At last, the final student left, and I gathered my folders and slipped into the hall. I hurried to my office, throwing the folders on my cluttered desk and shut the door. I shrugged into my thin sweater and snagged my purse and keys from the drawer.
My heart pounded. Joey. After all these years. We had texted, emailed, a few times, and I’d seen him around town maybe twice in the eight years he’d been gone. Now, it looked like he’d come back for good. Would he be upset I hadn’t waited? That I had married Evan, his best friend once upon a time. Then, Zoey happened. Damn, it was hard to swallow suddenly. Did he know about Evan? Oh, God. I couldn’t explain that to anyone.
A knock on my closed door startled me, and I threw it open, hoping to see another faculty member or student.
Instead, it was the person I last person I wanted to see – Joseph Harrison.
“Hello, Abby,” he said, leaning against the door-frame. “College, huh?”
I stared at him, frozen. Up close, he was more handsome than ever – and filled out. His arms, even in that black hooded shirt, bulged, and his chest was twice as wide. The military had made him even more dashing than he was in high school.
“What’s that?” He pointed behind me. I looked to my computer, where a small teddy bear, aged and worn over the last eight years, sat perched on a low shelf.
I blinked at him. I wasn’t ready for this. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to rush out for an appointment,” I said, pushing past him and pulling my door shut. I locked it quickly and hurried to the end of the hall.
“Abby! Let me walk you out!” he called, jogging to keep up with me.
The dean, Jennifer Gonzalez, rounded the corner at that minute, nodding to me. “Good first day, Abby?”
I forced a smile to my face. “Dean Gonzalez,” I greeted her, hoping Joey would get the hint and go away “Yes. It’s been a great first day for two classes. Third is tomorrow.” She looked between Joey and me. “I was just catching Joseph here up on an assignment due at the end of the week, and I’ve got to pick up Zoey.”
Oh crap. Why had I said that?
“Oh, how is Zoey doing?” Jennifer smiled, nodding to Joey.
Joey was staring at me, a clear effort to avoid asking me questions in front of my boss.
“She’s got a cough, nothing serious, but you know what daycare’s like.”
“I remember.” Jennifer laughed. “Well, I’ve got a conference call. Keep up the good work, Abby. We love having you on the team. Have a good term, Joseph.”
“Thanks,” we both said at the same time.
She strode down the hallway past us.
Ignoring Joey, I pushed through the double doors and out into the parking lot behind the faculty building.
“Abby, wait. Who’s Zoey?”
He doesn’t know she’s Evan’s. He doesn’t know anything, I thought painfully. I pulled my keys from my pocket and turned to him as I stopped at my car. “Zoey is my daughter.”
Joey stumbled back, shock on his face. “Your daughter? When did you…never mind. How old is she?”
“She’s almost two years old,” I quipped, changing directions. “You need to drop my class,” I said forcefully, unlocking the car door and not looking at him anymore. “You can’t be in my class.” As if repeating it would make him do what I wanted.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I flung the door open, too hard, and finally turned to him. His jaw was set in determination, just like always. Just like the day he told me he was joining the Marines. The day he broke my heart I’d been too stubborn to give him in the first place. “Joey…”
“I remember you used to call me Jo-Jo,” he said softly, taking a step closer.
I shook my head. “That was a long time ago. A life time ago, in fact.”
“I promised I’d come back, and I did.” His eyes were glossy. My strong Joey. What had happened to him?
I wrapped my resolve firmly around me, even though it broke my heart all over again. “I’m sorry, Joey, but we were different people then. I’m a teacher now, and I’ve got my daughter to think about. Please drop my class.” With that, I shut the car door, roared the engine to life, and zoomed out of the parking lot.
I couldn’t tell him about Evan, and I’d only married him because I never stopped loving Joey. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to tell him.
“Mama! Ice cream!”
“No, Zoey,” I said for the third time on our drive home. I pulled into the driveway of our two-bedroom rental. It was as nice as I could afford on my salary, though Evan’s benefits helped. I was saving to buy a place, and by this time next year, Zoey and I would have a home of our own. After Evan, we needed something new, anyway.
From the backseat, my almost, but not quite two-year-old coughed, an awful choking sound which tore at my heart. “You’re getting soup,” I told her as I got out and started to unbuckle her.
“No soup,” she protested, smashing her fists on the car seat. “Ice cream!”
“Zoey, come on. Mommy’s had a long day,” I said gently. It was only a little after one in the afternoon, but I’d been on campus since six to prep, print syllabi, and attend a meeting. Zoey’s cheeks were rosy red. I was sure she had a fever and Georgia had been wrong. “Let’s just go make some soup and take a nap, okay?”
She finally agreed, quiet for once in her short life, and I hoisted her onto my hip to carry her into the house.
“Daddy,” she said, pointing to the family portrait that hung over the small fireplace in our living room, as I shut the front door and sat her down.
I winced. Zoey had only been a few months old when I lost Evan. I was sure she wouldn’t remember him, but it was my fault she did. She always asked who the man in the picture was. It had been 18 months since Evan’s death, and I’d erased most of him from our life. Except that picture. I couldn’t take it down.
“Remember, sweetie, Daddy’s always looking down on us,” I said. I almost shuddered. Was that even a good thing?
“Good girl.” Zoey looked up at me, pointing to herself.
“That’s right, he wants you to be a good girl. Never forget that, okay?”
“Okay.” She pulled herself up on the couch, and another cough racked her tiny body. “Sleepy, Mommy.”
“You take a nap, and Mommy will make soup. Chicken noodle?”
She was already snoring softly. I lay her on the couch and felt her forehead. Yup, a slight fever. I’d have to keep an eye on that.
In the kitchen, I quietly put the dishes away from our small dishwasher and set a can of soup to boil. I thought about the weirdness of my first day on campus. My first class, history of the Oregon Trail, had gone wonderfully, with the ice breaker really helping most of the students. But then there had been my Civil War class, and as much as I wanted to deny it, seeing Jo-Jo had lifted my spirits. It had been a long time without a friend or a companion. Most of my high school friends did what I set out to do — left this town behind. We connected with empty likes and shares on social media, but rarely did we talk.
Maybe Jo-Jo coming back was a chance to restart our friendship, no matter how badly it had ended before.
As I turned the soup off and ladled it out to cool for Zoey, my phone vibrated in my office bag and I turned to grab it.
Seeing my mother’s number, I groaned briefly, but knew I had to answer it, lest she persist for several more hours. My mother was relentless.
“Guess who’s back in town!” she nearly yelled in my ear when I answered.
Fearing even Zoey had heard her, I glanced at the couch. She was still sound asleep, her arm behind her cherubic face, framed with blonde curls, just like her father. Her face was still rosier than I liked, but at least she was breathing evenly.
I sighed. “Joseph Harrison,” I told my excited mother.
“Yes, Jo-Jo! Wait, how did you know?”
I bit my tongue. I couldn’t tell her he was in my class, so I made something up. “I saw him today.”
�
��On campus? Jean told me he was going to school. You remember his mother, Jean? She’s in my sewing circle at church?”
“Just on my way to class.” I tried not to lie too heavily. My mother would box my ears if she ever found out. “Jean told you he was going to college?”
“She did, you should have heard how proud she was. Fourth boy in their family to go to school, well, there’s Juney, his sister, but really Jean doesn’t count her yet, because she’s the same age as Lettie. Which is just so sad that she doesn’t because she’s really very smart. You know she won that prize at the fair one year for something, what as it? I don’t remember, really.”
My mother rambled on for a minute and I let her, stirring the soup in my bowl and taking a spoonful of the hot broth.
“Honey, do you want his number?”
That caught me, and I stopped her. “Mom! Joey is an old friend. Nothing more. We haven’t spoken in years!”
“You used to write him, or text, or whatever people do these days.”
Even now I could see my mother’s confused and slightly judgmental look. “A long time ago,” I supplied, “before Evan.”
“Ah, I see.”
In mother-speak, that meant she didn’t see at all, and I was being stubborn.
“Mom, Evan’s only been gone a year.”
“Eighteen months.”
“I’m not interested in Joey. Not anymore.”
“Oh, sweetie,” my mother sighed, but I knew she was preparing to give me her ‘advice’. “I didn’t tell you to sleep with him. Just, you know, be his friend. You have so few of those.”
I sighed, feeling my eyes roll back. She was so blunt. “I have no intention of either.”
“Even as friends?” she pressed.
“Mom, enough.”
That was her cue. “Well, I need to pick up your father from work. Are we still getting together on Saturday for our lunch date with Lettie?”
Lunch date, I thought sarcastically, where my mother, sister, and I met at the same cheesy diner I’d been going to since middle school, where Lettie worked after school some days. I cleared my throat. “Zoey has a cough, but if she feels better, then yes.”
“Give my grandbaby girl a kiss for me. Did you get her to eat soup?”
“I just made it. She’ll be fine, Mom.”
“Okay, good. Call me later.”
“I will.”
We hung up.
Zoey stirred a bit and her eyes fluttered open, then shut again. I finished my bowl and tested hers, which had significantly cooled. “Zoey?” I prodded her gently. She woke and grabbed my neck. “Cold, Mommy,” she whispered, coughing so hard she could barely breathe.
I scooped her up, feeling her forehead burn with fever. “We’ll have soup later. Let’s get you into a warm bath with some steam.”
She smiled at me. “Bath.”
Chapter 3
Eight years ago:
Jo-Jo: We should go bowling this weekend.
Abby Girl: You know you just want to play in the arcade. You and Area 51 and that stupid teddy bear machine
Jo-Jo: You know me, and ya know, there’s pizza.
Abby Girl: You and your pizza.
Jo-Jo: It’s God’s gift to man.
Abby Girl: Are you sure that wasn’t life? Besides, I can’t. I’ve got a history final to study for.
Jo-Jo: You and your history.
Abby Girl: I’m going to be a teacher someday. This stuff is important.
Jo-Jo: Teaching? Why would you want brats like your sister around you all day?
Abby Girl: Well, I could teach high school, maybe.
Jo-Jo: You want brats like me around instead?
Abby Girl: You’re not a brat.
Jo-Jo: I’m gonna pick you up at seven.
Abby Girl: Fine, but I’m going to study there, anyway
Jo-Jo: Nerd.
Abby Girl: You love it.
Jo-Jo: I do.
I don’t know why I thought of that conversation as I trudged back to campus the next day, except that teddy bear I’d won that night was still on her desk. I know she wanted me to go away, which tore at me fiercely, but I wasn’t going to. She had a daughter, which surprised me. But was she still married? Who was the father? These were things I needed to know. I recalled the brown-etched nameplate on her office door. Abigail Years. Years? The only Years I knew in town was Evan’s family, my best friend from high school. He’d gone Army and I’d gone Marines. It only ended well for one of us. But Evan’s family was huge, with several cousins. Hell, most of downtown was owned by the ancient Years family.
Evan. I couldn’t think about him.
No matter who she was married to, I’d keep my distance. I’m a good guy, ya know? I have rules. Even in high school, girls with boyfriends – and even those on the rebound – were strictly off limits. I didn’t want any false affection, or even exes coming after me. I played football for a few years, and I could take them. I just didn’t want the drama.
When I got to class, Sam met me coming out of the double doors. “Class is cancelled,” he huffed at me, upset.
“What? Cancelled?”
“Yeah, note on the door,” he said.
“It’s day two, how can class be cancelled?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe she’s sick or something.”
I frowned at him. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Sam nodded and continued past me.
I stood staring at building 201. History was my only class today. What else was I supposed to do instead? I barely had any homework in any classes; it was only the second day of term.
I drove around awhile. Not wanting to waste the precious gas in my car. I stopped at a diner that Abby and I frequented in high school; I remembered they had the best burgers in town.
The 1950s-esque interior hadn’t changed, either, I realized as I pushed through the door. I slid onto a pink stool behind the counter and plucked a menu from next to the register. The same deep-fried pickles, onion rings, and ‘Tower of Pain’ jalapeno burger were still the specials, just like always.
“Coffee?”
“That’d be great,” I said without looking up from my menu.
“You look familiar. Are you new to town?”
I looked up to see a young girl, high school age, a silver coffee pot in her hand. She looked vaguely familiar, with her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun and escaped tendrils framing her face.
“Lettie? Lettie Jameson?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
“Joey?” She froze with a coffee cup in her hand, mid pour. “Wow, it’s really you.”
“Wow, Lettie.” I looked her up and down. She must have been sixteen, no, seventeen by now. A senior in high school. She was the spitting image of Abby, but a more slender, softer version. Abby 2.0.
“I haven’t seen you since you were what, nine?” I set my menu aside. “What are you doing working here?”
She shrugged, poured the coffee, and sat it down. “Just earning extra money for college next year.”
“College, already?”
“I hear you’re in college, too.” Her eyes twinkled.
“You’ve been talking to your sister.”
“Well.” She pulled a white pad from her apron pocket. “What’re you having, Joey?”
“Just a patty melt with fries,” I said quickly. “So, do you get along with Abby’s, you know, husband?”
A shadow passed over her eyes and she stopped scribbling. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
She sighed. “One patty melt, coming up.”
“Lettie!” I called as she turned back to the kitchen. “Is Abby divorced?”
“No.” she paused and looked back at me. “She’s a widow.” She disappeared behind the solid gray doors.
A widow?
Abby was twenty-six, same as me, almost twenty-seven. Our birthdays were seven weeks apart, me in October, her in November. How the hell? Who the hell? From the recess
of my mind I recalled a text message, about her finding someone else. We had been worlds away at the time, and I didn’t think much of it. We had been friends, after all, just friends.
I had to stop obsessing about Abby. I turned to the paper on the seat next to me and flipped open to the comics, skipping the war info on the front page. I didn’t want to know about all that, not at all.
A few minutes later, Lettie returned with my sandwich and fries. She sat a vanilla shake next to it.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“On the house, for a veteran,” she said, “you still like vanilla, right?”
“My favorite.”
“I remember. You drank a fair share with my sister.”
“Lettie,” I stopped her and laid my ticket on the counter. “You don’t happen to have her number, do you?” I shouldn’t have asked, but I needed it.
She paused. “I don’t think that’s okay, Joey.”
I didn’t even wait to explain myself. “I want to check on Zoey, and I have this new phone.” I held mine up to demonstrate. “I’m no good with technology, and I can’t figure out how to get my old numbers over.” A lie, but a necessary one. I was, in fact, in several group chats with veteran buddies and we routinely used Chatsnap on a daily basis. But that was info Lettie didn’t need to know.
She bit her lip but pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. “Here it is.” She rattled it off.
“Thanks. How is Zoey?”
She refilled my coffee. “Zoey has as fever.”
“Ah,” I said, trying now to sound concerned. “Well, I’ll call Abby later. Thanks for the number.”
“You’re welcome.” She added before she turned away: “Abby needs an old friend, especially since Evan, well, you know. Him being your best friend and all.”
“E – Evan?” I stumbled over the name. “She married Evan?”
“Lettie! Order’s up!” The cook behind the counter shouted at her.
“Gotta go,” she said, flashing me a smile. “I’m glad you’re back in town, Joey.”
I nodded to her. I didn’t have any words.
My best friend had married Evan. My other best friend.
But if she had married Evan, and she was a widow that meant…
Abby's Promise Page 2