by showing up at work with two cups of coffee and a cream cheese pastry from Vicki’s Bakery.

  “Are you working here today?” I asked, thinking maybe she’d changed her schedule.

  “No.” She sank into the chair across from me and gave a sly smile.

  I took a sip of my coffee. “Why is our sister’s coffee so much better than anything I ever make? We use the same water and the same coffee, but hers is incredible and mine often tastes bitter.”

  “The Vicki Touch,” Bianca explained, implementing a phrase we often used to describe our youngest sister’s ability to excel at everything she did.

  I smiled in agreement. “So, you’re not here to work?”

  “Nope. Mom sent me. She wants me to convince you to homeschool Matt.”

  I practically spit out my coffee. “Really?”

  “Yes, and I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Of course you do. You’re not the one who has to educate him. Unless you’re volunteering.”

  “I’m not volunteering, but independent study allowed me to finish high school.”

  Bianca had been homeschooled the last semester of her senior year after she’d had some problems at school. I didn’t know all the details because I’d been away at college, and it wasn’t something anybody liked to talk about. Basically, my parents had sent her to live with our Aunt Wynonna in Charleston, South Carolina. In addition to helping our aunt run a free clinic for the poor, Bianca had finished her last year of high school via correspondence.

  “Working with Aunt Wynonna was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Didn’t you miss being in school? Especially your senior year?”

  She shrugged. “My grades were so bad I wouldn’t have been able to graduate. Plus, I needed a new experience. I needed to see life outside of Rose Island so I could appreciate everything I had back home.”

  I gave a sad smile and refrained from asking what exactly happened that year. Maybe one day Bianca would tell me, but now wasn’t the time.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “homeschooling allowed me to thrive academically. I became a reader that year. I think having Matt home with Keith for a few months would be good for both of them.”

  I studied her carefully. “Are you sure you aren’t looking for a way to keep Keith in my life a little longer?”

  She grinned. “Maybe, but do you have another option?”

  “Not really.”

  After Bianca left, I rounded on my patients, mulling over everything my sister and I had discussed. During lunch, I looked online and found a curriculum that seemed easy to use. I spoke to my boss and managed to convince her to let Matt study in my office in exchange for manual labor around the facility. The arrangement probably violated OSHA regulation, but it would work for now.

  When I’d completed all the online forms required to finalize Matt’s new academic arrangement, I called Bianca in a panic.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Worst case scenario, he fails and has to repeat ninth grade.”

  “Thanks a lot!”

  “No, I’m just joking. It’s really not that hard, and in the grand scheme of things, aren’t you more worried about his alcohol issues?”

  I pushed out a breath. “I hope I’m not living in denial, but I think that’s behind us. Keith talked to Matt about how dangerous that path could be for him. I’m not saying everything is perfect, but Keith was able to reach Matt in a way I couldn’t.”

  “See, he’s already an amazing teacher.”

  I groaned. “Well, for now, I need to be the one responsible for Matt’s education. Answer me honestly: Do you really think I can homeschool a fifteen-year-old while holding down a full-time job, co-hosting the charity event, and looking after my amnesiac ex-husband?”

  Bianca laughed. “An overachiever like you? Not a problem.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am,” she said with so much confidence I almost believed her.

  *

  Unfortunately, it took less than a day for me to realize I was the last person on the planet who should be educating her own child. For starters, Matt’s grammar assignments baffled me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out the difference between past perfect tense and present perfect tense. Nor did I care.

  I had a degree in nursing and used math every day, but I couldn’t help Matt with his geometry at all. I thought of myself as a fairly intelligent woman, and I was confident that given enough time—and the teacher’s manual—I could figure out everything. But I didn’t have time for this!

  On the second day of my homeschooling fiasco, I received a phone call from the seamstress who was altering my gown for the gala. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Foster, but there’s been an accident with your dress.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “My assistant spilled a can of grape soda down the front of your gown and we can’t wash it out. We’ve tried everything—Borax, dish soap, toothpaste, vinegar . . . the shop will compensate you of course. Just tell us the original price of the garment, and we’ll write you a check.”

  A check? I didn’t want a check. I wanted the gown I’d spent months searching for and had finally found on clearance in Dallas while visiting Bryan’s parents. I wanted my gown that was both modest and showed off my figure without drawing attention to my mom-gut.

  “Mom,” Matt said, while I was still on the phone.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to get a drink of water.”

  “Fine.” I gave a dismissive wave, feeling irritated and defeated. Matt had just returned from getting a drink of water five minutes ago, but I didn’t have the strength to argue with him.

  I ended my call with the seamstress and marched over to the hospital where Keith was attending physical therapy. He brightened at the sight of me, and I instantly felt guilty—as if I should be here giving him positive news, not unleashing my fury.

  Lord, t
ake away this anger. Please. I don’t want to act like an insane woman. Soften my heart and help me think rationally.

  I smiled at both Keith and the physical therapist—a young woman who looked to be no older than Matt but had to be in her early twenties. “I was hoping to talk to Keith when you took a break,” I said.

  “You’re just in time. He has an hour lunch break before meeting with Dr. Jacobs.”

  “Something I can definitely skip for you.” Keith winked at me.

  I shook my head. “That’s not necessary. What I need to ask you will only take a few minutes.”

  *

  In what was either my smartest or most idiotic move, I asked Keith to take over Matt’s education. He agreed and thought it would be a good opportunity for both of them.

  With Matt taken care of, I focused on finding a new location for the gala. Years ago at my brother’s memorial service, Governor Williams—then Lieutenant Colonel Williams—had told me to contact him if I ever needed anything. I hated to abuse my connections, but I was desperate.

  The governor had a home on the west end of the island, and I occasionally saw him in town. He’d passed through the lobby on the day Keith was released from the hospital. When he looked my way, I started to say hello, but he kept walking, either not recognizing me or not wanting to be recognized by me.

  Still, seeing him that day had given me an idea. Via a well-composed e-mail, I apologized for not saying hello at the hospital. Then I made my request to use his villa for the gala, explaining the charity’s mission and unfortunate mix-up with our original location.

  Within a few hours, the governor himself responded, insisting he hadn’t been at the hospital and I must’ve mistaken him for somebody else. Maybe someone who looked like him? Nevertheless, he agreed to my request.

  I reread his e-mail several times, knowing without a doubt he was lying. Why? Well, I wouldn’t worry about that now, especially given that he’d said “yes,” and the charity event could go forward as planned.

  I started to return the governor’s e-mail, but before I could, he called me on the phone. “Ms. Jillian,” he boomed in his unmistakable, vivacious voice. “I’m thrilled to hear from you. Mrs. Williams and I are honored you asked us to host Chelsea’s Friends at the villa. Simply honored.”