Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  Miserable, she whispered, “My fault. I should have paid attention. We never walk close to the hill together—”

  “It’s not your fault. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “But, our secret—”

  “It was stupid to try and keep it. I was stupid for making you promise.” Still holding her hand, he leaned against the rock. “Look, my mother knows we hang out together a lot. I guess she thought once I was away from school I’d forget all about you. Probably figured you’d forget all about me, too.”

  Annie’s rebuttal was out of her mouth almost before he could finish the sentence. “I’d never forget you. How could I?” She flung herself against Travis. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” His arms closed around her as she whispered, “You belong to me.” Her eyes raised to his, emotion splintered her voice. “You’re going to m-marry me.”

  For long seconds they held each other, while the hot August sun beat down on them.

  Finally, she stirred. “Your daddy won’t make you go.” She mouthed the decisive words against his shirt.

  “No, Annie. My dad’s not here. He went to Roanoke, some kind of business meeting.” He drew her away, to peer into her face. “He won’t be home for another two days. My dad’s driver is taking me to Newport in a couple of hours. Mother’s orders.”

  His mama did this behind his daddy’s back. It upset Annie so much that she started to cry, and pressed her wet eyes to Travis’s shoulder. He stroked his hand over her hair.

  There wasn’t anything left to say. They trudged down the lane, this time only as far as the turnoff for the older side of town, and Spring Street. No reason to add to his mother’s already unreasonable attitude, no need to give her any more excuse to split them up.

  In the few minutes before they parted ways, both clung to the hope they’d stay friends and spend more time together, come the holidays, until they got older and could choose for themselves.

  While those promises echoed between them, Travis walked away while Annie watched him go. She waited until he was out of sight before she turned toward home, her eyes blurred with more tears.

  Now, hours later, she replayed the entire morning. Waking up, so eager to have another day with him, to her last glimpse before he rounded the bend on Boggy Creek Lane. She dragged her pillow from the floor and pressed it to her wet cheek as she turned on her side.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. Christmas vacation couldn’t get here soon enough.

  PART TWO

  Romance

  Chapter 6

  Five Years Later

  December

  Susan Turner flopped on her bed and scowled at Annie, dashing around the room half in and half out of yet another outfit. “For crying out loud, it’s not even a real date. How many more times are you gonna change your clothes?”

  Frazzled, Annie snapped, “Don’t bother me, okay? Don’t even talk to me, not unless you want to help and tell me if this looks better than the blue dress.” She spun around to face the mirror, dissatisfied with her reflection. The dark pink skirt and pullover was pretty but made her look like a child. The last thing she wanted to look like was a child, for heaven’s sake. She flung a pleading glance over her shoulder at her older sister. Susan had a hundred times more fashion sense than she’d ever have.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Susan rolled off the bed. Her critical once-over assessed and then dismissed the pink outfit. “You look cute, but too young. The blue dress is better.” She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, then offered, “I guess I wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something of mine.”

  Annie turned to stare at her sister. In all the years they’d shared clothes, not once had Susan ever offered to let her borrow something new. She’d get Susan’s hand-me-downs and that was about it. But now Annie worked at the Coffee Hut two hours each afternoon and all day on Saturday. She had some money of her own, half of which her parents made her put away in a savings account. But she’d been able to buy herself a few things, and found the joy of owning something nobody else had ever worn heady beyond belief.

  For one glorious moment Annie basked in the unfamiliar glow of her sister’s affection. Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you want, Suze? You have to want something. You need money, right? You want me to do your chores on Sunday so you can sneak out with Matt again. You want—”

  “Oh, cripes. I don’t want anything. And don’t call me Suze. I thought I’d be nice for a change and do you a favor.” Susan aimed an accusing stare at Annie. “You’re seeing Travis tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Just for a little while. They’re having that big holiday party up at Quincy Hall this evening, so he can’t stay for long. I want to look good for him, though.” Annie tugged at the hem of the pullover and wondered if an upswept hairstyle would lend her some maturity.

  “He always comes home the week before Christmas.” Susan’s voice held just enough wistful envy to please Annie, who immediately felt rotten for gloating. Her sister used to have a thing for Travis, and he tolerated her only because of Annie.

  It was mean of her to needle Susan in light of such unexpected generosity, and Annie relented. “I promise I won’t call you Suze any longer. You’re really going to loan me something? Whatever I want?”

  “Anything but my black velvet pants and top. And you can’t borrow stuff if it doesn’t fit you in the chest ‘cause it’ll look silly on you,” Susan added.

  Annie didn’t take offense at the deliberate provocation, for how could she when it was the truth? She turned sideways and viewed herself in the mirror, resigned as always to the sight of her small breasts and boyish hips. The superior smirk on Susan’s face didn’t help to bolster her confidence, either. Well, they’d been at each other’s throats for most of their lives. She shrugged and swung back to the mirror.

  Susan rested a hand on Annie’s shoulder. With their reflections almost cheek to cheek, her sister idly commented, “I have some blush that would look fabulous on you. And this new lip gloss. You should try it. Tastes like peaches. You know that new outfit I bought, the pleated wool skirt and matching sweater? I haven’t worn it yet. I bet it would really look good with your hair and skin. You want to try it on?”

  Annie blinked at her. “How short is the skirt? I can’t wear a short skirt.” All of her Sunday churchgoing skirts and dresses brushed her calves.

  Susan stuck her head in their closet in search of the outfit. “I don’t see why you can’t.” The tightly packed clothing muffled her voice.

  It took some rummaging, but Susan finally unearthed the outfit and handed it to Annie, whose eyes grew covetous as she held the skirt against her. The hemline flirted a good four inches above her knee. “Mama will throw a fit if I wear a skirt this short.” She stroked the soft wool and ran a finger along one of the pleats before she laid it on the bed next to the dark green sweater. It was the prettiest outfit she’d ever seen.

  “You’d be surprised what Mama might say. Maybe she’d say it’s about time you started dressing like you’re sixteen instead of six.” Susan unzipped Annie’s demure pink skirt. Down her legs it slid, leaving her wearing the knit pullover and a pair of white panties with tiny roses scattered all over them.

  With a strangled cough, Susan pointed to the panties. “You’ve still got those stupid things? I gave them to you three years ago! I can’t believe they’re not faded and all stretched out.” She poked a finger at Annie’s ticklish hipbone and made her flinch. “I can’t believe Mama hasn’t tossed them out.”

  “She did. I fished them out of the trash,” Annie muttered, ignoring Susan’s sudden whoop. “They’re comfortable, all right? I like them.” She frowned at her sister. “Stop laughing.”

  Susan gave a final chuckle as she yanked the pink top over Annie’s head. Her eyes goggled and she huffed theatrically at what she found beneath. “Not another undershirt. Annie, you have to start wearing your bras. I know you’ve got some. What are you, a baby? Your clothes won’t fit ri
ght unless you play up what you have. Granted, it’s not very much, but at least you’re not totally flat-chested.”

  She tugged at the undershirt and had it off before Annie could squawk in embarrassment. It landed on the floor. “I swear I’m going to burn all your dopey underwear, just wait and see.” Susan raided Annie’s dresser and tossed her the first bra she found. Annie caught it in mid-air and stared at it for a few seconds before putting it on.

  She turned sideways and looked at herself. Her sister was right. The bra did help to shape the slight curve of her breasts, and made them look like more. A smile caught at the corner of Annie’s mouth as she picked up the skirt and stepped into it. Maybe this time she’d look closer to sixteen than six.

  Five minutes later, she viewed her reflection with wonder. Amazing what a decent bra, flattering clothes, and some makeup could do. She must have mumbled it aloud, for Susan nodded.

  “This is the way you want Travis to see you. You’ll knock him clean over. In fact,” she leaned in and gave Annie an awkward hug, “you can have the outfit. It would never look this good on me. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

  It took Annie a full ten seconds to overcome her shock at her sister’s sudden generosity, before she turned and wrapped both arms around Susan in a tight, emotional squeeze. “I’ll do your chores on Sunday. You can sneak out early for Matt. I’ll—oh, thanks, Suze. You made me look so nice.”

  “Nice? I made you look hot, Annie Turner. And don’t you forget it.” For once, Susan didn’t bother to give Annie grief for calling her Suze. She wiggled out of Annie’s arms, stepped over to her nightstand, and pulled open a drawer. “You need to accessorize,” she declared.

  Annie watched while Susan tossed a dark leather clutch purse onto the nearest bed, and searched in her jewelry box until she found a silver chain bracelet and matching earrings. She handed them to Annie. “Put these on. Don’t lose them.”

  “We’re only going for a drive, not to some fancy restaurant,” Annie pointed out. “I don’t need all this stuff. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer,” she hastened to add.

  “Doesn’t matter. You want to look polished and put together, don’t you?” Susan thrust the purse at her. “Use this. I know you hate purses, but you should bring some lipstick with you tonight. And the front door key, too, in case you get back really late. And take some money. Do you need any?”

  Baffled, Annie cupped the bracelet and earrings in her hand. What was going on? Her sister never lent out money or jewelry. Maybe she was coming down with some horrible illness.

  “Well? Put them on.” Susan barked at her impatiently as she waved the purse in her face.

  Annie fastened the dainty bracelet and hooked the earrings in her lobes while she eyed her sister as if she’d lost her mind. At Susan’s urging, she slipped a tube of lipstick into the purse, added her house key and a few dollars from her piggybank.

  She turned toward Susan and held out both arms. “Am I polished enough?”

  With a grin, her sister pushed Annie toward the door. “Travis won’t know what hit him.”

  Chapter 7

  Ruth stood in the doorway, scanning everything one final time. The dining room table gleamed with her mother-in-law’s wedding service. Fine bone china, a soft cream with delicate silver leaves and tiny flowers edging the scalloped rim, created a lovely place setting. Each Waterford goblet and wineglass sparkled and the ornate silverware lay on dark red damask napkins. Three floral arrangements of poinsettia, winter white roses and holiday greenery set in low silver bowls graced the long table, flanked by candelabras fitted with slender red candles. It made for a magnificent display.

  The room glowed with elegance and quiet dignity. Mama Amelia would have been so pleased to see her possessions holding a place of honor at the holiday table. For Ruth, it was a gesture of love to the memory of the woman who had been more than a mother-in-law to her. Nothing but Mama’s heirloom china would do for such a special occasion.

  Ruth smoothed the skirt of her deep green cocktail dress. The silk Chanel creation fit the mood she sought to emulate, elegant, yet festive, with its subtle beading and soft, draping neckline. Wearing the diamond earrings Ronald had presented her on their tenth anniversary gave her additional confidence and poise.

  Yet she brushed at sudden tears that threatened to fall and ruin her carefully applied makeup. At the holidays, she missed her Mama Amelia so much. Sometimes the ache stayed with her for days, even after all these years. Mama Amelia always knew what to do in any given social situation. Her gentle guidance had changed Ruth from a wild-haired, frightened child of fifteen into a lady who wore designer clothes with ease. One who knew how to keep a fine house, set a lovely table, entertain influential friends, make an important man a devoted wife who was an asset rather than a liability.

  Sparing a final sigh, she glanced at the diamond-encrusted Piaget on her wrist, and gasped at the time. Their guests would arrive in less than two hours. Ruth hurried upstairs.

  She looked toward Travis’s rooms and stopped, her hand raised to the door to knock and hurry him along. And she almost cursed aloud in frustration as she recalled why her nerves stretched to the breaking point: her errant son.

  Earlier, he’d rushed into the master suite and caught his father in a hug, pressed a kiss on her cheek. Then Travis breezily declared, “I put my luggage in my room, and now I’m headed over to Annie’s for a while. I’ll be back in time for the dinner.” He cut through her heart as he walked out the door, turning his back on his responsibilities with no more than a cheerful smile.

  Two hours later, Ruth still trembled with an all-consuming urge to grab her son by the neck and shake him until he promised to behave. Until he promised to stand next to Catherine Cabot and pledge himself to her as befitted a Quincy.

  Deep, calming breaths. Ruth gulped them in as she uncurled her stiff fingers. Ladies didn’t clench their hands into fists. Forcing herself to relax, she descended the stairs, calculating the amount of time she could spare until her guests arrived.

  It was time to have a talk with her husband.

  Parked on Hickory Knob, warm and snug in the front seat of his silver BMW, Travis cradled Annie in his arms, the radio muted in the background and snow melting as it hit the windshield. Neither noticed the snow, or cared what songs were playing. They were too busy holding on to one another, trying to stuff four long months of longing and loneliness into one perfect moment of reunion.

  He’d wanted to go straight to her house instead of dropping by Quincy Hall, but he knew it would infuriate his mother if he didn’t come home first. Even so, the brief time he spent with his parents chafed at his patience, and he knew he’d have to listen to his mother’s angry tirade later on when he got back to the Hall. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

  But he made it to Annie’s in record time, trying to be mindful of the slick streets, so anxious to see her that he came close to landing in the ditch twice. Annie waited on her porch, wrapped in a long coat, her hair hidden under a bright red knit hat. She’d come flying down the steps toward the car as he killed the engine and jumped out. He’d ended up with an armful of excited, teary-eyed girl before he could close his door.

  He lifted her off her feet and swung her around in a wild circle, his mouth fused to hers. They kissed madly in the wet snowfall, only coming up for air when Travis realized how soaked they’d become. He’d bundled her into the car and by mutual agreement they’d headed for Hickory Knob for some much-needed alone time.

  Their reunion in the cramped front seat of his Beemer passed all too quickly. Her hat lay on the floor near her feet, and Travis wound his fingers in her thick hair, holding her close for yet another kiss. He couldn’t get enough of kissing her. Nothing had ever felt so right.

  “When do you have to be back?” Annie rested her head on his shoulder.

  He nuzzled her ear and felt her shiver. “Mother’s already mad at me because I wasn’t home for more than a few minutes, so I guess I s
hould head back now. I don’t want to. God, Annie.” He sat up straighter and gazed at her in the dim glow of the dashboard. “These dinners are the pits. Mother always invites all these people she thinks are so important, and they sit in the dining room and talk politics. Dad mostly tolerates them. He never did like politics. And he tires so easily these days. I worry about him all the time.” His father had suffered a debilitating stroke two years ago, and had been confined to a wheelchair ever since.

  Annie frowned and commented, “I thought he was doing better. Mama saw Martha at the bank a few months ago, and she told Mama your daddy’s doing fine.” Her words trailed off as Travis shook his head.

  “No, I think it’s getting worse. Dad used to go into the office a couple times a week, but it’s harder now for him to get around with that wheelchair. Dan Marley—he’s Dad’s assistant—comes to the house almost every day.” Helplessness overcame him, as always, when he talked about his father’s failing health. He looked at Annie and saw concern for him and for his father on her face. She grasped his hand as he whispered miserably, “I think Mother and Dad still fight a lot over me. Over my future.”

  “Oh, Travis. I’m so sorry.” For a few minutes they sat in silence, Travis lost in his own thoughts while Annie held his hand.

  Determined to lighten the mood, he shook off the gloomy thoughts, and smiled at her. “Anyway, the party is mostly filled with people my parents’ age. It’s beyond boring. It’s all I can do to sit there.” He pretended to sulk to make her giggle, gratified when she did.

  “You’re so cute when you pout.” She grinned at him and nuzzled a kiss to his neck. “Maybe you can sneak out right after dessert. They don’t make you do anything, do they? Like play the piano or dance, or something?”

  Horrified, he gasped, “No. Don’t even think it. I don’t want to give them any ideas. It’s bad enough already. My mother will probably insist I take Catherine for a walk, which is pure agony. It never seems to matter to Mother how cold it is, either. She still makes me do it.”