The Promise Between Us

by Barbara Claypole White

  “That’s not funny,” Cal said.

  “Did you tell Maisie the light from the old Winnie-the-Pooh lamp was me guarding her?”

  “Yes. She wrote the sweetest story about it. She was terrified of the dark, so I told her that when she was born, you’d promised to keep her safe, and although God had other plans for you, that promise lived on in the light of the lamp. Why?”

  “Nothing.” Cal might have lived the experience with her, but only Ben understood the backstory. “So, what’s up?”

  “Maisie thinks we should give you a Christmas present.”

  “That’s sweet, but unnecessary. I don’t want to make things even more awkward.”

  “I was wondering if I could fund a three-day trip to the OCD conference next summer. I researched it after the fundraiser. The kid activities sound great.”

  Maisie grinned, her head to one side.

  “Cal, that’s incredibly generous, but—”

  “With two bedrooms. One for you and Maisie, one for Jake.”

  “What?”

  Maisie disappeared behind a row of shelves; Katie moved to keep her in view.

  “Jake wants to learn more about OCD, and you and Jake are Maisie’s second family.”

  “You would do that? Why?”

  “As a long-overdue apology. A real one.” He paused. “And as a thank-you for saving my family. And before you ask, no, it can’t be four days. Think of three as a mother-daughter exposure.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about yes?”

  Katie smiled. “Yes. Yes! Thank you, Cal. Thank you for giving me a second chance. I won’t screw this one up. I swear on all that’s sacred to me.”

  “You and Jake can handle a weekend without tequila?”

  “Absolutely!”

  In the background, Theo cried.

  “Do you ever wonder how we ended up here?” Cal said.

  “No. Because where we are right now, at this moment, is good. It’s as if everything finally fits together—you and Lilah, me and Ben, Jake and Delaney. I mean, not Jake and Delaney as a couple, but as Maisie’s aunt and uncle.”

  “I know what you mean . . .” Cal’s voice trailed off.

  What had Jake said, about potential? “And between us, we’ve got a lot of promise.”

  “I think so, too. Right, I’m on diaper duty. Bye, Katie. We’ll see you in an hour.” And he hung up.

  Katie, he finally called me Katie.

  Maisie walked toward her, carrying a box with pictures of Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet on the side. “I’ve decided that I can never, ever part with my lamp. It’s a very important part of my childhood. This lamp is forty dollars. Is that too much?” Maisie chewed on her lip. “If it is, we can pick something cheaper.”

  What if I snatch that box from her, pull out the lamp, plug it in, and cause a fire? What if I want to start a fire? What if I want to hurt her?

  “Let’s buy it. This is, without doubt”—Without doubt, OCD—“the most perfect baby gift ever.”

  “Yyyes!” Maisie said.

  The sales assistant, who looked as if she should be home baking cookies for hordes of grandkids, not working a holiday cash register, smiled as Maisie handed over the box. “Would you like this gift wrapped, young lady?”

  “Oh, yes, please. It’s for my new baby brother. He’s at home with my dad.”

  “Well, congratulations. And you, Mama, look pretty good for someone with a new baby at home.” The woman smiled as Katie handed over the cash.

  “Actually, he’s my half brother.” Maisie jiggled back and forth. “We have the same dad and different moms. This is my birth mom. We had to be apart for nine years because it was the only way she knew how to keep me safe, but she’s back and she’s never leaving again.”

  Katie stared.

  “A long, long time ago, my mama gave me up for adoption,” the woman said. “And she did it out of love. Way I see it, only the best kind of mamas can walk away so as to do right by their babies.”

  Maisie gave a little “Huh.”

  When the box with the new Winnie-the-Pooh lamp was covered in baby’s-first-Christmas wrapping paper, Katie tucked it under her left arm and held her right hand out to Maisie. As they walked back toward the down escalator, one thought stuck. Only one.

  I’m the best kind of mama.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story has been my constant companion through a year of incredible highs and unbearable lows. My father-in-law turned one hundred, my husband beat a major health scare, our son entered his senior year at Oberlin College, one of his poems was accepted for publication in the Albion Review, the family OCD surged, we navigated numerous aging-parent crises, and our hearts broke with a devastating phone call on Christmas night.

  I know which lines I wrote alone in my bedroom before telling friends and family that my husband was in hospital, which dialogue I stole while eavesdropping in a surgical waiting room, which scene I crafted midair while returning from an emotionally exhausting trip to England. One day I wrote fourteen words. They were about grief.

  Throughout, I struggled to move from my world of OCD to Katie’s. If I’ve succeeded, it’s because Zachariah Claypole White gently informed me that I’d written a sermon instead of a parable. My poet-musician-writer son also provided hours of brainstorming and drew a story map—I work better with visual aids—that he taped to my filing cabinet. Reading about OCD if you have OCD is a minefield, and I’m in awe of his bravery, honesty, and brilliance as a wordsmith and a storyteller. (Updated mama brag: he graduated Phi Beta Kappa.) Since he also found my story seed hiding in a different idea, I credit him with this novel’s existence and hereby toast the former Beloved Teenage Delinquent.

  An endless stream of gratitude goes to Nalini Akolekar and everyone at Spencerhill Associates. Nalini always has my back and never freaks out when I enlighten her on the latest family drama that could, quite possibly, wreck my deadline and prompt me to run for the horizon. To authors-in-waiting: the hell of querying is worth it to land the right agent.

  I’m thrilled to complete another novel with my author team at Lake Union Publishing. Special thanks are reserved for my editors, Jodi Warshaw and Clete Barrett Smith, who continue to get my dark quirkiness, work around my personal crises, and push me to stretch for the next level with such enthusiasm. Even better, they make the process fun. Clete—I gulped when I got the five-page editorial letter, but your edits were brilliant.

  A shout-out to Dennelle Catlett, Kathleen Carter Zrelak, Jeff Umbro, and Ann-Grace Martin for the PR push on Echoes of Family, and deepest thanks to web designer Adam Rottinghaus and author assistant Carolyn Ring. To Elizabeth Brown of Swift Edits, you are the queen of freelance editors and commas. Thank you for reading an early draft on a tight turnaround and posing tough questions in the nicest way. And to Sheryl Cornett, I’m sorry our schedules weren’t in sync this time, but thank you for the emotional support and for letting me steal your cottage for Jake. And much gratitude to Margie Lawson, who took me aside at the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA) retreat and forced me to pick apart the prologue, with incredible results.

  Huge thanks to readers and bloggers—I wish I could list all of you—who keep me smiling with comments on social media and messages that make me say, “This is why I do it.” To book clubs national and international, thank you for hours of engagement and fantastic questions; thank you to Readers Coffeehouse members for the daily fun; and thank you to everyone who weighs in on my mad Facebook research questions.

  We have the best indie bookstores in the Piedmont area of North Carolina, and I am forever grateful for their support. Special thanks to Purple Crow Books, Flyleaf Books, McIntyre’s Books, Page 158 Books (my new gin suppliers), the Country Bookshop, and Scuppernong Books. And thank you to writer pals who keep me sane: the Raleigh crew, BPers, my sistas and brothers at WFWA, Fiction Writers Co-Op, and the Ladies of the Lake (known on social media as Lake Union Authors).


  Heartfelt thanks to the women who helped me understand the horrors of postpartum OCD, especially Angie Alexander—a sufferer and an advocate—and thank you to the people who continue to be part of my own journey through OCD: Family & Friend Support 4 OCD, and the two Dr. Gammons. To Nancy Young, Joy Ross Davis, Rosalyn Eves, and Judy Moticka, thank you for sharing powerful stories of placental abruption. For talking me through medical what-ifs, thank you to Melisa Holmes, Priscille Sibley, and Kerry Schafer.

  Thank you to everyone at Liberty Arts Sculpture Studio & Foundry for allowing me to intrude on creative endeavors. I’m not sure what to say to metal artists Jackie MacLeod and Mike Roig, except thank you for giving me so much raw material. I left your interviews with a buzzing mind and that warm, fuzzy glow of fandom. Special thanks to Jackie for radiating calm when she handed me the welding torch.

  For guiding me through the ins and outs of abandonment, divorce, and parental rights, thank you to Diana Ricketts and Cullen Cornett. Cullen also provided endless research on health care options for the less fortunate. It was, sadly, an eye-opener.

  Thank you to Gab Smith of CAM and Raleigh art teacher Tonya Vinson for the scoop on the docent program. Thank you to Alison Taylor for explaining Delaney’s job. For filling my head with the world of acting, thank you to Maddie Taylor, Grace Taylor, and Melissa Lozoff of Movie Makers and Studio A Acting Company. For helping me enter the world of ten-year-old girls, thank you to Beth Lundberg, Annabeth Lundberg, and Tasha Seegmiller.

  Research takes a village, which is why I also need to thank the following: Trina Allen, Marcy Cohen, Cathy Davidson, Laura Drake (biker chick!), Peggy Loftus Finck, Carole Gillespie, Kathleen Gleiter, Tripp Javis, Ashley Johnson, Stephen Libby, Elena Mikalsen, Catherine Parker, Laurie Picillo, Melissa Roth, Laura Spinella, Jill Sugg (the original Ms. Jill), Damon Tweedy, Susan Walters Peterson, and 911 dispatcher Jessica Payne. Carol Boyer, the hummers are for you; and congratulations, Ed Tremblay, for winning a mention through the Independent Bookstore Day prize. Hugs to my son (again) and Danlee Gildersleeve, aka the Arcadian Project, for providing much of my writing soundtrack, and kisses to friends and family on both sides of the pond, especially the Grossbergs, the Roses, Anne Claypole White, Susan Rose, and Rev. Douglas Claypole White. (I visualize him puffing on a cigar in heaven.)

  I’ve officially run out of ways to thank Leslie Gildersleeve, my beta reader. Leslie has critiqued everything I’ve ever written, helps me brainstorm over alcohol on Friday nights, lets me bug her with pesky research questions, and refuses thank-you gifts. I can no longer navigate writing, my reading stacks, or the crap of everyday life without her. Love ya, girl.

  For Larry Grossberg, my raison d’être: Thank you for putting up with my imaginary friends and the chaos they bring to our lives. Thank you for letting me bounce ideas, titles, and character motivations off you (but you were sooo wrong about Jake). Thank you for keeping me watered and fed, and for buying the Botanist gin even though it’s more expensive than Gordon’s. Most of all, thank you for remembering that the woman who mumbles away in an upstairs office twenty-four seven is actually your wife.

  To Stephen Whitney: love you lots. May the afterlife be a never-ending party with Leonard Cohen, Prince, David Bowie, and Princess Leia—and the occasional dance by the pool at the Paradise Island Beach Club.

  BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  Katie and Callum both take extreme measures to protect Maisie from what they perceive as threats. Would you have acted as they did? Do you, or people around you, battle monsters? Does it make any difference whether those monsters are real or imaginary?

  There are parallels between Katie’s intrusive thoughts and Callum’s intrusive memories. Katie’s anxiety is genetic, but stays largely dormant until the postpartum period. Callum’s is triggered—and retriggered—by trauma. Did their stories help you understand what it means to battle anxiety? What did the novel teach you about anxiety disorders?

  Shame and then lack of resources prevent Katie from seeking professional help. Do you think we’ve made any progress in tackling the stigma that comes with mental illness? Does anyone close to you have experience in coping with mental illness without access to good resources, including health care?

  Hindsight can be a blessing and a curse. Often it’s only after the death of a loved one that we can revisit the relationship with perspective and discover something that was hiding in plain sight. Have you ever reevaluated a relationship with someone in the way that Katie does with her mother? What did you learn?

  Katie constantly reevaluates what it means to be a mom. What do you think defines a good mother? Can you imagine a situation in which you could give up your child and/or your parental rights as Katie did? Who do you think is Maisie’s real mother, and why?

  Might Katie and Callum’s marriage have survived if they’d been honest and open with each other? Do you think they could have been? How does your family handle communication? Do you believe spouses should tell each other everything?

  Callum is a tortured hero. Discuss his character arc. (Barbara would love to be part of any discussion about Callum, so don’t forget she can Skype into your book club.)

  Jake is another dark Barbara Claypole White character. What did you make of his journey? Did you feel empathy for him? Did your feelings about him change during the course of the novel?

  Driven by guilt, loyalty, and a childhood promise, Jake packs up his life and moves across the country for his best friend. Is there a person for whom you would do that?

  Katie’s relationship with Jake is at the heart of this novel. How does it change and grow, and how do you see it evolving in the future?

  In what ways do creative endeavors become therapy for the different characters? Have you ever used art as therapy?

  The Winnie-the-Pooh lamp plays a significant role in the novel. Is there an object from your childhood that still carries meaning? If so, why do you think that is?

  Barbara met her husband thirty years ago at JFK Airport. For this reason, she’s drawn to the notion that people who need each other find each other and that quirks of fate can be life changing. How do both of these themes drive this story?

  Did you spot the references to Barbara’s other novels? Do you have a favorite character from her stories, and if so, who? Barbara writes stand-alone novels, but do you see continuities?

  A CONVERSATION WITH THE AUTHOR*

  *SPOILER ALERT!

  What was the inspiration for this novel?

  As always, I found my characters’ story through my own messy, organic process. I have vague ideas that lead to other vague ideas; I do tons of research, slap words on the page, and start looking for dark what-if moments. At some point a story emerges, but it goes through many transformations.

  This time I started with two separate story seeds. The first was a heartbreaking incident in the OCD community. Many of us who are forced to share family life with OCD are active in confidential support groups. Someone in one of those groups had talked about her battles with pedophile OCD, and her comments were leaked to her employer. She was fired. That story haunted me for months and led me to think about the darkest corners of OCD, the ones that still carry crushing shame. Meanwhile, I was chewing on an idea about a single dad whose wife had run away when his daughter was a baby. His daughter, now a teen, hit a mental health crisis, and through her journey, he discovered his wife had struggled with the same illness. When I showed the synopsis to my brilliant creative writing major son, he highlighted one sentence—scratched out the rest—and said, “That’s your story, Mom.” I put the two threads together and found my premise: Can you be a good mother if you abandoned your baby?

  Then the name Maisie MacDonald popped into my head and stuck, which meant her parents’ heritage had to fit her surname. Other key elements came from strange places. At a Raleigh book club, one reader asked why I always write about UNC and Duke, but not NC State, which led to Callum. Jake was inspired by a photo of the actor Gabriel Byrne; Lil
ah came out of a conversation with a friend about the problems of being a stepmom; and I found Katie at the hairdresser’s. I was admiring a piece of artwork in the salon when the wonderful stylist Angela Goldman said, “You should meet the artist, Jackie MacLeod. She’s a girlie welder.” That phrase did it: girlie welder. The next day I emailed Jackie and discovered the Liberty Arts Sculpture Studio & Foundry in Durham. Around the same time, I had a day to kill in Raleigh and went to CAM, where I discovered the docent program. (And the Videri Chocolate Factory.) Bingo!

  The abuse angle came from an interview I watched with Gabriel Byrne, but I had no idea what part it should play. After brainstorming with freelance editor Elizabeth Brown and my son, I figured out that the abuse had triggered Jake’s promise and Callum’s anxiety, both of which drive the plot. As I researched abuse, I found fascinating parallels between the way Callum’s brain processed his trauma and Katie’s intrusive thoughts.

  The final piece of the story came after my writing buddy Sheryl Cornett invited me to give a talk at her church. That evening three young people shared stories of struggling with mental illness without access to affordable health insurance, which triggered a new story angle. I realized that while lack of money prevented Katie from seeing a therapist, shame achieved the same result for Callum. They had both tackled their problems the hard way: without professional help. Again, it was a similar issue viewed through a different lens.

  The hero of your debut, The Unfinished Garden, also battled OCD. Why do you revisit OCD in your fifth novel?

  I’ve always wanted to revisit OCD and anxiety. (James Nealy also suffered from generalized anxiety disorder, and if I were a shrink, I might consider that diagnosis for Callum.) I was also drawn to the idea of a story that delved deeper into the impact of OCD on relationships. OCD is so destructive, so twisted, so relentless, and yet there’s a popular misconception it’s about hand washing and the anal organization of sock drawers.