Jillian's Promise

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  He seemed so eager, how could I refuse? Maybe with the extra time together, I would find a way to tell him about kissing Keith.

  Oh, Lord, what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to hurt this kind man, but if we’re not supposed to be together, show me the way.

  Bryan drove up the mountain to the ritzy neighborhood of Highland View Estates. As we approached the guardhouse, he slowed the car and lowered the window. A middle-aged man with a clipboard stepped toward us and smiled when he recognized Bryan.

  The guard wished us a good evening before raising the gate. Bryan drove forward, continuing up the road until we turned right on Ocean View Lane.

  My stomach churned with apprehension. I’d accompanied Bryan to several high-class parties in this glamorous neighborhood, and although the houses were impressive, many of them felt cold and pretentious. Our house on Blackberry Lane needed a lot of updating, but it was home to me. It was the place where I was raising my children and the place Keith thought of as home.

  Bryan stopped the car in front of an ostentatious, castle-like mansion. The three-story house boasted two turrets with arched windows and a double door entrance tall enough for a giant to pass through without stooping.

  “Is this your listing?” I asked, hoping he’d brought me here out of curiosity and nothing more.

  He gave a self-satisfied grin. “Not exactly.”

  I took a huge breath, suddenly terrified of what awaited me inside the house. “Bryan, I need to tell you something.”

  “Come on.” He jumped out of the car. “You can tell me inside.”

  Nausea squeezed my stomach tight. I needed to stop him before things went too far. Before he told me the real reason we were here. But he was so excited, I couldn’t get the words out.

  With a heavy heart, I followed him into the house and up the winding staircase to an impressive balcony that spanned the entire third story. He opened a set of French doors and stepped outside.

  “Can you believe this?” he said, gesturing at the view.

  “It is amazing.” Not only could I see the ocean, but the rooftops of town hall, the hospital, and the church steeple. Somewhere down there, under one of the many tree-lined streets, sat my humble home.

  “Look at the backyard.” Bryan pointed at the outdoor kitchen, next to the beautiful, infinity pool complete with spa and waterfall.

  “It’s incredible.”

  “It’s mine.” He looked right at me.

  My stomach plummeted. I’d been afraid of that. And I’d been afraid of what came next.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a little, black jewelry box, just the size for an engagement ring. He knelt to the ground and opened it to reveal a large diamond solitaire. “Jillian Foster . . . will you do me the honor of accepting my proposal of marriage and becoming my wife?”

  There were so many things I could’ve said, such as when did he change his mind about marriage, but I blurted out what was foremost on my mind. “I kissed Keith.”

  Bryan stared at me as if waiting for the punch line to a bad joke. “I’m sorry,” I said, desperate to fill the silence. “It happened tonight before the gala. I wanted to tell you right away, but I didn’t want to ruin our evening.”

  “You didn’t want to ruin the evening,” he repeated, irritated.

  I nodded, realizing how ridiculous my excuse sounded. Bryan looked down at the ring and came to his feet.

  Tears pricked my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “I don’t know. I’m confused, but . . . I don’t want to hurt you . . .”

  “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

  I stared at Bryan, realizing how selfish I’d been to let things get out of hand with Keith. What was I supposed to do now?

  Bryan pressed his lips together and slipped the ring box back into his pocket. So much for not ruining the evening.

  *

  On the drive back down the mountain, neither Bryan nor I spoke. I swallowed hard as he pulled into my driveway next to Keith’s truck. “Bryan, I’m so sorry.”

  He gave a grunt of disbelief. “The thing is, I really cared about you. I always knew you didn’t feel the same way, but—”

  “You told me you didn’t want to get married,” I said, defensively.

  He smiled sadly. “I didn’t.”

  “Then why—”

  “I didn’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said again, realizing how ineffective that phrase sounded. “What are you going to do about the house?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a house. I’ll figure out something.”

  Leaning over, I hugged him good-bye, feeling his body stiffen underneath my embrace.

  He gave my shoulder a firm pat. “Good-bye, Jillian.”

  “Good-bye.” I stepped out of the car and walked to the front door without looking back. Although I felt horrible about hurting him, I also felt as if I’d been set free. As if anything was now possible. As if I now had the energy to focus on what I really wanted.

  I entered the house to find both Matt and Drew asleep in front of the TV. Keith was nowhere to be found, but I roused the boys and sent them to their rooms.

  Worried about Keith, I crossed the backyard to the garage apartment. The light was off, so I knocked on the door, not sure what I would say when he answered.

  I waited and knocked again. Then, I turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. “Keith? Are you in here?” Cautiously, I scanned the dark room.

  Empty.

  I turned on the light in order to see better, and there on the nightstand beside his bed was a bottle of opened alcohol and a glass half full with amber liquid.

  I pressed a hand to my heart, feeling its thundering beat. Oh, Keith. What have you done?

  I ran back to the house for my phone and called him, but he didn’t answer. Where are you? I texted.

  Was it a good sign that the bottle seemed mostly full except for what was in the glass? Or did that mean something else? Keith’s truck was still in the driveway, so at least he wasn’t driving. But where was he?

  I dialed his number again, but no answer. Then I woke both Matt and Drew, asking if they knew the whereabouts of their father. Neither one did.

  Not knowing what else to do, I bowed my head and pleaded with God to protect Keith.

  Chapter 27

  Keith

  I’d found the bottle in my truck under the seat just as Bryan and Jillian left for the gala. Was I really going to do this? Just give up the fight and succumb to the desire to drink?

  “Hey, Mr. Foster.” Cooper Morales walked toward me. “Can Drew come over to my house to use the Slip ’N Slide?”

  I shoved the bottle back under the seat. “Yeah, sure.”

  Cooper and I walked toward the house to find Drew just as Hannah was leaving. “See you later, Mr. Foster. Thanks for the swim suit.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, pretending my mind wasn’t obsessing about the bottle in the truck. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

  Drew found his bathing suit on the laundry room floor and left with Cooper. Matt was taking a shower, so I sat next to Bella on the couch and turned on the game in an effort to distract myself. Maybe I’d see if Matt wanted to throw the baseball around or walk down to the beach.

  A beer commercial came on the TV and my mouth salivated. “Are you thirsty? Really thirsty?” the voiceover asked.

  Yes! I had to get out of here.

  Just as I stood, Matt entered the family room, followed by a cloud of Axe cologne. “I’m going to . . . I mean, is it all right if Hannah and I walk downtown for ice cream?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Okay.” I tried not to think about the fact I’d be home alone for an hour. Once everyone left, I could grab the bottle, seclude myself in the garage apartment, and drink until . . . Until what? I felt better? I knew I wouldn’t feel be
tter. I knew everything would be worse. The guilt, the shame, the loss of my family. I couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do it.

  “Come on, Bella.” I stood and opened the closet to collect the dog leash.

  Wagging her tail, she slipped off the couch and we went outside. In hindsight, I should’ve grabbed the bottle from my truck and thrown it away while I was strong. Instead, I lied to myself, promising to do it when we returned.

  All during Bella’s walk, I prayed for God’s help. Let me be strong. Show me how to be the man Jillian needs me to be. The man you want me to be. Your will be done, not mine.

  I prayed the Lord’s Prayer and made a mental list of things I could do instead of drink. Watch a movie, go for another walk, call Dr. Jacobs, read a book. By the time I rounded the corner to go home, the temptation had passed, and I was feeling proud of myself. Resisting alcohol wasn’t that difficult.

  As soon as I saw my truck, however, the bottle whispered my name, urging me to abandon the idea of resisting. Bella looked up at me as if sensing my struggle. “It’s okay, girl. I’m not going to do it.” I unhooked her leash and let her walk the last block on her own.

  Drew called out to me from the Moraleses’ front yard. “Hey, Dad. Can Cooper come over and play a video game?”

  “Sure.”

  Both boys raced into our house, leaving me standing in the driveway with Bella. On instinct, I grabbed the bottle from my truck and shoved it under my shirt. Then, before I could change my mind, I called for Bella to follow me through the side gate to the backyard. In the garage apartment, I set the bottle on the nightstand beside my bed.

  Bella looked up at me with anticipation. “Let’s get you some water,” I said, refusing to think about what I was going to do.

  I took her outside and filled her bowl. Instead of lapping up her water, she sat back on her haunches and stared at me with a knowing expression.

  “Sorry, girl.” But I didn’t really feel sorry at all. Didn’t really feel anything but anticipation of that first sip.

  I left her outside and stepped into the garage. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lifted the bottle, comforted by its solid weight in my hand. I had no memory of drinking, but more than anything in the world, I wanted to lean my head back and guzzle the entire bottle.

  You want to drink more than you want your wife?

  “No.” But I did. At that moment, nothing was more important than the alcohol. Besides, Jillian was no longer my wife, so what did it matter?

  I twisted open the lid to the bottle. Immediately, the strong smell burned my nostrils, and I knew I was traversing down a deep dark hole from which there was no return.

  Slowly, I poured the liquid into the glass on the nightstand. I wanted to pick up the glass, but something stopped me. Squeezing the bottle in my hands, I closed my eyes.

  I can’t do this without your help, Lord. I’m begging you. Please send me a miracle.

  I don’t know how long I sat there with my hands clenching the bottle as I pleaded for deliverance. And I don’t know why God sometimes answers prayers and sometimes doesn’t. I only know that at that moment, He chose to save me.

  “Keith!” Bianca pounded on the door as if she were the chief of police. “Are you in there?”

  I opened my eyes but was too stunned to speak.

  “I’m coming in.” She turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  I stood as she entered and greeted me without apologizing for barging into my quarters. “Hey, stranger. Remember me?”

  I smirked. “The girl who doesn’t know how to knock?”

  “Ha ha. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” Looking right at me, she wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Oh, Keith. You’re drinking again? Don’t you remember that stuff is poison to you?”

  I glanced at the bottle. “That’s the thing. I don’t remember anything.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, let me remind you. You’re not like other people who can enjoy one little drink. You’re powerless when it comes to alcohol. So, come on. We’re going for a drive.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to go for a drive.”

  “I don’t care what you want. Put down the bottle and come with me.”

  I glanced at the house. “What about the boys? I told Jillian I’d keep an eye on them.”

  “The boys can take care of themselves. Besides, you’re not doing them any good back here, drowning yourself in your drug of choice.”

  She had a point. I set the bottle on the nightstand and followed Bianca to her car. I said very little as she backed out of the driveway and drove down the road. The great thing about being with Bianca was not having to talk much because she was perfectly happy carrying the conversation alone.

  She talked about her parents, the yoga class she took on Tuesdays, and her plans for the summer. Then she told me about all the crazy clients at her hair salon, The Last Tangle. She asked about my job, but there was little I remembered, so that conversational topic quickly ended.

  “What happened tonight?” she finally asked. “Jillian said you haven’t been drinking—”

  “I haven’t.”

  “But you were about to.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. I still might.

  “Did seeing Jillian go out tonight set you off, or was it something else?”

  I didn’t know how to talk about it, but Bianca was an expert in making people talk. I found myself telling her about my life and how frustrated I felt about the amnesia. How frustrated I felt seeing my wife with another man, my kids all grown up, and Matt angry all the time.

  “Everyone, including the dog, has moved on without me.”

  She nodded at my pathetic statement. “Life changes. People move on.”

  “If I could just understand what happened to Jillian and me, maybe I could move on, too. She’s explained it to me, but I don’t get it. What am I missing?”

  “Do you really want to know, or do you just want me to tell you something that will make you feel better?”

  “I want to know.”

  “Okay.” She turned the car around and headed up the mountain toward the ranch.

  “Bianca, I’m not ready to face your parents.”

  “We’re not going to see them. Eventually, you’ll have to if you want another chance with Jillian. You’ll have to find a way to win over Mom. Dad loves you. He’s always loved you and believed in you.”

  “He has?” The lump in my throat throbbed at the idea of Walter still caring about me.

  “My mom loves you, too, but she sees the stability and safety Bryan offers, and she wants that for Jillian. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I can.”

  Bianca took her eyes off the road and glanced at me. “You broke my sister’s heart.”

  “I know.” I looked out the window and thought of the bottle waiting for me beside the bed. “I want to make amends for hurting her, but I don’t know how.”

  “Well, you can start by not drinking.”

  “That’s exactly what I said until tonight, but . . .” A BMW very similar to the one Bryan drove sped past us in the opposite direction. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like there’s this overwhelming compulsion inside me to do the one thing I know I shouldn’t do.”

  She exhaled loudly. “Trust me, I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Why do you think I’m overweight? Because I have a slow metabolism?”

  “No, I just assumed—”

  “You just assumed I ate too much?”

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh, and I shrugged, not sure where she was going with this. My mother had been on a diet her entire life, so I knew enough to stay away from weight issues with women.

  “The desire to overeat,” Bianca began, “to stuff yourself with food and eat until you feel sick, has more in common with alcoholism than people realize. It’s an addiction that doesn’t make sense. Intellectually, you know it’s detrimental to your health, but you
can’t stop yourself from doing it.”

  I pulled my gaze from the window and looked at her. “I never thought about it like that.”

  “Most people don’t, but after years of dieting, I’m beginning to accept the fact I have to do something about the little switchman.”

  “The little switchman?”

  She laughed at herself. “It’s what I call him. I imagine there’s this little man in my head who controls the eating switch. He has a cute conductor’s hat, jean overalls—” She waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, sometimes he has no problem keeping the switch off. It’s so easy he can do it with one hand while whistling a happy tune. During those times, I can easily smell the bread and muffins from the bakery without any temptation whatsoever.

  “There are other days, however, when the little switch man is white-knuckling it, keeping the switch off with all his might. Despite his efforts, it’s too much and he just quits, leaving the switch on, on, on. Does that sound crazy?”

  “A little, but I get it.”

  She drove past the entrance to her parents’ house and turned onto the road leading to the summer camp that abutted the ranch. We parked and climbed over the fence, ignoring the “No Trespassing” sign. The Morgan sisters sincerely believed the sign didn’t apply to them as they’d played here as children and had worked at the camp during high school.

  In silence, we walked along the path that led to Luella’s garden. I looked up at the stars, appreciating their bright beauty.

  When we reached the garden, Bianca sat on the bench under the pecan tree and motioned to a small statue of an angel. “Do you remember?”

  Something about the statue seemed familiar, but I shook my head. “No.”

  “That’s where we buried your daughter.”

  My heart faltered. “My daughter?”

  “Catherine Grace.”

  Everything inside me crumbled at the sound of my little girl’s name.

  Bianca exhaled. “Losing her devastated Jillian, and your behavior didn’t help. At a time when she needed you the most, you weren’t there for her.”

  I blinked hard, the impact of my actions and loss of my daughter wreaking havoc on my emotions. “Jillian told me I was with Lyla that night.”