Promises to Keep

by Nan Rossiter

  He sat down at his desk and thought about all the homework and drawings he’d done while sitting there, and then he reached over and clicked on the radio, and Kenny Chesney’s voice drifted out, singing “Back Where I Come From.” He pulled open the top drawer of the desk, lifted out an old drawing pad, and slowly leafed through it, smiling at all the animal portraits—they were still his favorite subject.

  There was a quiet knock on the open door, and he looked up. “I brought you some fresh towels,” Libby said, putting them on his bed.

  “Thanks,” he replied, smiling. “I can’t believe how many people came tonight—the line was all the way down the street. I think the whole county turned out.”

  She nodded. “Your dad knew a lot of people and touched a lot of lives. Also, some folks have to work tomorrow, so they came tonight.” She turned and eyed Gus sprawled out across Cale’s bed, “I hope you’re comfy there, mister!” Gus opened one eye and thumped his tail, and she turned back to Gage. “Does it feel funny to be in your old room?”

  “It does feel funny,” he admitted, loosening his tie. “It’s almost as if we never . . . I mean as if I . . .” And then he stopped because he didn’t know how to continue without making her think of Cale.

  “I know,” she said, sitting on his bed. “I don’t think we meant to keep it the same, but I guess we just didn’t know what to do with all this good, solid furniture, and it’s not like we need the room for anything. I don’t come in here very often except . . .”

  “To dust,” he teased, “because it’s not even dusty.” His eyes fell on the closet door, and she followed his gaze. “I don’t know if I even want to open that,” he said, laughing. “There’s probably old clothes of mine from high school in there.”

  “There probably is,” she said, laughing. “I guess I better start going through some of these things and taking them to Goodwill.”

  “I guess,” Gage mused, “except you’ve held on to it this long, and now you have ten growing grandkids . . . and two more on the way. They’ll grow into the clothes before you know it . . . and maybe they can use some of the furniture, too.”

  “True,” she said, nodding. “The style of clothes is probably outdated, though, and the girls won’t be interested.”

  “They’re all farm kids—they’ll be fine. Besides, jeans and T-shirts never go out of style.”

  Libby nodded and then eyed her son. “I know I probably won’t get any grandkids from Chase,” she ventured, “but what about you? Are you still thinking of marrying Maeve? I thought you might bring her so we could meet her, although I know a funeral isn’t a very happy reason to bring a girl home . . .”

  Gage nodded, but avoided his mom’s question by changing the subject. “You don’t know Chase won’t have kids,” he countered. “Lots of LGBTQ couples are wonderful parents—they adopt, use a sperm donor, or find a surrogate mom . . .”

  Libby nodded. “I know, but I don’t think it’s an ideal situation. Don’t you think it’s a little confusing for a child to have two dads or two moms? Don’t you think other kids will make fun of him . . . or her?”

  Gage smiled gently. “Not if the child is truly loved, Mom. There are a lot of heterosexual couples who shouldn’t be parents, but they are. Besides, I think Chase would make a great dad—he’s funny and caring and gentle. He’s also happy . . . and healthy. That’s all that matters. I’m sure it took a lot of courage for him to come out . . . especially to Dad.”

  “That’s the understatement of the century!” she said, shaking her head. “Your father had a very hard time.”

  “I heard.”

  Libby smiled. “But he came around. He loved Chase . . . just like he loved you.”

  Gage nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “You’re right about Chase, too . . . I’m glad he’s happy. I just worry about him . . . and Liam. The world can be so cruel—even in this day and age, and with all the traveling they do . . . I just don’t want them to run into any trouble.”

  “Chase is very aware of which places are safe—that’s what his travel agency specializes in.”

  Libby nodded. “Well, my dear, somehow, you’ve managed to change the subject. I was asking about you . . . and Maeve.”

  Gage smiled sadly. “We broke up,” he said simply.

  Libby frowned. “Oh, no! How come? I thought you were going to propose to her.”

  “I was, but something happened.”

  “You know you’re not going to get away with being evasive, so you may as well just tell me.”

  Gage rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed, Mom, but I’m not sixteen anymore.”

  “And I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m still your mom—who cares . . . and who has been through a lot lately . . . and who is still rolling with the punches, I might add.”

  Gage nodded. “I’m sorry—you’re right.” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Maeve has a son, and somehow, she never managed to tell me about him.”

  Libby frowned. “I’m confused. How in the world, for two years, did she hide having a son?”

  “He wasn’t part of her life. She had him when she was eighteen and gave him up for adoption.”

  “Why didn’t she didn’t tell you?”

  “She said she was ashamed of what happened and she didn’t know how I’d react.”

  Libby nodded. “If you broke up, it doesn’t seem like you took it very well.”

  Gage shook his head and frowned. “Mom, I’m not upset that she has a son, or how it happened. I’m upset that she didn’t tell me. I feel like she was keeping it from me. . . . And how do you build a trusting relationship on that?”

  “Did he just show up without warning?”

  Gage nodded.

  “That must’ve been quite a surprise for her,” she mused, trying to imagine—as a mom—how she’d feel if a child she hadn’t seen since birth suddenly reappeared in her life eighteen years later. “It must’ve been amazing, too.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Gage, from what you’ve told me about Maeve, she sounds like a lovely girl, and even though I’ve never met her, I don’t think she meant to hurt you.”

  “Maybe not,” Gage replied, looking away.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear this,” Libby said, standing.

  Gage nodded, but didn’t reply.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” she added, smiling gently.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said, half smiling, too.

  She started to close the door, but then turned back. “It was such a gift to have Dutch smile yesterday . . . and recognize you!”

  “It was,” Gage agreed. He paused, carefully considering his words. “I know it’s easy for me to just say this and leave it in your lap—especially after I didn’t do anything to help with Dad—but I wish you could move Dutch home . . . and find someone to help take care of him. It would be so much better for him to be here than to just sit by himself all day in a place that isn’t home. I know you visit him every day, but when he’s just sitting there, he doesn’t get any kind of mental or physical stimulation, and if he was here, there’s always so much activity—kids and dogs . . .”

  Libby smiled. “I am going to think about it, Gage,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for showing me what a difference music can make.”

  Gage smiled. “I really can’t take the credit—Maeve’s the one who told me about that.”

  Libby nodded. “I wish I could thank her, then,” she said with a sad smile.

  Gage nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Would you be willing to go with me tomorrow morning and see if Dutch is up to going to the service?”

  “Absolutely,” Gage said, sitting up. “What time do you want to go?”

  “Well, the service is at eleven, but we should get there early, so I was thinking nine?”

  “Okay,” Gage said.

  She smiled. “Thanks, hon. That would be a tremendous help.”

&nbs
p; “No problem,” Gage said, smiling, too.

  “Good night, then. Love you . . . and love having you home, even if it is for a sad reason.”

  “Night, Mom,” he said, standing to give her a hug. “Love you, too . . . and I love being here.”

  Libby closed the door, and Gage undressed, hung his clothes over the chair—just as he’d done when he was a boy—turned off the lamp, stretched out on his old bed, and listened to the sweet summer breeze whispering through the curtains. A moment later, he heard Chase and Liam come up the stairs, talking quietly as they washed up and got ready for bed. He listened as the door to Chase and Grayson’s old room clicked closed, and even though it was set up the same way as his room was with two twin beds, he was surprised his mom let them stay in the same room—and he wondered if she’d let Maeve sleep in the same room as him. He smiled, realizing how much she had mellowed.

  In the quietness, he heard the sound of the train whistle in the distance, and then he heard Chase—ever the clown—calling, “Good night, Mama! Good night, Liam! Good night, Gage!”

  When his mom replied, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Good night, Chase . . . good night, Gage . . . good night, Liam!”

  Next, Liam replied, and in the darkness, Gage smiled, wondering if he should pretend to be asleep, but then he chimed in, and in the spirit of the Walton family, called out, “Night, Mama . . . night, Liam . . . night, John-Boy!”

  He heard Chase snicker, and then the old house grew quiet, and except for the ticking of the alarm clock and Gus snoring, the only sound he heard was the haunting call of the loons.

  47

  “THANKS FOR THE RIDE and FOR HELPING ME MOVE IN,” MASON SAID, AS he came in with the last box.

  “You’re welcome,” Ali said, looking around his dorm room. “You didn’t bring very much, though. It’s pretty sparse in here.”

  “I have my extra-long sheets,” he said with a grin. “That’s all I need.”

  She shook her head. “I think you should’ve gotten more than one set.”

  “There’d be no point. I hate folding sheets. Especially fitted ones—they always ends up being a balled-up mess. So I’ll just wash ’em and put ’em back on.”

  Ali shook her head. “When’s your roommate coming? Is he a runner, too?”

  “He is . . . and I don’t know. I thought he’d be here before me.”

  “What time is your meeting?”

  Mason pulled out his phone and looked at the time. “In an hour.”

  Ali nodded. “You’re here first, so you get to pick which side you want.” She eyed the bed on the left. “I think you should take that one.”

  Mason frowned. “Why?”

  “It’s closer to the window.”

  “Works for me,” he said, setting the box on the desk.

  “Want help making the bed?”

  “Sure, if we can find the sheets.”

  “I think they’re in that bag over there,” she said, pointing to a bag in the corner.

  “I think you’re right,” he said, pulling out the package of gray, stretchy cotton sheets.

  “I thought you got the blue ones,” she said, frowning.

  “Nope, I liked these better.” He eyed her. “Don’t you like them?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Um, gray?”

  “Luckily, you don’t have to sleep on ’em,” he said, as he unzipped the package.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, shaking her head. “Where’s the mattress pad?”

  “Oh, right,” he said, looking in the bag again. “Good thing I brought you.”

  “I know! I don’t know how you’ve managed on your own all these months.”

  “I don’t know, either,” he said, laughing.

  She reached for a corner of the new snow-white extra-long mattress pad and stretched it around the corner of the flimsy mattress. “Ideally, all of this would’ve gotten washed first.”

  “What the heck for? It’s clean. Why make more work for yourself? It’ll be lucky if it gets washed once a month!” he teased.

  “Good grief,” she said. “I hope you wash your bedding more often than that!”

  She finished helping him make the bed, and then as she was slipping on his pillowcase, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a tattered, floppy teddy bear. “You brought Travelin’ Bear?” she asked in surprise, touched by the unexpected appearance of Mason’s longtime stuffed animal—a gift she’d given him for his birthday one year when they were little.

  “Of course,” he said, propping the old bear on the bureau.

  “Nice,” Ali said, nodding her approval.

  Just then, there was a light knock on the door and a good-looking young man with short chestnut-brown hair peered in the room. “Mason?” he asked.

  Mason smiled. “You must be Pat.”

  “I am,” Pat said, coming into the room and shaking Mason’s hand. “I guess that roommate algorithm colleges use decided we might be compatible, so we’re bunking together.”

  “Guess so,” Mason said, laughing, and then turned to introduce Ali.

  “Nice to meet you,” Pat said, smiling. “Do you go to Georgia Tech, too?”

  Ali shook her head, but before she could say a word about Emory, Pat’s parents were bustling into the room with their arms full of boxes and a flat-screen TV. After more introductions, Mason asked if they needed help.

  “That would be awesome,” Pat said. “We have a carload.”

  Mason eyed Ali, knowing she needed to head back. “All right,” he said. “I just have to walk Ali to her car. I’ll grab some stuff on my way back.”

  “Thanks!” Pat said. “Nice to meet you, Ali.”

  Mason and Ali were quiet as they walked across the parking lot. She unlocked her car and opened the door to let the heat out.

  “Thank you again for everything,” Mason said with the crooked half smile Ali loved. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Oh, you’d manage,” she teased, laughing. “Wing and a prayer, right?”

  “Right . . .” he said, searching her eyes, “but usually with your help.”

  Ali smiled. “Oh! I meant to ask you—did you send a friend request to your . . . I mean Maeve yet?”

  “No, not yet. I was going to last night, but after going to the car cruise, I forgot.”

  Ali nodded. “That was fun. Everyone loved your car.”

  “It was fun . . . and it was really nice of your parents to treat,” Mason said, remembering how Mr. and Mrs. Harrison had insisted on paying for their cheeseburgers and milkshakes at the diner—they’d even paid for Jeff’s and his wife Holly’s dinner.

  “My parents loved it, too. My dad said to remind you that if you need someone to go over to the house and start the engine, or even take it for a spin once in a while, he’s your man.”

  “I know,” Mason said, laughing. “Jeff said the same thing, and I might just take them up on that. It’s not good for a car to sit.”

  Ali nodded. “My mom also said the preemies are going to miss you.”

  Mason smiled. “I’m going to miss them, too.”

  “Well, anyway, don’t forget to send her a friend request.”

  “I will. . . . I mean, I won’t.”

  Ali rolled her eyes. “Promise?”

  Mason nodded, smiling at the idea of yet another woman making him promise. “Yep, tonight. I promise.”

  “Okay, good, because I think she would really—” But before she could finish her sentence, Mason leaned down and softly kissed her.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “Where’d that come from?”

  “I don’t know,” he said innocently. “Was it okay?” he asked, smiling shyly.

  “It was more than okay,” she murmured, kissing him again. Then she pulled back. “You better go help Pat and his parents unload their car, or they’ll be all done.”

  He nodded. “Text me when you get home.”

  “You’ll be in your meeting.”

 
“Text me anyway,” he said, and then he kissed her again.

  “Okay,” she murmured, feeling slightly breathless.

  “Promise?” he said, walking backward.

  “Promise,” she said, laughing, and then he turned and trotted toward the dorm, but before he went in, he turned again and waved.

  Ali smiled and waved back, her heart swelling with the possibility and promise wrapped up in his sweet kiss.

  48

  “HOW WAS YOUR SNICKERDOODLE?” MAEVE ASKED, AS SHE WALKED DOWN the empty porch, picking up napkins and glasses and putting them on her tray.

  “It was delish,” Bud said, leaning back in his chair. “I had two!”

  “I saw that,” Maeve teased. “I hope you saved room for dinner.”

  “I did,” Bud replied, “but I have to agree with Gladys: ‘Meatless Monday is B.S.!’”

  Maeve laughed. “Oh, it’s not that bad. Sal makes a mean veggie lasagna.”

  “I don’t think those two words belong in the same sentence, never mind in the same baking dish.” As he said this, he leaned down to pick up a napkin that was under the chair Aristides had been sitting in, but which was now occupied by Tallulah. He set it on the pile on Maeve’s tray. “Any updates on Ivy?” he asked.

  She sat down next to him. “Her son came by to pick up her hearing aids and he said she opened her eyes.”

  “Wow! That’s great!” Bud exclaimed.

  “It is,” Maeve agreed, “but he said she’s not out of the woods yet. I wanted to ask him about the other boy in the photo, but I didn’t think it was the right time . . . at least, not right now.” She paused. “He must’ve been important to them, though, if they kept the photo all these years.”

  Bud nodded. “I was trying to remember more about him. That photo was taken in the summer of 1941 . . . the summer before Pearl Harbor, and after that, every young man I knew either enlisted or was drafted. I’d be willing to bet Will was no different.”