Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  It was intolerable. She needed to go home.

  “I have to go.” No one seemed to hear her, so she felt compelled to repeat herself. “I need to go home. I have to leave now. I want to go, now.” With each repetition, her voice grew in volume and resolve, from a whisper to a shriek.

  Martha slapped a hand on her shoulder and trapped her in the chair with one strong hand. On the other side, Phoebe gripped Ruth’s arm.

  “Are you insane? Take your hands off me. Don’t touch me.” Ruth twisted in their grasp.

  “Sit still, Ruth.” Martha’s tone bordered on the insubordinate. Incensed, Ruth struggled with Martha and pulled against Phoebe’s hands.

  With a muttered curse, Martha leaned into Ruth and pressed an arm across her body. “Shut the hell up. I’ve had it with you. Show some spine. And while you’re looking for that spine, show some love and dedication to your husband. We’re waiting right here until Travis comes. Your son, remember him? You need to be strong for him.”

  Ruth glared at Martha. “My son is a traitor. My husband is dying, and where is his son? Out somewhere, God only knows where, consorting with filth—”

  Martha pinned her down. “Ronnie isn’t dying. Get that thought right out of your head, Ruth. He’ll be fine. We’ll take him home where we’ll all care for him. Including you. If I hear you speak one word about him dying when we get in there to see him, I will personally pop you one, right between your eyes. I mean it. You watch your mouth when we go see Ronnie.”

  “He won’t even be aware that we’re in there, I tell you. He’s a vegetable, he’s—”

  Martha’s open hand smacked across her cheek, snapping her head back. Ruth gasped in shock. Phoebe froze in her seat, gaping at both of them.

  A light rain misted the air, but the temperature wasn’t cold enough to form ice on the roads. Two more miles and they’d be at Annie’s house. Travis drove slowly, reluctant for the evening to end.

  The hours they’d spent together at the Shenandoah Inn hadn’t been enough. They’d used all of their time in a fever, making love as if they’d never get another chance.

  He wanted more time with Annie but couldn’t anger her parents by traipsing in late, looking as if they’d been doing exactly what they had been doing. Her folks liked him, but her father also had a gun.

  “I don’t want to leave you.” Annie’s soft voice roused him from his own bleak thoughts, and he turned to smile at her as they stopped for a red light.

  “I don’t want to leave you, either. But I have to get you home, before your parents worry.” He signaled left and took the last street toward her neighborhood.

  “Will you come in for a minute, Travis? Will you walk in and speak to my parents?” She didn’t have to say anything more. He knew what she meant. Talk to her folks, show them the ring, and ask for their blessing. The necessity of it made him nervous as hell. He knew when they looked at their daughter, they saw a girl barely old enough to have a serious boyfriend, much less a fiancé. It could go either way, and added to the mix was the knowledge they’d sealed their engagement with far more than a kiss.

  Could her mother tell what they’d been doing, look into Annie’s eyes and sense it? Some people claimed they could see lost innocence in the eyes. Not for a second did he regret the hours they’d spent in each other’s arms. But he didn’t want to cause her mother any added worries, either.

  “Travis?”

  He shook off the panic and smiled at her. “I’ll come in. I’ll ask your parents, Annie. We’ll do it the right way.”

  They pulled up in front of the house, and he helped Annie out of the car. Hand in hand they walked toward the house. Before they could even step inside, Mary met them at the door, her face etched with worry. “I’m so glad you finally made it back. Travis, your father is in the hospital in Harrisonburg. He had a stroke. You need to get there, right now. Mr. Turner and I will take you, but we have to go, immediately.”

  All the color drained from Travis’s face as he tried to process what she’d said. “My dad? Another stroke? But how? When?”

  Henry came up behind his wife. “Late this morning, son. After you and Annie left for Charlottesville. We have to go, Travis. I’ll drive. I don’t want you going by yourself. Come on, now.”

  His mind blank with shock, Travis moved toward the driveway as Mary locked the front door behind them and Annie started to cry.

  In the Turner’s old station wagon, Travis sat in the back with Annie close to his side, while Henry headed for the freeway. Guilt piled itself on, until Travis’s shoulders slumped with despair. I shouldn’t have left the house. I should have stayed right by Dad’s side.

  What the hell had he been thinking? He knew his mother, knew the kind of awful things she could say when angered.

  A warm hand engulfed the fist he clenched on the edge of the front passenger seat, and Travis blinked through blurred eyes at Mary as she turned in her seat. She soothed her palm over his tight knuckles. “Honey, there wasn’t a thing you could have done. A stroke hits hard and fast. You could have been sitting right next to him, and he’d have still had it. You understand me? Don’t you take this on, Travis. Don’t.”

  “I could have been there when he had it. I could have been by his side.” Travis spoke low, but the adults in the front seat heard him.

  “Travis, honey, that kind of thinking weakens you, and right now you need to be strong. Your mama especially will need you to help her—”

  Instant fury boiled through him. “Help her? She did it to him. I know it. They were fighting last night.” He turned an agonized face to Annie. “And this morning, too. It was bad. My mother caused this.”

  “Oh, Travis, no. Please don’t say that.” Annie slid her arm around him.

  Mary tightened her grip on his hand, until his tense fingers relaxed. “Travis, listen to me. Your mama and daddy might have been arguing, but that’s not what caused this. Married folks argue all the time, and it doesn’t cause anything but maybe some hard feelings. Mr. Turner and I have our spats, and we get over it. Your folks will, too. There isn’t any blame, here.”

  “Yes, there is. I shouldn’t have left him alone with her. So the blame’s mine, for doing that. She shouldn’t have said the things she did. You don’t know—you can’t imagine—” He couldn’t finish for the anguish that clogged his throat. He dropped his head on Annie’s shoulder and sobbed as she held him.

  Twenty minutes later, Travis rushed out of the ICU elevator ahead of Annie and her parents, and straight into Martha’s arms. In her embrace he started to tremble, suddenly a child again, trying to accept the bitter knowledge his father wasn’t Superman, after all.

  “How is he? He’ll be all right, won’t he?” Travis’s voice was deep but hoarse. A young man held her, but a boy's fright was behind the words he spoke.

  Martha rubbed his back to soothe him. “He’s stable now. It was touch and go for a little while. Phoebe got the oxygen to him fast, so that’s a good thing.” She cradled his face in her palms, her thumbs brushing over his wet cheeks. “Now, you take a moment and calm yourself before you go in there, Travis. You stand here and take a few deep breaths, and you go in without tears. Your daddy might not be awake, but I believe he’s aware, and you don’t need to be crying all over him. Okay?” She released him.

  Travis nodded and hurried toward the private ICU room. Martha fished a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. She’d cried more than her share today. When Annie and her family walked toward her, she wiped away fresh tears.

  “How’s he doing?” Henry kept his arms around his family as he greeted Martha.

  “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, and that’s not always a bad sign. His vitals are better, that’s a real relief. Thing is,” Martha glanced at the open door of Ronald’s room and spoke quietly, “we don’t know how long he was upstairs after he had the stroke. We don’t know for certain how long he might have been deprived of oxygen.”

  “He’s not going to die,” An
nie burst out. “God wouldn’t let him die. It would kill Travis to lose his daddy.”

  Her father hugged her close. “Honey, the doctors here are very good. They’ll do everything they can to help Travis’s daddy. Now, I want you to go sit down with your mama, okay?” Henry passed Annie to Mary, who led her into the waiting room.

  He turned to Martha with a more serious expression. “How’s he really doing? I figure you didn’t want to get into it with either of the kids.”

  She heaved a worried sigh. “It doesn’t look good, Henry. This stroke caused more damage than the first one he suffered two years ago. His right side was affected this time. He’ll probably be bedridden for the rest of his life. The cardiologist assigned to Ronnie is positive some brain damage occurred due to restriction of oxygen.”

  She dabbed at her sore nose. “Ruth has been a handful, I can tell you. She fought us every step of the way when we drove here. Phoebe and I had to babysit her like a two-year-old.”

  “Can she take over for Ronald temporarily, concerning the businesses?”

  Martha’s shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. “As far as I know, Ruth never concerned herself with the legacy and its holdings. She only left the Hall maybe six or seven times, total, after she and Ronnie were married, and for the last few years, she’s never walked beyond the front door for any reason.”

  “I had no idea her agoraphobia had gotten so bad.” Henry shook his head. “If there’s anything we can do, you have only to ask.” The sincerity in his voice was almost Martha’s undoing, and she battled her own emotion. It was vital to remain as strong as she could, for Travis. God knew the boy would need some added strength, and it was a sure bet he wouldn’t get it from his mother.

  Ruth hurried along the ICU corridor. She couldn’t have taken one more minute in that airless room, listening to yet another doctor drone on about nursing homes and hospice care. She’d needed to escape. The ladies’ room had been the only place she could think to go where she might be alone for a few minutes.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ruth noted Phoebe walking toward her, and she sped up. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She strode past another, larger waiting room where the low ebb of voices briefly caught her attention. One of the voices sounded like Martha’s. And why on earth should she care, anyhow? Martha had been horrid to her.

  As for her errant son, she’d decided to forgive him for the appalling way he’d behaved earlier. He was still such a child, despite his adult appearance. She’d take him in hand as soon as he arrived at the hospital.

  Ruth felt much calmer as she walked toward the private ICU rooms. She knew what she had to do, for herself and for Ronald. First and foremost on her agenda was to swallow her own bubbling hysteria, which would serve no purpose but to make her seem weak and ineffectual. She was now the head of the Quincy Legacy. It was time she acted the part.

  Stepping into Ronald’s room, she saw Travis standing by the bed, holding his father’s hand. Fury threatened to choke her as she remembered the misery her son had caused her, but she tamped it down. Now wasn’t the time or place.

  “Travis.” She watched her son’s shoulders tense before he turned to face her. Tears stood in his eyes, ready to overflow. His face was pale, his clothing rumpled. Ruth clasped her hands together at her waist and waited for him to acknowledge her.

  Aside from a brief nod in her direction, Travis ignored her. He angled away from her and leaned over the bed, still clasping Ronald’s hand. “Dad, can you hear me?”

  “Travis, I wish to know where you’ve been. You should have arrived here hours ago. Your father needed you.” Ruth wasn’t above using guilt when it served her purpose.

  “Dad, it’s Travis. I’m here. Can you squeeze my hand?” All of Travis’s attention was on his father, and Ruth felt the fury gather, dispelling her newfound calm. She fisted her hands together until her nails bit into her palms.

  Despite her efforts at self-control, her shrill voice rang in the room. “Travis, he can’t hear you, he’s a vegetable! He’s dying. Your father is leaving us.”

  His head jerked back and he sent her a hateful glance. “Shut up. Just shut your mouth.” He took a few steps toward her and growled, “I know this is your fault. You were yelling at Dad when I left the house. He wasn’t supposed to have any stress. No tension. Why couldn’t you have just left him alone?”

  Refusing to let him see how his words cut her, Ruth glanced at Ronald, who lay still as a stone in the bed surrounded by machines, their tubes snaking all over him. Her gaze swung back to Travis, so tall and handsome, a perfect balance of her and Ronald.

  The boy received everything in the world as his due: privileges, advantages. Obviously such bounty had spoiled him. Though he might not accept it, Travis needed her. She had to believe it was never too late to reestablish necessary boundaries, instill discipline.

  A few steps brought her closer to her son’s side, but his forbidding expression kept her from touching him, as she strove to assert authority and reason. “Travis, listen to me. It’s true your father and I argued after you left this morning. But the stroke could have happened at any time.” She gestured with both hands, stretched them out in entreaty. “We must work together to help your father. He’ll need constant care once he comes home. You must put away your childish thoughts now, and begin the maturing process I know you are more than capable of.”

  Travis didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled a chair close to the bed and sat in it, all of his attention on Ronald. After a few minutes, she sighed and walked toward the open door. A restorative cup of tea might be in order. She’d have a nurse fetch her one.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone at the nurses’ station. Frustrated, she went searching, prepared to chastise the first nurse she saw for deserting her post when she was needed—

  And she ran right into Annie Turner, standing in the middle of the wide corridor next to the nurses’ station.

  Incensed, Ruth spat, “You. How dare you come here?” She marched forward as Annie retreated a few steps, then escaped to the waiting room. Ruth followed, determined to remove her forcibly from the area if necessary, and came face to face with Henry Turner. Behind him stood a woman, her arms wrapped protectively around the girl.

  Ruth paled, but held her ground, and when she spoke, her voice remained satisfyingly firm and steady. “Kindly take your daughter from here, Mr. Turner. There is no place for her at my son’s side.” This was her turf now. She had the upper hand here. It made no difference that she controlled a hospital waiting room and not Quincy Hall.

  His wife spoke up. “We came to offer our help, Mrs. Quincy. If you or Travis need anything, then you have only to ask.”

  Ruth gave her the most cursory of glances and once again addressed Henry Turner. “Your family’s presence here is disruptive. Please don’t force me to call for Security, Mr. Turner, for I can assure you—”

  “Mother.” One firm word came from Travis as he stood in the doorway of his father’s room. In that single word she heard a strength so akin to Ronald’s. When he walked to Annie and took her in his arms, it was all Ruth could do not to reach out and strangle her for her usurping presence. It should be Catherine, here with Travis and offering comfort.

  Ruth’s entire body stiffened when Travis bent and kissed the girl on her mouth, and then reached out and hugged the Turner woman. Hugged her, as if she were of importance! Ruth clenched her teeth, determined to bear the outrage without screaming in frustration. They’d leave soon, these accursed Turners, and then she’d deal with her son. Ruth held onto that thought.

  Travis returned the tray and left the cafeteria. The hamburger he’d forced himself to eat sat like a lump in his stomach. He’d choked down less than half of it. But the food had given him an excuse to get away from his mother. He’d needed the reprieve more than the meal.

  He wished she’d go back to Quincy Hall. He dreaded having to spend any more time with her. Disheartened and depressed, Travis returned to his father�
��s room. All he wanted was to be alone with his dad, talk to him some more and hope he’d either wake up or respond with a squeeze of his hand.

  His mother rose from her seat by the bed when he walked in, but Travis ignored her and crossed to the other side of the bed. When she sat and looked over at her husband, the man she supposedly loved above all others, Travis couldn’t see any emotion on her face. No marriage was perfect, but he’d always figured they at least loved each other. Now, he wondered just how much love his mother was capable of feeling, for anyone.

  She turned toward him and quietly stated, “He’s going to require a great deal of care. Nurses around the clock. I’ll have to hire at least two more to relieve Phoebe. The doctor recommends a nursing home, but of course that’s out of the question. A Quincy cannot live away from Quincy Hall. It’s unacceptable.”

  When he didn’t respond, she sighed and made a show of straightening the blanket over his dad’s legs. “I intend to assume responsibility of the legacy holdings as soon as I obtain Power of Attorney. Until you are of an age and educational level to step into your rightful place as heir apparent, key board members will assist me.” She fussed with one of the pillows, the image of a loving wife, but her eyes were chilly when she looked up from her ministrations. “You will return to Yale as soon as possible, begin spring semester, and remain through the summer.”

  It was a direct order, and Travis bristled in silent protest as she added, “I expect you to complete as many extra classes as possible. The sooner you complete them, the sooner you will graduate. You will then take your place at my side, with the board relinquishing all Quincy holdings and duties as deemed appropriate to your balance of maturity and readiness.”

  Travis’s consternation, as she outlined his immediate future so coldly and emotionlessly, spun into blind fury. Under her thumb through college as well as after graduation when his life should, by all rights, finally be his own? He didn’t think so. And in the tension-thick room, unspoken between them, was the ever present specter of Catherine Cabot. His mother didn’t have to say her name. Travis sensed her there, unwelcome. Unwanted by him, but as always pushed to the forefront.