Promises to Keep

by Ann Tatlock

  “I didn’t know what she meant, so I asked her, and she said never mind, I wasn’t meant to hear what she’d said. Later I called my cousin Bernadette, because she knows everything, and when I asked her what a sugar daddy was, she said she couldn’t tell me because it was something ugly. I begged her to tell me, and she said all she was going to tell me was that it was something between old men and young girls, and if anyone ever wanted to be my sugar daddy, I should run.”

  A shiver ran through me. Whispering, I asked, “What do you think it means?”

  She looked away and drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know for sure, Roz, but I think a sugar daddy is someone who’s only going to hurt you in the end.”

  She kept her gaze out the window, as though she didn’t want to look at me. I paused only a moment before blurting, “You’re talking about my daddy, aren’t you? You think something bad’s going to happen because of Daddy.”

  “I’m not saying that, Roz.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  Lips a taut line, she blinked several times. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Just be careful.”

  I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “I know, Mara, I know. You told me that already, remember?”

  “Yeah, but – ”

  “And then I met Daddy at the café, and everything was fine. Better than fine. Everything was good.”

  “I know, but – ”

  The doorbell rang again, interrupting Mara and ending our conversation. It was Willie Nightingale, here to pick her up. I peeked through half-closed lids when Mara said, “Hi, Daddy!”

  “Time to get on home now, baby. School tomorrow.” The huge man fidgeted in the hallway like a lumbering bear, hat in hand.

  “All right, Daddy. I’m coming.” She turned back to me, gave me her bright smile. “Bye, Roz.”

  I lifted one hand in farewell, and then she was gone. Heavy with fatigue and sadness both, I drifted off to sleep. Sometime later I was only vaguely aware of Wally and Valerie coming home, and of Tillie carrying a tired and cranky Cinderella upstairs to bed. I slept some more, snuggled in the blanket, one cheek pressed against the floral pattern of the couch. Next I knew, Mom was tugging gently at my hand, saying, “Come on, honey. Off to bed. It’s getting late.”

  I groaned and slowly unfolded myself from the cushions. Mom put an arm around me to guide me up the stairs. We were halfway up when the doorbell rang.

  “Can you believe it?” Mom said with a small click of her tongue. “Almost ten o’clock and the ghosts are still making the rounds.”

  “I’ll get it, Mom.” Wally’s voice drifted up to us from somewhere. The front door opened, a gust of cold air rushed in, then Wally’s voice again. “There’s no one . . . oh, wait a minute. Someone left a paper bag with Roz’s name on it.”

  “For heaven’s sake . . .” Mom started, though her voice trailed off as Wally met us on the staircase and handed me the bag. I sat down on a step and opened it. My eyes widened at the treasure inside, every kind of candy imaginable, including at least a dozen Sugar Daddies and, on top of everything, a red silk rose.

  “Who do you suppose left it?” Mom asked.

  I looked up at her and lied. “Probably Mara. Who else?”

  She didn’t look convinced, but I could hardly tell her our final visitor was a ghost from her past, who seemed to me at that moment like the very best daddy in the world.

  chapter

  25

  Tillie sat alone in her room, laughing out loud and slapping the arm of her padded rocking chair with an open hand. I paused in her doorway and frowned at her. “Tillie?” I finally called.

  She turned and, wiping tears from her eyes, said, “Oh, Roz, come on in. Have a seat. Butter mint?”

  I moved across the room and took a mint from the candy dish. Then I pulled the desk chair over and sat down beside Tillie. “What’s so funny?” I asked. Popping the mint into my mouth, I savored its sweetness and the fact that I could swallow without pain. Ten days after surgery, I was back to normal.

  Tillie laid a hand across her chest, taking a moment to catch her breath. “I was thinking about Valerie, what she said just now when I was putting her to bed.”

  “Yeah? What’d she say?”

  “Well, I’m teaching her to pray the ‘Our Father,’ but she hasn’t quite mastered it yet. Instead of saying ‘Our Father, who art in heaven,’ do you know what she said?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have a clue.

  Tillie laughed again, a laugh so powerful I thought she might wake up not only Valerie but every other slumbering kid in the neighborhood too.

  “She said – ” more wiping of tears and amused sighs – “she said, ‘Our Father, it’s hot in heaven’!”

  Another shriek followed, and I tried to join her, but I could only summon up a chuckle. Valerie’s mistake didn’t seem all that hilarious to me. By now Tillie was waving one hand in front of her face like a fan, as though the heat from Valerie’s prayer were warming her.

  “I told her, I said, ‘Valerie, honey, you’ve got the wrong place.’ ”

  I reached for another butter mint, pressed it against my tongue, looked at Tillie in quiet admiration. I liked the way she was so easily entertained.

  She took one more deep breath, sighed heavily, then smiled at me. In the next moment, though, the smile disappeared as her eyebrows met over the bridge of her nose. “Roz, you don’t know the Lord’s Prayer, do you?”

  I shook my head and shrugged.

  “No, I didn’t think you would, since your mother doesn’t take you to church. Pity.”

  “What’s a pity, Tillie?” I mumbled around the mint.

  “Why, that you don’t go to church, and you don’t know how to pray.”

  “But I know how to pray.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure.” Every day I prayed the same prayer: Dear God, please give Mara and me our daddies back. I had promised Mara I’d do it, and I was trying to keep my promise.

  “I’ve asked your mother to come to church with me and to bring you kids along, but she’ll have none of it.”

  “But we used to go – ”

  I stopped as a memory flashed across my mind. Mom, dressed for church, trying to get out the door; Dad, in a drunken rage at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, yelling, swearing, fists flying . . .

  I jumped up from the chair and walked to the window.

  “What’s the matter, Roz?” Tillie asked.

  “Nothing.” I pressed my forehead against the chilly glass, my breath forming a cloud on the windowpane. The night was dark and starless, as though a curtain had been drawn across the world.

  “I can tell you this much, Roz,” Tillie said. “God answers prayer.”

  I turned around. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been praying Lyle would come home, and I got my answer today.”

  “Lyle?”

  “My son. The one who lives in Bolivia.”

  I had to think a moment. Then, “Oh yeah. I remember. He has malaria.”

  “Not anymore, he doesn’t. He’s better now. But he’s decided to come on back to Illinois and look for work here, sometime after the first of the year. Oh, I know, it was a selfish prayer.” She paused a moment, rocking herself gently. “I should have been satisfied for him to stay in Bolivia if that’s where God wanted him. But I had to ask anyway, just to see if I could have a little more time with him. Of course, I didn’t tell Lyle I was praying for him to come home, but sure enough, he believes God’s calling him to return to the States. He doesn’t know why, but frankly, I don’t care why. I’m concerned with the what, and the what is: I’ll get to be near my son again. At least for a little while, before God calls me home. You know . . .” She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling and nodded. “I suspect he’ll be calling me soon. Any day now, maybe. Though I hope it’s after Lyle gets back.”

  “But . . . you can’t go yet, Tillie.”

  “
I can’t?”

  I shook my head. “Mom needs you.”

  “Ah.” Tillie waved a hand. “Your mother will be all right. I won’t go until she’s taken care of.”

  “What do you mean, taken care of ?”

  “I don’t know. Only God knows that.”

  “You think she’s going to marry Tom Barrows, don’t you?”

  “Roz, honey, I don’t know what God has in store for your mother. I’m afraid I’m not privy to his plans.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be God’s decision anyway, it would be Mom’s, and I hope she doesn’t decide to marry him.”

  “Well now, that’s not a very nice thing to hope for, if marrying Tom would make her happy.”

  I crossed my arms and turned back to the window.

  “Tillie?”

  “Yes, child?”

  “If I pray for something, like you did, will God give it to me?”

  “I don’t know, Roz. He doesn’t always give us what we think we want. Can you tell me what it is you’re praying for?”

  “No.” My word sounded angry and abrupt, so I added, “I can’t tell you, Tillie. Not yet.”

  “Fair enough. Is it a good thing, whatever it is?”

  I turned around again. “Oh yes. It’s a very good thing.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Then maybe God will say yes.”

  “The way he said yes to Lyle coming back, right?”

  “I suppose so. I – Oh, there goes the phone. I’d better get it.” She pushed herself up from the chair, straightened her skirt, and headed for the door. “Your mother is trying to take a bubble bath and have a few minutes of peace and quiet. Heaven knows she deserves some little luxuries, the way she stands on her feet all day. . . .”

  Tillie was still muttering to herself as she disappeared into the hall to pick up the extension there.

  The cold night air entered as though by osmosis through the windowpane, and I shivered. Turning to go, I saw the baseball bat that Tillie kept beside her bed, a memento of her son Paul’s athletic days. It looked strange and out of place in the midst of her lace curtains, her wedding quilt, her framed photographs, and all the rest of her frilly adornments, but since it was a family treasure of sorts, I decided it had as much right to be there as anything else.

  I reached for it and grasped it with one hand while rubbing its long smooth neck with the other. I struck a batter’s pose, bat resting on my right shoulder, knees bent, elbows out. I waited for the pitch, my right foot nervously pawing the ground, a missile of imaginary spit firing off my tongue and sailing over my left shoulder. Here it comes, a curve ball, and yet no ordinary leather ball. Instead, a memory – my father’s angry face, angry words, angry fist – soaring through the air, coming at me with great speed. Thwack!

  And there it goes, soaring through the sky beyond the outfield, disappearing somewhere in the far reaches of the stadium. And it’s a home run, folks, a home run! Will you look at that! The organist up in the stands starts pounding the keys – da da da dat da da! – and the crowd goes wild.

  But wait a minute, she’s up at bat again. She’s got her hawklike eyes on the pitcher, her primary opponent up there on the mound. He slaps the ball against his glove, draws back, leg up, releasing his ammunition at such a fierce rate it’s almost too much for the human eye to see. But she sees it. Oh yes, she sees the face of Tom Barrows hurling toward her like a great crashing meteor until . . . Pow! And it’s out of the ball park, folks! This is amazing, unbelievable! Tom Barrows is out of the ball park, out of the picture. He’ll never be seen again!

  “What on earth are you doing, Roz?”

  Tillie stood in the doorway, hands on hips.

  I sheepishly lowered the bat and bit my lower lip. “Nothing.”

  The look on her face told me she didn’t believe me, as though she herself had seen Tom Barrows cannonballing through the air and out of our lives.

  “Well, it’s getting late,” she said. “Why don’t you go on to bed.”

  I returned the bat to its place and slunk across the room. “All right, Tillie. Good night.”

  “Good night, Roz. Sleep tight.”

  I kept my head down so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. She stepped aside to let me out the door.

  “Oh, and Roz?”

  I turned around, slowly lifted my gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Nice fly ball.”

  I looked at her for a long while, trying unsuccessfully to read her expression. Finally I simply muttered, “Thanks,” and let it go at that.

  chapter

  26

  The Russians were at it again. When the air raid siren went off right in the middle of her lecture on the Louisiana Purchase, Miss Fremont looked annoyed. Most of us pressed our hands over our ears. I could see Miss Fremont’s lips move, but I couldn’t hear a word she said. But that was all right; we all knew the drill by now: single file out to the hall, kneel down side by side, crown of head against the wall, hands locked securely over neck. What a way to die – all rolled up in a neat little package like a baby in the womb.

  Once we were in position, the siren was cut and an eerie silence descended over the school, broken only by an occasional cough, stifled giggles, and the sporadic tapping of the teachers’ heels against the floor. And Mara’s whispered word in my ear, “Roz!”

  I jumped and rolled my eyes toward her voice. “Mara! How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you find me? You’re supposed to be with your own class.”

  “But I have to tell you something. It’s important.”

  “What?”

  “I talked to Celia – ”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yeah. I mean no. My mama. Last night I called her and told her I wanted to meet my daddy, and you’ll never guess what she said.”

  “What?”

  “She said she’d try to arrange it.” She wiggled in excitement beside me.

  “She did?”

  “Yeah. She said maybe I could go up there for a day over Christmas vacation.”

  “Up to Chicago?”

  “Uh-huh. She said I could take the train, and maybe Daddy could meet me at the station.”

  “Do you think he’ll do it?”

  “I don’t know.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m really scared. I hope he says yes.”

  “Well, he did say he wanted all your dreams to come true, right?”

  “Yes. That’s – ”

  “Shh! No talking.” Miss Fremont’s voice reached us from somewhere down the hall. Mara and I exchanged a glance. The person on the other side of me, Jackson Riley, nudged me with the full side of his body and whispered, “Shut up!”

  He pushed me into Mara, who pushed me back his way. I slammed up against him, and he poked me in the ribs with an elbow.

  “You shut up,” I said.

  “You’re the one talking with that nigger girl.”

  Now I was angry, and I started to say something I’d never said to anyone. “Jackson Riley, you can just go to – ”

  “I said quiet!” Miss Fremont’s voice came crashing down from right above us. “Jackson Riley, Roz Anthony, do you want to end up in the principal’s office?”

  Jackson spoke first, responding in a muffled but distinctly fawning voice, “No, Miss Fremont.”

  From my own windpipe came a squeaky, “No, Miss Fremont.”

  “Then settle down and not another peep out of either of you.”

  My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw in frustration and embarrassment. I wasn’t used to being reprimanded in front of the entire sixth-grade class. In fact, I wasn’t used to being reprimanded at all. My first time to get in trouble at Mills River Elementary and my name had to be called out in tandem with that bully Jackson Riley. I felt as though I’d just been handcuffed to a common criminal.

  If the Russians were going to drop the bomb, let it be now.

  “Sorry, Roz,” Mara whispered.

  I looked at her an
d gave one small nod, but I didn’t say anything.

  The all clear came and the hall erupted into chatter as everyone unfolded themselves and stood. I glared at Jackson, then turned to Mara and said, “I’m sorry he called you a . . . you know.”

  Mara shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m used to it.”

  “It’s not all right – ”

  “I’ve got to go.” She walked away beaming, the happy prospect of seeing her daddy greater than the pain of prejudice.

  I watched her until she’d disappeared into the crowd. Then, eyes downcast, I fell into line with my own class as we snaked our way through the hall and back to our room.

  It had been another practice drill; that was all. The Russians hadn’t yet decided to drop the big one on us. For now we were safe, and I realized that in spite of Miss Fremont’s reprimand and my brief humiliation, I was grateful to be alive. I wasn’t ready to die. Not only because I was just eleven years old, but more importantly, I didn’t know for sure where I would end up.

  “Tillie, how do you know you’re going to heaven?”

  “Well now, that all depends on who your father is.”

  Tillie’s statement still sent shivers down my spine. I sure hoped Daddy would change like he said he would, because if Alan Anthony was my ticket to the afterlife, my prospects for reaching paradise looked pretty grim.

  chapter

  27

  On the second Saturday in November, we celebrated Wally’s eighteenth birthday with a small family dinner at home. Mom told him he could throw a party and invite some friends from school, but he didn’t want to. He said parties were for kids and he wasn’t a kid anymore.

  He would, though, he said, like to go to the roller rink with some of his friends after supper, if that was all right with Mom. I looked at him funny when he asked, but he didn’t flinch. Mom believed his story about roller skating and said of course he could go, so long as he was home by midnight.

  Tillie cooked up a big pot of chili, Mom made a double chocolate cake, and Grandpa and Marie came over and joined us.

  “So my grandson’s a man now,” said Gramps, slapping Wally on the back.