A Father's Promise

by Marcia Evanick

  "Stay here with us until you get back the results. We have plenty of room and I can guarantee you that the accommodations are a lot better than the Starry Night Motel."

  He heard Sydney's sudden intake of breath, but didn't look at her face. She had to be as shocked as he was by Thomas's suggestion. "Why would you want me, a complete stranger, to stay here?"

  "You aren't a stranger. You're Cathy's boy." Thomas's fingers drummed on the arm of the recliner. "I would like to hear more about your mother's life. I'm curious if she ever fulfilled any of those dreams she was always telling me about."

  His mother never had any dreams that he knew about. She had worked, supported him, taken care of him and worried about him. That about summed up Catherine Carlisle's life. He wanted to turn down Thomas's offer, but knew he couldn't. The man might feel insulted and be annoyed enough not to go through with the blood test. But the main reason he couldn't refuse Thomas's invitation was that it was too good a chance to pass up.

  Living with Thomas for the next few days would have its advantages. Golden advantages. If his prayers were answered, and Thomas did match Trevor's HLAs, he would have had ample opportunity to discover what Thomas St. Claire's price would be. He would know exactly what to offer Thomas to guarantee the transplant.

  If his prayers weren't answered and there wasn't a match, the only thing he'd lose would be the privilege of not having to pay Starry Night's motel bill.

  "Thank you, Mr. St. Claire, I accept your very nice offer. The atmosphere at the Starry Night Motel is a tad unsettling, if you know what I mean." About three in the morning he had been awakened, from what little sleep he had managed, by the noise in the room next to his. It seemed a pair of lovers had checked in and were quite vocal when it came to participating in what had to be their favorite sport. If it wasn't their favorite, it had to be their most exhausting sport.

  "Good, and my name is either Thomas or Tom. No more of this Mr. St. Claire business. We'll be expecting you before dinner."

  Thomas turned toward Sydney. "You don't mind having company for the next few days, do you, Syd?"

  "Of course not, Dad." Sydney shot Ellis a look he couldn't have deciphered if the fate of his business had rested on it. "Mr. Carlisle is more than welcome."

  Chapter 3

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  Sydney paced back and forth in front of the tables containing petunias, or at least in a couple more weeks they would be overflowing with gorgeous blossoming flowers. Now the tables were packed with hundreds of black plastic trays filled with rich dark soil and a three-inch-long green sprig. She turned to her friend Cindy and exclaimed for the sixth time, and in just as many minutes, "I can't believe he did that!"

  Cindy continued to examine the trays. "It's his house, Sydney. Your father can invite anyone he wants over." Cindy frowned at a black tray holding four wilted plants and plucked it from the table. "I thought you would be happy that he was finally talking to someone, even if that someone was a stranger." Cindy placed the small tray on the cart behind her that held other sick plants.

  Sydney glanced at the wide tables before her and couldn't muster the energy to examine the plants. She had finally managed a couple hours away from the house, and what does she do? She talks Cindy's ears off about her father and the problems at home. "This morning he talked so much he was positively gabby. I'm happy he's talking. Hell, he could talk to Ellis Carlisle all day, every day and it wouldn't bother me. But to invite the guy to stay a few days is something else totally."

  In an exasperated gesture, she threw her hands up into the air. "Ellis Carlisle could be an ax murderer for all we know." She kicked at the stones beneath the tables in frustration. A few rocks skidded across the concrete pathway they were standing on. It didn't lower her frustration level. All she got out of the stupid senseless gesture was a sore toe.

  "I'd take a chance on him if he looks anything the way you described him. Men like that don't stroll through Coalsburg every day of the week, and believe me, Syd, I've been looking."

  Sydney shook her head at her best friend. The whole town knew Cindy had been looking since she turned thirteen. "Yeah, and it's also not every day that men like that claim to be my father's son."

  "That means technically he's your brother, right?"

  "No, it means technically he's a deeply confused individual." She had seen the flare of interest that had sparked in Cindy's baby blue eyes when she had described Ellis. She needed to set her friend straight on a few matters. "He's not Thomas's son, and the miracle he's praying for isn't going to happen." She brushed back a curl that had fallen too close to her eye and silently prayed that wasn't true. Ellis was here because his son needed a bone marrow match and she really wanted to see that match made. "At least it won't be happening with my father's blood."

  "So why did you volunteer to be tested too?" Cindy's look told her she had seen right through her blustering. "He got to you, didn't he?"

  "Hearing about his little boy would have made a boulder crumble into gravel." She turned and studied the row of tables on the other side of the walkway. Only someone who actually had a rock for a heart wouldn't have been touched by Ellis's story.

  She squinted upward and through the glass roof of the greenhouse. The afternoon sun was stronger than she had expected and the greenhouse was quite warm. The sweatshirt she had pulled on before leaving the house earlier was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She glanced back down at the tables in front of her. She might not appreciate this much warmth, but the marigolds that were pushing their way toward the life-giving sunlight were thriving.

  Spring used to be her favorite season. It was the time of year when life renewed itself and the nursery was at its finest. Now she didn't think she would ever have a favorite season again. Everything around the nursery reminded her of her mother and the fact that they would never share its wonders again.

  She pulled her thoughts away from the pain of losing her mother and asked her friend, "Don't you think I have a right to be worried?"

  Cindy gave her a cautious look. "Are you asking me as your employee or your friend?"

  She knew she wasn't going to like what Cindy had to say when she asked that particular question. "As my friend."

  "As your friend, I think you worry too much about everything." Cindy plucked another tray containing shriveled plants off the table. "You're beginning to look like hell, Syd."

  "Jeez, I would hate to think what you might have said if you were my enemy." She wasn't blind. She saw her reflection in the mirror every morning. Too many worries and too little sleep had left their mark. "I've got a father who's blind and needs constant supervision. I'm trying to run a business from a quarter mile away, and it can't be done. My employees have nicknamed me their 'ghost employer' and I just received notice that the IRS wants to audit the nursery's tax records."

  In an infuriated gesture she kicked at the stones again and reinjured her already aching toe. "And if all of that isn't enough, I get some poor guy with a worse-luck story claiming to be my father's son and making himself at home in the spare bedroom."

  "You could send him over to my place. I don't have a spare bedroom, but I'm sure I could think of something."

  She chuckled at Cindy. Leave it to Cindy to be thinking of "something" when her friend's whole life was whirling out of control. "And what do I do about all my other worries? I've never been really good at playing Scarlett O'Hara and worrying about them tomorrow."

  "Well, dismiss the IRS audit. Leave all that up to your accountants. You don't have anything to worry about on that front." Cindy shuffled a couple of trays to fill in the gaps where she had pulled a few bad trays. "You wouldn't know how to do a dishonest thing if Al Capone himself gave you instructions."

  "Al Capone's dead."

  "Yeah, right." Cindy glanced over her shoulder and asked, "So who are the bad guys nowadays?"

  "Politicians."

  Cindy chuckled. "Well, you couldn't be dishonest even if a politician showed you how." Cind
y looked a tad guilty before turning back toward the tables in front of her. "You heard about the 'ghost employer' bit?"

  "Don't worry about it, Cindy. I can't blame them for labeling me that. I'm hardly ever here." The guilt over that had been ripping at her until she figured she'd rather be guilty for letting the nursery slide than suffer from the guilt over not taking proper care of her father. Now she suffered from both and was learning to live with it. "My father can't be left alone and he's very fussy about who stays with him when I need to go out."

  "Is your aunt Mary with him now?"

  "Yes. He seems to tolerate his sister's company the best."

  "Could be because every time she visits she spends the entire time in the kitchen whipping up more food than the two of you would eat in a week." Cindy grinned. "Which reminds me, if she bakes another one of her famous cherry pies, please remember who your friends are."

  "She arrived loaded down with two shopping bags, so it's anyone's guess what she'll be cooking. But she did mention we're having roasted chicken for dinner." Mary might spend hours in the kitchen, but her father wasn't giving her own end results their due respect. He barely touched anything his sister cooked, either.

  "Did you tell her there would be three for dinner and that someone was claiming to be her nephew?"

  "I did tell her about Ellis staying with us for a few days, but nothing about his claim or why he's here. I just said he was the son of an old friend of Dad's." Mary had seemed quite interested in all the details, but she hadn't obliged her aunt. If Dad wanted to tell her, that was his business. She had told Cindy because she was a trusted friend who could keep her mouth shut, and she really needed someone's shoulder to cry on for a while.

  "I left Mary planning a seven-course meal and muttering about putting clean sheets on the spare bedroom's bed." She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Which reminds me, I've got to get a move on if I'm going to make it home in time to enjoy her cooking. Ian needs me in greenhouse three and Shirley wants my opinions on some of the craft items we'll be carrying this spring." She gave Cindy a small smile in gratitude for listening to all her woes. "Can you finish up here by yourself?"

  Cindy was nice enough not to remind her that she hadn't been doing any of the work. "I'll be fine."

  She turned and started down the walkway toward the door when Cindy's voice stopped her. "Hey, Syd, about your father…"

  "What about him?"

  "Stop worrying so much about him. As your friend, I'm telling you, you're babying him too much. He has to adjust someday."

  "Adjust? He just lost his wife, his career and his sight!" She frowned at Cindy. She had never known Cindy to be so cruel.

  "It happened six months ago, Syd. He can't adjust to it if you're hovering over him and doing everything for him. He needs to get on with his life just like you need to get on with yours."

  She stared at Cindy for a long moment before turning back around and walking out of the greenhouse without saying a word. One part of her was silently screaming that she didn't hover over her father and had never hovered a day in her life. Cindy was totally wrong. The other part heard the sincerity in Cindy's voice and wondered if indeed she was hindering her father's progress by loving him too much. It was a tough call to know when too much love was really too much love.

  * * *

  Sydney made her way home through the gloomy, dusk-shrouded fields. She didn't worry about getting lost or falling into a gopher hole. She had been walking these fields since she was ten and knew every inch of them. Things in Coalsburg never changed, be it the rows in between the acres of trees being grown at the nursery, or the stores that lined Main Street.

  In the distance she could see the glowing back-porch light and knew her aunt was still holding things together at home. Mary always turned on the light as soon as dusk shadowed the skies.

  Usually when her aunt came over she hurried up whatever business needed to be done at the nursery, left more instructions and headed home. She didn't like imposing on Thomas's sister, even though Mary swore it wasn't an imposition and she could stay as long as Sydney needed her. With all her own children grown and out on their own, Mary had an abundance of motherly instincts that needed to be expressed. Her now-disabled brother, Thomas, was the obvious outlet for all her mothering.

  Tonight Sydney had hustled all the employees out the door by five and closed up by herself. It was something she hadn't done in six months. Usually Cindy or Shirley closed for her, but the nickname, ghost employer, had been preying heavily on her mind all afternoon. She needed to regain control of her business. There was a second reason she hadn't been in a hurry to head home. That reason had a name, and it was Ellis Carlisle.

  Ellis would be at the house when she got there and she still didn't know how to handle the situation. Then again there wasn't much to handle. Her father had invited Ellis to stay, Ellis had accepted and that was the end of that. Only after the fact did her father ask her if she minded. By then it was a little too late if she did.

  Sydney shifted the bundle of paperwork she was carrying as she drew nearer to the house. The nursery might be closed for the night, but there were still hours of work that needed to be done. Paperwork was the bane of her existence. Company or not, it still had to be done.

  Her work boots were caked with mud from her walk, and chunks of the stuff came off as she made her way over the brick patio to the small bench beneath the burning light. She carefully set down the folders of paperwork, all neatly fastened with rubber bands, and plopped herself down next to them. Over the years her mother and she had sat on this very bench after walking the field home, and had discussed business or future-expansion dreams. The hunter green bench with its chipped paint brought back lots of memories. All of them sweet.

  She bent down and untied her muddy boots. She and her mother used to joke about how pig farmers smelled better than them some of the time, especially when the two of them worked with certain mulches, like mushroom mulch. Today it had felt so wonderful to be outside in the sunshine and fresh air that she had helped Ian turn over a garden or two while adding a nice generous helping of mushroom mulch to enrich the soil. Everyone knew what mushrooms grew best in and tonight she smelled exactly like it.

  With a weary sigh she toed off her boots, leaned back against the white clapboard siding of the house and closed her eyes. The question that had been eating at her gut all afternoon returned to take a bite out of her heart. Why had her father invited Ellis to stay in their house? Thomas had never invited anyone to spend the night before. He and Julia had been proud of their home, but they hadn't entertained a whole lot. The only people she could remember spending the night in the spare room had been some college friends of hers, during school breaks, and her mother's sister, Rose, who visited every other year and lived in Minnesota. Beyond that, the room stood unused unless she or her mom needed to use the sewing machine that was in there.

  So what had compelled her father to offer the invitation to a virtual stranger? His past friendship with Catherine Carlisle might have something to do with it, but how close had it been? And had their friendship been strong enough to span thirty-two years and another generation? Could there be a chance, no matter how minute or how much her father denied it, that Ellis really was his son? Was that why her father had not wanted Ellis to leave earlier?

  She heard the kitchen door open, but she didn't bother to open her eyes. It would be her aunt checking on her. Mary had probably seen her crossing the field from the window above the sink. "I'll be in in a minute, Mary." The aroma of roasted chicken drifted out the door and made her mouth water. "Something sure smells good."

  "That's what I told your aunt earlier." Ellis Carlisle's deep rich voice caressed the evening darkness like a lover's hand.

  Her eyes flew open as she jerked away from the wall. "Oh, I thought you were my aunt."

  "I've been mistaken for one or two people in my life, but never someone's aunt." Ellis closed the door behind him and stepped out onto the pati
o. "Mary saw you crossing the field and started to worry when you didn't come in."

  Ellis was wearing the same clothes from this morning, but now he looked more relaxed. More confident. She had to wonder if the invitation to stay a few days gave him that confidence, or was it her father's willingness to take the blood test? "Are you all settled in?" If there was a slight edge to her question, she hoped he would chalk it up to a busy and tiring afternoon at the nursery.

  "It's a lovely room, Sydney." Ellis moved out of the circle of light and into the growing shadows around the edge of the patio. "If my staying here is making you uncomfortable, I'll leave."

  "It doesn't matter how I feel about it." She wanted Ellis to know she wasn't going to be as easily accommodating as her father. They needed to set some ground rules.

  "It's how Thomas feels, right?"

  She had to give Ellis credit for being on the ball. "Right."

  "I'm sure your father wouldn't want you to be uneasy with a stranger in the house."

  "I'm sure he wouldn't either. But for some reason he wants you to stay, so stay you shall." Being an officer of the law for thirty-one years had honed her father's perception of people to a fine skill. She had never once seen or known of her father misjudging a person. Thomas St. Claire trusted Ellis enough to invite him into their home for several nights. She just hoped that when her father lost his sight, he hadn't lost his perception.

  "Whatever Thomas wants?"

  "My father gets." It was that plain and simple. She wouldn't and couldn't go against her father on this. Thomas St. Claire had his reasons and at this point in their lives she couldn't defy her father. Then again, she'd never defied her father before the accident. She had always been a good girl.

  "In case it makes you sleep better, let me assure you I'm not an ax murderer or anything. I'm not here to harm you or your father."