Promises to Keep

by Susan Crandall

  “Dad, aren’t you going to say something?” Lily asked.

  Benny shifted in his seat, then put his napkin on the table beside his uneaten cake. “What do you want me to say? That I’m glad you were so afraid to tell me you were in trouble that you’d marry a man you didn’t love to avoid it?”

  “Dad, I—”

  “What kind of father was I—that you couldn’t come to me?”

  Lily got up and walked around the table and put her hands on his shoulders. “I did love Peter, Dad. It wasn’t the right kind of love, but I didn’t know that then. I made a choice that I thought was best for everyone. I would have come to you if I didn’t think Peter and I had a chance. I really would.”

  Benny’s chin puckered and his hand covered Lily’s where it lay on his shoulder. Lily sat in the chair that Riley had just vacated, next to their dad. She left her arm around him and rested her head on his big shoulder.

  Molly decided it was best not to wait for this forgiving atmosphere to pass. “Um, Dad. I’m afraid I have something to tell you, too.” Suddenly she felt light-headed. Giving voice to the fact that Nicholas was going to leave forever robbed her of breath.

  As she made a conscious effort to fill her lungs, her Dad’s hand slammed against the table, stopping her mid-breath.

  “I knew it! I knew it!” he said brusquely. “Coletta denied it, but I knew there was more going on.”

  Molly swallowed her surprise. “What—?”

  Dean put his hand on her leg and squeezed, cutting off her words.

  “By God,” Benny said, “I knew you were the father of that baby. He’s got your chin.” He pointed to where Nicholas was lying on a quilt on the floor looking at a portable mobile and kicking his legs.

  Dean stood. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. But Molly and I had some things to work out.”

  A little gasp came from Lily.

  Dad looked surprisingly proud when he said, “I knew there was no way they’d waste you on some pansy-assed story about small towns.” Then he turned his gaze on Molly and that pride disappeared in a wisp of ill-tempered smoke. “So, what’s your excuse?”

  Molly blinked as she tried to assemble her words. Where had her dad gotten the idea that Dean was Nicholas’s father? Did Dean know this was coming, is that why he’d silenced her? Did he want to leave her family believing this? As tempting as it was, she would tell no more lies. “This is an even longer story than the one that preceded Lily’s marriage to Peter.” She gulped a huge gasp of air. “Nicholas isn’t Dean’s son—and he’s not mine either.”

  “What!” Dad’s voice overrode all of the other sounds of surprise from around the table.

  Molly straightened her back and looked her father in the eye. “Nicholas is the son of Dean’s sister. She was a friend and patient of mine in Boston.”

  Dean stepped behind Molly and put his hands on her shoulders. She was grateful for the warmth of his touch because she was suddenly chilled to the bone.

  “Why did you tell us he’s yours? This doesn’t make a scrap of sense,” her Dad said gruffly.

  “Molly, why?” Lily’s softer voice asked.

  “Nicholas’s mother was murdered; she left him with me. I promised her I would protect him.”

  “You hardly had to lie to your family to protect him!” Dad said.

  “But I did—and to protect you, too. It’s complicated, let me tell you the whole story, then you can ask questions, okay?”

  Benny looked impatient but nodded tersely.

  Lily looked at her with questioning eyes.

  Clay’s gaze offered sympathy, a place Molly could hide while she recounted the past months. So she looked at him while she told her family the entire thing, from her first meeting with Sarah until the phone call this morning saying Nicholas’s father was dead. She did not mention the father’s name—she would never reveal that to anyone.

  When she was done, no one said a word. Lily sniffled and wiped her eyes and nose on a napkin.

  Molly was suddenly tired, the emotions over the past two months finally weighing her down. She hated to see disappointment in her father’s eyes, and yet, nothing seemed to matter much now. Nicholas was lost to her. The feelings for Dean that had begun to gain substance like the layers of a watercolor painting were no more than that, colors that would run and blur and wash away when exposed to the weather of time and distance.

  It startled her to realize the loss of that growing love was nearly as painful as losing Nicholas. Dean had carved himself a place deep in her soul. There was going to be a huge aching void when he left.

  Finally, her dad broke the heavy silence. “So you didn’t trust us with the truth?”

  “Dad, I had no idea who the murderer was, or how much he knew. I couldn’t tell anyone—but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t tell you. I broke the law when I kept Nicholas and left Boston with him. If I had been caught and charged, anyone who knew could have been charged, too. I could risk my career and my freedom, but I had no right to risk anyone else’s.”

  Her dad’s eyes cut over her head to Dean. “Are you going to have my daughter arrested?”

  Molly felt Dean’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Molly acted selflessly to protect my nephew. Of course I’m not.”

  Lily’s voice was shaking when she said, “But you’re going to take Nicholas away from her.”

  A tiny stifled sob broke loose from Molly’s chest. She swallowed it, but her tears couldn’t be stopped. She felt their burning tracks on her cheeks. Her ears started ringing and, although she was seated on a sturdy oak chair, it felt as if she were on the deck of a pitching ship. She grabbed the edge of the table with both hands to steady herself and the bow of that ship plunged into another trough between giant waves.

  It’ll be all right, Dean will let me visit. Oh please God, don’t let him cut me completely out.

  She must have swayed in her chair, because Dean slid his hands down, wrapping them around her upper arms, and held tight.

  “No. I’m not taking Nicholas away from her.” Dean’s voice sounded as if he was speaking at the far end of a long tube.

  Could she trust her ringing ears?

  Molly jumped up and turned, her balance completely off, and would have toppled to the side, if Dean hadn’t wrapped his arms around her. As if he knew she needed to hear it again, he said into her ear, “I’m not taking him away from you.” His arms held her tightly against his chest. She could hear the emotion in his voice. “I couldn’t do that to you—or to Nicholas.”

  Chapter 24

  Molly and Dean didn’t talk the whole way home from Lily’s. The air between them seemed as fragile and cold as thin strands of crystal glass. Molly was afraid to question his decision, for fear he’d change it. And he looked pensive and distracted as he drove her car back to the little house on Grant Street.

  When Molly came out of the bedroom after putting Nicholas down for a nap, she saw that Dean had stolen more firewood. The crackling fire lent a false sense of cheerfulness to the room. The gathering dark clouds outside and increasingly cold wind suited the look on Dean’s face much better.

  He was standing with his elbow propped on the mantel, looking at her Tinkerbell clock. His forehead was creased and his mouth held a stony line.

  She forced herself to ask the question that had been burning her tongue for the past hour. “Why? Why are you letting me keep him?”

  When he looked at her, there was such pain his eyes—normally the blue-green of a warm Caribbean sea, now the flat color of stormy waves—she nearly shied away. But she stood strong and held his gaze.

  He straightened. “Because fate stole one mother from Nicholas; I can’t take another.”

  She saw how difficult this choice was for him, how much he denied himself in giving Nicholas this—giving her this. Her hand went to his cheek. She held it there, love growing in her heart.

  A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and touched her fingertips.

 
He leaned into her touch, then wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “I want him. But you’re good for him in ways I can never be.”

  She moved her hand to rest over the scar on his neck, then brushed her lips lightly against his. “He’s ours. Yours and mine, as surely as if we had made him.”

  He crushed her to him, burying his face in her hair. His breathing was uneven, but she didn’t think he was crying; he was . . . accepting. Her own tears were flowing freely.

  She’d asked herself this question a hundred times in her life, and she asked it again: did someone always have to suffer for another to find happiness? It certainly seemed so today.

  In a moment of desperate wanting, she nearly asked him to stay; the words were ready on her lips. But that would only be asking him to sacrifice something else he loved to stay here and . . . what, what would he do in a place like Glens Crossing?

  When he released her, he put his hands on her neck, his thumbs along her jaw line. “There’s also a very selfish reason I’m leaving him with you.”

  Looking as deeply as she could, she could see nothing selfish in his choice. It must have shown in her eyes.

  “Leaving Nicholas here is one sure way to keep distance from tearing apart what you and I have started.”

  An unnatural lightness overtook her body. He felt they’d started something worthwhile, too.

  He lowered his lips to hers, gently teasing the corners of her mouth, tracing the borders of her lips, before he engaged them fully in a kiss. The sweetness of it flowed the length of her body. The possibilities for their future sang in her veins. And she knew in that moment, that until they were together again, she would not be whole.

  “How soon?” she asked, her gaze fixed on their clasped hands.

  “Tomorrow. I have to get back to New York. The magazine. . . .”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need to explain.”

  After a deep breath, he said, “I’ll come back as soon as I can. But I’m not sure when that’ll be.” After a pause, he added, “I may have to go back to the Middle East.”

  Molly’s heart seized with panic. She bit her lip to keep from saying what was on her mind. The Middle East—where people shot at him. Could they have come this far, only to lose one another? Nicholas needed him. She needed him.

  Kissing her forehead, he said, “I’ll call as soon as I know something.” He paused. “I’ll call tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.”

  She laughed tearfully. “Stay with me tonight?”

  “You won’t be able to get me out of here tonight with a crowbar.”

  Dean was ready to leave the next morning before the sun edged over the horizon. A sleety drizzle was falling that reminded Molly of the first hours of the storm that brought Nicholas into the world. The temperature was hovering just above freezing and was supposed to remain there throughout the day, so she didn’t fear for Dean’s safety on icy roads.

  She stood at her front door wearing nothing but her flannel robe. Dean had picked up his things from Brian’s cottage yesterday afternoon, so he was ready to go. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning after his shower and was looking ruggedly handsome and heartbreakingly gentle as he stood there holding the baby.

  He kissed Nicholas, then held him slightly away so he could look into his tiny face. “You take care of your mother.” Then he kissed him on the cheek again and handed him to Molly.

  “And you take care of yourself,” she said, grabbing the back of his neck with her free hand and pulling his head close to hers.

  His hands settled on her waist and held her gently. His kiss was laced with all of the passion they’d shared and all of the uncertainty of their future. He broke off quickly, picked up his bag and left without another word. They’d said it all last night. Their feelings for one another were strong, had been tempered by the fire of tragedy, but were they enough to weather the test of time and distance? She wanted it to work—and not just because of Nicholas. But all they could do was feel their way along and hope their hearts were speaking true.

  She watched through tears that blurred his figure as he got in his rental car. She remained standing in the chilly air of the open doorway, Nicholas wrapped warmly in a blanket in her arms, until long after Dean’s taillights had disappeared down the street.

  Even with this baby in her arms, Molly had never felt so lonely. Her empty house echoed the starkness in her soul. But beneath all of the sorrow, there burned a tiny flame—not strong and steady, but still hot and bright—that Dean Coletta had ignited. She would not let it die.

  She would fill this house with comfort and love and laughter, for Nicholas, and for Dean when he returned—whether for a visit, or, could she hope . . . longer.

  The rest was in his hands.

  Riley’s Mustang was low and hard to get in and out of with a heavy cast. They’d managed to get Mickey in with no problem with the seat all of the way back. Now, in the school parking lot, he took her crutches out of the back and had her turn sideways in the seat, with her legs out the door.

  He faced her, putting his hands on her elbows, ready to pull her up.

  Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. “Really, if you just hand me the crutches, I think I can get out myself.”

  “I don’t want you to fall. This is your first time. Shut up and hold on to me.”

  She flashed him a grin that said she knew she should be defiant, but she held his forearms and he pulled her to a standing position. Once she was up, their faces were inches apart.

  He just stood there for a second with her clinging to him.

  “My crutches?” she said.

  Instead of handing them to her, he leaned down and kissed her quickly.

  She glanced around with burning cheeks to see if anyone was watching. She thought she was probably the only one in high school not used to kissing in the parking lot.

  Riley handed her crutches to her, then he got both of their backpacks out of the car. He let her set the pace as they walked inside. He tried to act like he wasn’t slowing down for her sake. Just before they went inside, he stopped.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, stepping out of the flow of students entering the building.

  She followed him. “What?”

  It made him feel like a heel when he saw a flash of fear in her eyes.

  She said quickly, “You can go on in. Just put my backpack on my shoulder.”

  Now he felt like an even bigger bastard. Is that what she thought? That he was embarrassed to be seen with her?

  With a shake of his head, he said, “I just want to warn you, there are some . . . rumors going around.” There’d been plenty of talk on Friday; he’d heard whispered comments. The rumors were varied and many—and all of them wrong.

  She pursed her lips knowingly. “Let’s see . . . in each of them I’m sure you scored in the woods the other night.”

  He glanced down, then looked in her eyes. “I’ve told everyone the truth.”

  “Who wants to hear that?” she asked flippantly and turned around to walk—well, hobble—into school.

  He had to run to catch up and open the door for her.

  They stopped at her locker first, then his. Then he walked her to her first class.

  “Listen, you don’t have to babysit me,” she said as he set her books on her desk. “I can get around fine with the stuff for one class at a time.”

  He heard a little ripple of speculation in the voices in the background. He looked around the room and everyone tried to look like they were doing something else.

  “I’ll be back at the end of first period. Mrs. Beaver gave me a pass to get out of each class a couple of minutes early as long as you’re on crutches.”

  There was an odd look in Mickey’s eyes—wary, vulnerable.

  He said goodbye, then left for his own class. As he walked down the hall, he wondered how long it would be before she trusted him again—how long before that look went away.

>   At the end of the last period class on Wednesday, Mickey waited for Riley until everyone else in the room had left. He was always at the door before the bell rang.

  She finally got up on her crutches, picked up her notebook and purse and headed to her locker on her own. She’d been hearing people talk all day long about how he and Codi were getting back together. She should have known this would happen. Why did she let herself think things were going to be different? After three days of schlepping her junk from place to place, Riley was tired of it. She couldn’t really blame him. He’d been spending all of his time babysitting her and not hanging with his friends.

  As she opened her locker, she tamped down her disappointment. After all, she knew this would happen.

  Her notebook slipped out of her hand. It hit the tile floor with a snap. It wasn’t going to be a pretty sight, her picking up that notebook with this damn cast on her leg. Maybe she’d just leave it. It was for a lit class, she didn’t really need her notes, she’d read everything they were studying at least three times.

  She was careful not to drop anything else as she loaded her backpack.

  Then she realized she didn’t have a way home from school. It was pretty far to walk on crutches, especially with the load in her backpack; she had two tests tomorrow and couldn’t leave this stuff here. She’d just have to wait until five and have her mom come and pick her up. She supposed she could study on one of the benches outside the main office until then.

  Just as she slammed her locker closed, feeling pretty sorry for herself—another thing that made her mad, she hated feeling sorry for herself—she heard someone running down the hall.

  “Mickey!” Riley called.

  She looked up but didn’t say anything. She couldn’t open her mouth without her chin quivering. Damn self-pity.