Jillian's Promise

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Jillian's Promise Page 15

by Kristin Noel Fischer


  He lifted it up to reveal a second dress even more luxurious than the first. “I helped Mrs. McMahan find the location for her current shop, and we’ve kept in touch. When I told her about the gala and your predicament with your gown, she insisted on helping.”

  “Her dresses are amazing, but I can’t afford them.”

  Bryan picked off a piece of Bella’s dog hair from the couch and spoke with a hint of irritation. “This is my treat so don’t look at the price tags. I want you to choose the dress you love the best. If it’s not here, the boutique will send over another batch.”

  I started to protest, but he shook his head. “This gala was your idea in the first place, and you’ve done so much work. I want you to have a special dress for the night.”

  “Oh, Bryan.” I kissed him softly on the cheek. I didn’t deserve him. And he certainly didn’t deserve to have his girlfriend entertaining ridiculous fantasies of being held by her ex-husband in a backyard tree house.

  From this point forward, I would keep my distance from Keith and concentrate on taking better care of Bryan. I kissed him again. “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re just having cheese quesadillas, but I’m going to make a salad with fresh vegetables from my mother’s garden.”

  “Not today. I ate a late lunch and am meeting a client in about twenty minutes. I’d love a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  I took the dresses back to my bedroom before going into the kitchen and making two cups of coffee. I brought them to the family room and sat next to Bryan on the couch. “To Mrs. McMahan’s Dress Boutique.” I lifted my mug.

  Bryan shook his head. “To you.”

  Remorse engulfed me. I should’ve toasted to Bryan. After all, he was the one who’d brought the dresses. Determined to be a better girlfriend, I tried again, clinking my mug against his. “To us.”

  He smiled. “To us.”

  For the next five minutes, we sat quietly, speaking about the gala, the new traffic light being installed at the turtle crossing intersection, and the history of finance.

  “Am I boring you?” he asked when I stifled a yawn.

  “Of course not. I’m simply worn out from spending the afternoon with my mother and sisters planning Anna and Nick’s reception.”

  Drew stormed into the house, slamming the doorknob against the permanent groove in the wall. “Mom, where’s the first aid kit?”

  I sat up straighter, my mothering instincts on full alert. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Dad hurt himself.” As though realizing he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to, he quickly added, “He’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I just need a Band-Aid.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Worry flickered across his face. “Yep.”

  I could tell he wasn’t telling the truth, and had Bryan not been here, I would’ve checked to make sure Keith was okay. Instead, I pointed down the hallway. “Look in the linen closet next to the bathroom. There should be a first aid kit on the second shelf, left-hand side.”

  Drew raced down the hall, and I returned my attention to Bryan. “Sorry about that. You were telling me about the US Securities and Exchange Commission?”

  “That’s right. Anyway, it was established in 1975 and—”

  We were interrupted once again when Matt entered the house, calling Drew’s name.

  “He’s in the hallway,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  Neither one of my boys had ever been good at deception. I strode across the room only to be knocked over by Drew barreling through the house. In his arms, he held the first aid kit and several bath towels.

  “Tell me what’s going on right now,” I demanded.

  Matt held up his hands to prevent me from looking in the backyard. “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll take care of it.”

  They both rushed outside, and I stared after them, worried. Because of the encroaching darkness, I couldn’t see into the backyard, but Bryan said, “You should probably go check on that, Jillian.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be right back.” I stepped onto the back deck and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. On the ground below the tree house crouched Hannah and the boys. At first, I couldn’t figure out what they were looking at, then I saw Keith on his back, not moving.

  Everything inside me went into panic mode. Acting on pure instinct, I raced toward them, my heart in my throat.

  “I’m fine,” Keith called when he saw me running.

  I sunk to the ground and placed a shaky hand on his chest. “You’re bleeding!” I stared at the blood soaking his shorts.

  “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Drew asked, his voice tight.

  Keith waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just a little blood. Help me to my feet and I’ll be fine.”

  “No, don’t move!” I pressed down on his chest to prevent him from standing. “Hold still while I take care of you!”

  He flopped back to the ground and flung an arm over his head. “Woman, I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say that.”

  Refusing to acknowledge his joke, I pushed up his shorts. Despite my medical experience, I cringed at the sight of the gaping wound. “They’re going to have to stitch you up again. Why in the world did you think you could climb into a tree house? You’re not invincible, you know.”

  He said nothing as I opened the first aid kit and dabbed at his wound with a piece of gauze. Why did I suddenly feel so angry? This wasn’t a matter of life and death, just a minor inconvenience.

  Without warning, Keith reached out and clasped my arm, holding onto it firmly. “Hey, I know you’re worried, but I’m going to be okay.”

  I pulled my arm away, frustrated I cared so much. Frustrated that his reassuring gesture could actually reassure me. It wasn’t fair he continued to play such a prominent role in my life, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it.

  Chapter 20

  Keith

  At the Emergency Room, Jillian stood with her arms folded as a young physician re-stitched the wound on my leg. The injury wasn’t as bad as Jillian feared, but I could tell I’d scared her.

  Over the past few weeks, I’d spent way too much time looking at the pictures on Jillian’s Facebook page. It was hard seeing how happy she was with Bryan. I’m not saying I liked the guy, but I could tell he treated her with respect. He was even decent to my boys, taking them to fancy restaurants and buying them expensive presents.

  Regardless, I hated seeing my wife and kids with another man. I wanted my family to be happy, but I wanted to be the one to make them happy. I glanced at Jillian who seemed to be supervising the doctor.

  Lord, I will honestly do anything to win back her love. Please tell me it’s not too late. Please answer my prayer and give us another chance.

  Jillian caught me looking at her and she gestured toward the corner of the room where the TV showed my old commander, Ronald Williams, delivering a campaign speech. “Do you recognize him?”

  “Yeah.” Bile burned my throat. Williams had called me yesterday, asking all sorts of questions that set me on alert.

  The doctor yanked the needle through my skin, and I winced.

  “Sorry,” he said apologetically.

  “No problem, Doc.” I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, pushing the pain away.

  Jillian surprised me by taking my hand. “Does it hurt, Keith?”

  I opened my eyes and laced my fingers through hers. “Not anymore.”

  She shook her head and rolled her soft, brown eyes, but she didn’t let go of my hand. We both turned our attention back to the TV where the first lady was defending recent rumors about her conspiring to commit insider trading.

  “Do you think she did it?” I asked in an attempt to keep my mind off the burning pain.

  The doctor glanced at the TV then returned to torturing me. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  Sonya Tuskaloski, the redheaded Slavic woman who’d been my post-op nurse after
the shooting, pulled back the privacy curtain. “She’s guilty and should be arrested.” The way she pronounced the word arrested reminded me of Count von Count from Sesame Street.

  Jillian smiled at me as if thinking the same thing, and I squeezed her hand in a gesture of solidarity. Since my accident, I’d spent a lot of time catching up on politics. Over the years, both the governor and the first lady had been accused of various illegal activities, but they’d never been charged with anything. Supposedly, Williams was the most popular governor ever to hold the office.

  When the doctor finally finished, he covered my wound with a bandage. He pulled my shorts back over my leg and threw away his gloves. “I’ll write a prescription for an antibiotic, but you need to tone it down, Major Foster. No heavy lifting or climbing into tree houses.”

  “Come on, Doc. Can’t you let a guy have any fun?”

  He smiled, realizing I was trying to make a joke, but Jillian placed a forceful hand on my arm. “I’ll make sure he follows your orders.”

  “You’re going to take care of me?” I asked, delighted.

  Sonya laughed like I’d said something extremely hilarious. Then she winked at Jillian. “You’ll have to tell me how that works out for you.”

  Jillian ignored Sonya and thanked the doctor. After both he and Sonya left, Jillian gestured to the TV. “When Governor Williams called to talk to me about using the villa for Chelsea’s Friends, he mentioned wanting to see you.”

  “I haven’t seen him in person, but he called yesterday.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “He sounded odd, asking me what I last remembered and if I had any recollection of the deployment.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him the truth. I told him I remember a little bit, but nothing that makes sense. My memories are like random snippets of a film I’ve seen before but can’t identify. Honestly, I’m so sick of this whole amnesia experience.”

  She smiled sadly. “I’m sure it’s frustrating, but at least some of your memories are returning. Drew said you remembered taking him and Matt up to Arlington for a Dallas Cowboys game a couple years ago.”

  “I remember the game.” I sat up and flung my legs over the side of the bed. “I also remember arguing with the commander while we—”

  “While you what?”

  “Nothing,” I said, regretful. Jillian didn’t need to know about this.

  “Keith.”

  I looked at her and sighed. “You’re not going to like it, and I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Just tell me.”

  I blew out a slow breath and remembered Dr. Jacobs’s advice about being more open and honest, especially with Jillian. “Okay. After Marcus died, Williams wanted me to accompany the body back to the states. We argued because I told him I couldn’t—”

  “You couldn’t leave your troops,” she said, more resigned than resentful. “You told me that over the phone when I begged you to come home for the funeral.”

  My gut sank. “I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Jills. I don’t remember everything exactly, but I have this feeling—this memory—of knowing I needed to stay and figure things out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shook my head. “That’s what I can’t remember. Regardless of why I didn’t come home early . . . I want you to know it wasn’t because I didn’t love you or didn’t want to be with you.”

  “I know.” She jutted out her chin. “You had troops to take care of and a mission to complete. Feeling obligated to do the best job possible doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  “Just a bad husband.”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “If I could go back and do things differently—”

  “You would’ve done the exact same thing. After a soldier dies, the last thing needed is a lack of leadership. You couldn’t leave. Even though I didn’t like it at the time, I understood.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course. God, Army, Family. In that order, right?”

  Silence fell between us. She’d always understood and accepted my commitment to the military even if she didn’t always like it.

  I studied her carefully, wanting to tell her more. Wanting to tell her about these disturbing thoughts, knocking around in my mind regarding her brother’s death. I didn’t trust Williams, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought he was to blame for Marcus’s death.

  “What?” she asked, gently. “I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?”

  I wanted to ask her about the official report, but refusing to upset her further, I looked down at my hands and changed the subject. “I know you’re happy with Bryan and the life you’ve created without me. I just think if I could remember what happened between us, our breakup wouldn’t hurt so much. You know? If I remembered, maybe I could make sense of everything and find a way to get over you.”

  She sighed and pulled back her hair. “Do you remember that Thanksgiving when we were first married and couldn’t make it back to Rose Island?”

  I smiled, thinking about the little apartment we’d rented just off post on Maple Street. “You made my mom’s recipe for cranberry marmalade salad and it was delicious.”

  “It was horrible.” She laughed. “But you ate the whole thing anyway, telling me your mother would be jealous of my cooking.”

  We grinned at each other and something in her eyes softened. “Do you remember the pumpkin pie? How it slipped out of my hands and shattered across the tile floor?”

  I smiled sadly, remembering the chunks of glass and pie on the wall, Jillian crying, and me trying to comfort her. “It was the first pie you ever baked, and you were so upset, but it was just an accident.”

  She looked at me with moist eyes and nodded. “Even though it was just an accident, it doesn’t change the fact it happened. The dish simply slipped out of my hands, and before I realized what was happening . . .”

  I understood her point. Like that pie we’d both wanted so much, our marriage had simply slipped away from us.

  We sat without speaking until I admitted my greatest fear. “What if my memory never comes back? How am I supposed to go on without you, not remembering what broke us up? How am I supposed to return to my job with the army when I don’t even remember what I do now?”

  She reached for the cross that no longer hung around her neck. “Your memory will come back. You just have to be patient.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  She nodded and smiled at me. “I just had a great idea.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” she said, leading me out of the hospital. “I’m going to take you on a little field trip.”

  Chapter 21

  Jillian

  At work on Monday morning, I stood in the doorway of the assisted living salon while Bianca washed and set Mrs. Villega’s hair. I loved how real our salon felt, giving many of our elderly residents an opportunity to enjoy something that had been a huge part of their former lives.

  Alzheimer’s was such a cruel condition, robbing people of their families, their memories, and their dignity. Yet, something happened when women like Mrs. Villega learned they had an appointment at the salon.

  Despite not remembering the names of their children or what year it was, they automatically reached for their handbags and lipstick. There was a lilt to their step as they pushed their walker down the hall to meet Bianca. When they sank into the salon chair and Bianca ran her fingers through their hair, it was as if it all came back to them, and many smiled for the first time in ages.

  The keypad at the front door beeped, indicating a visitor privy to the security code was about to enter. I smiled when I spotted Mr. Murphy, holding a bouquet of yellow tulips. The older gentleman wasn’t a resident, but every day he came to visit his wife who lived in room eleven.

  “Good morning, Ms. Jillian,” he called cheerfully, one side of his mouth tugging upward in
a lopsided grin.

  “Good morning, Mr. Murphy. Beautiful flowers as usual.”

  He ran a paper-thin hand over his silver hair and lowered his voice. “How’s she doing today?”

  “Good. I told her I thought you’d bring daises this morning, but once again, I was wrong.”

  “I’ll bring my bride daises tomorrow.” As was his custom, he handed me a single flower from his bouquet. Stepping into the salon, he gave a tulip to both Bianca and Mrs. Villega.

  “Thank you,” Bianca said.

  Mrs. Villega brought the flower to her nose, and to my amazement, she batted her eyelids flirtatiously at Mr. Murphy. “Thank you for taking me to prom.”

  Understanding random flashbacks were part of the disease, Mr. Murphy simply smiled. “My pleasure. You ladies have a wonderful day.”

  With that, he headed down the hall to his wife’s room. Once he was out of sight, I let out an exaggerated sigh. “He’s so romantic. Can you imagine a man referring to you as his bride and bringing you flowers every day, even after years and years of marriage? Flowers he planted and grew himself?”

  Bianca gently washed Mrs. Villega’s hair. “He doesn’t grow the flowers anymore, you know.”

  “Sure he does. Haven’t you seen Mrs. Murphy’s photo album?”

  “Yes, but those are old photos. He lives in an apartment now.”

  I shook my head, refusing to be deterred. “Please don’t ruin my fantasy. Please tell me you agree that Mr. Murphy is the most romantic man in the world.”

  “Bryan’s romantic, isn’t he?” Bianca taunted.

  “Sure,” I said.

  She took her focus off Mrs. Villega and stared at me. “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  “I don’t? Well, Bryan’s very romantic. I didn’t tell you, but last night he brought me several dresses from Mrs. McMahan’s to try on for the gala. He told me not to worry about the money because he wants me to wear something special.”

  “He bought you a dress from Mrs. McMahan’s Dress Boutique?”

  “He did, but—”

  “What?”

 

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