Promises to Keep (39 page)

Ed doesn’t say anything. His smile says it all as he leans down and kisses her again.

S
teffi watches Stan as he walks back from the bathroom, friends of his slapping his back as he passes.

He sits down next to her, giving her leg a squeeze, and tips his head to take a swig of beer. And Steffi sees it. The telltale white powder in his nose. The white powder that she might think was nothing, if she didn’t know better, if she hadn’t lived in New York all those years, gone out with all those men who took cocaine the way others drank water.

Enough, she thinks, the light switch of attraction turning off for her just as quickly as it flicked on, that sunny morning at Amy Van Peterson’s.

Enough of the drugs. Enough of the drinking. Enough of the men who still act as if they are in college.

Enough of the men she can’t envision in the heart of her family, getting on with her parents, with Callie.

She hasn’t even been able to bring herself to invite Stan to the house. Yes, Callie said she wanted to meet him, but Steffi doesn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know what she would say.

Mason, on the other hand . . .

 

Stan had come to pick her up an hour earlier, as Mason was making her laugh at the kitchen table. Steffi was cleaning up the kitchen, moving around with cloth and Soft Scrub in hand, while he went to the cellar for a bottle of red he was insisting she share with him.

It was comfortable and companionable and, more than that, fun. Steffi felt a flash of irritation when she remembered Stan was picking her up tonight. He was late, by thirty minutes, and she wondered if she could cancel, or pretend to be out, or come up with another excuse.

“I’ve heard the Post Inn is great,” Mason said, pouring the wine. “Do you want to see if we can get in there tonight? Might be fun.”

“I’d love to,” Steffi said sadly, “but I can’t. I have . . . plans.”

“Plans?” He looked over at her with a smile. “That sounds . . . interesting.”

Steffi blushed, bending down to open a cupboard door and pretending to root around looking for a frying pan so he didn’t see. Why was she embarrassed?

“Go on, then, who’s the lucky guy?”

“What makes you think it’s a guy?” Feeling the blush subside, she straightened up.

“Just a feeling. Are there any single men around here?”

“Not many.” She laughed. “And I’m not telling you.”

“Oh come on. We’re friends. You have to tell me. I believe it even says so in the lease.”

“I haven’t signed a lease.”

“You haven’t? That’s terrible. I’ll get one drawn up next week. I’m going to see who it is so you might as well tell me. Is he tall, dark and handsome?”

“Well, yes. Oh God, I can’t believe you’re pressurizing me like this. Okay. It’s Stan.”

“Stan who?”

“Stan, Stanley. The handyman.”

“Oh God!” Mason widened his eyes with a huge smile. “Stanley the handyman? No. Seriously. Who is it?”

“It is,” Steffi mumbled. “And now I don’t want to go.”

“I’m sorry.” Mason wiped the smile off his face. “It’s none of my business, and he seems like a nice guy. I should have realized . . . He’s . . . very attractive, right?”

Steffi shrugged. “I guess.”

“No, I mean, I’ve always heard that he’s a big hit with the women . . . Oh Jesus. I should just shut up. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“I’m sure I will.” Steffi glared at him. “We’re going to the Roadhouse to see a band and we’ll have a great time.”

Why did it sound like she was trying to convince herself?

 

And here she is, at the Roadhouse, and it’s smoky, and noisy, and crowded, and her date has obviously just done a line of cocaine; and the only place she really wants to be right now is back home, reading her book in front of the fire, with Fingal curled up over her feet to keep them warm, and Mason sitting in the armchair.

It isn’t that she’s attracted to Mason—good God, he’s hardly her type—but it is nice to have him around. It is a welcome break from the crushing sadness in her life right now, and she feels his quiet support.

“Stan, I’m really sorry, but I have a terrible headache and I’m not feeling great,” she says suddenly, watching a flash of irritation in his eyes change to what seems like false concern. “I have to go home. Would you mind taking me?”

There is a silence, and Steffi fights her own irritation. He’s her date, for Christ’s sake. Of course he should take her home. What is there to consider?

But she knows why he’s considering. It’s because something’s changed. A headache is the oldest excuse in the book, and he can tell, instantly, that it isn’t that she’s not feeling well, it’s that she’s changed her mind.

Steffi has always been mercurial, has been able to fall in love, then out of love, in less than a second.

Once upon a time a speck of white powder in a nostril would have meant nothing. Once upon a time she would have shrugged it off, because even though cocaine wasn’t her thing, it never bothered her that others did it. But once upon a time her sister hadn’t been dangerously ill, and she hadn’t been forced to question everything in her life.

Not least, as Callie has pointed out, her choices in men. Six months ago and she would have had a fabulous fling with Stan the handyman. But not today. Not anymore.

“I can get a cab,” Steffi says eventually, jolting Stan out of his thought process.

“Nah. It’s only a few minutes. Of course I’ll take you.”

“You know what? A cab is fine.” She realizes she doesn’t want to spend any more time in his company, and certainly not spend the journey home feeling his waves of resentment wash over her. “Don’t worry. These are your friends. You stay and enjoy.”

She asks the bartender for a number, and when she has finished the call she looks over to see Stan already talking to a tall blond girl she noticed when they walked in.

 

“That was quick.” Mason looks up from his computer as she passes the doorway of his study. “Did something happen?”

“Kinda, sorta,” she says.

“Come in.” He gestures her in, and she sinks down on the faded sofa under the window.

“I just realized he’s not my type.”

“Oh?” Mason smiles. “What is your type?”

“That’s the problem. I have no idea. It’s always been guys like Stan, but it’s just not doing it for me anymore.” She sighs and looks up, catching Mason’s eye, and he holds her glance for just a fraction of a second longer than is altogether necessary.

Whoa, she thinks, looking away quickly. What the hell was
that
?

“Did you eat?” Mason says.

“No, but I was thinking about driving over to Bedford.” She looks up at him again. “Do you want to come?”

 

 

T
he kitchen is quiet. Low TV can be heard from the family room, and Steffi parks Mason at the kitchen counter while she roots around in the fridge for something to eat.

“Are you sure it’s okay to help ourselves?”

“Are you kidding?” Steffi peers around the door. “This is my family, and I’m the one who cooked it all. There’s chickpea curry, Asian steak wraps, or homemade mac ’n’ cheese. Damn, I made that for the kids. I knew they wouldn’t like it. The only mac ’n’ cheese they’ll eat is the crap that comes out of a box. Here”—she pulls out a bottle of wine and hands it to Mason—“you open that while I heat this up. Let me just see who’s around.”

Upstairs, Eliza and Jack are fast asleep in their beds, Eliza with a cashmere sweater of Callie’s wrapped around her, which she now refuses to sleep without.

Callie’s door is closed, and Steffi opens it very quietly to find Reece lying on the bed, holding Callie. He looks over at Steffi and raises his finger to his lips, mouthing that he will be down soon. Callie is fast asleep, her body barely registering under the duvet, so tiny is she now.

There is no sign of her mom or dad. She creeps downstairs so as not to wake the children, then peeks into the family room. The light is dim, just the flicker of the television and the dying embers of a fire.

And there, on the sofa, fast asleep and in each other’s arms, are Honor and Walter.

Steffi’s mouth drops open in shock. She quickly backs away and retreats to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Mason looks up with concern as Steffi walks in, her hand on her chest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think so,” Steffi says, her eyes wide. “I’ve just seen the weirdest thing ever. My mom and dad are . . . cuddling, on the sofa.”

“Why is that weird?” Mason frowns.

“Because they’ve been divorced for about thirty years and my dad hates my mom.”

Mason shrugs. “Clearly not anymore.”

Steffi sits down on the stool and pulls her glass of wine over, taking a big swig. “That is just too bizarre!”

Reece walks into the kitchen, gives Steffi a hug and introduces himself to Mason.

“Okay, before anything, I’ve just seen something very strange,” Steffi says. “Mom and Dad have fallen asleep in each other’s arms in the TV room.”

“You’re kidding.” Reece grins.

“I swear to God. Go and look.”

Reece tiptoes to the doorway, followed by Steffi, both of them peering in.

“My God!” he mouths to Steffi. “I never thought that day would come.”

“Can we bring Callie down? She’d never believe it!”

He shakes his head. “She’s really not strong enough, but we can capture the evidence.” He pulls his BlackBerry out of the rear pocket of his jeans and smiles, holding it up and snapping a picture.

“Oh shit,” they both mutter as the flash goes off and Walter grunts. They run down the corridor giggling like a pair of school-children.

“Show me, show me.” Back in the kitchen Steffi tries to grab the BlackBerry, shaking her head and marveling, again, at the sight. “How did this happen?”

“You know, I’m not entirely surprised,” Reece says. “I think they’ve found enormous comfort in each other. And let’s face it, both of them have changed. Your dad is softer, and your mom . . . well. She’s still nuts, but in the nicest possible way. I think they’ve found companionship together, and I think it’s great.”

“We totally have to go and show Callie,” she says. “Shall we wake her?”

Reece looks at his watch. “It’s time for her to take the drugs anyway. Let’s go up. Mason, are you okay down here?”

“I can help getting the food ready. Just tell me what to do.”

Steffi hands him a large wooden bowl. “You can get started on the salad.”

 

“He seems like a great guy.” Reece winks at Steffi as they head upstairs.

“He is. He’s truly one of the good ones.”

“And he’s your landlord, right?”

“Yes.”

“But married?”

“Separated, it seems.”

“
Reeeaaalllyyy
?” Reece says, with a slow smile.

“Oh stop.” Steffi nudges him. “It’s not like that. We’re friends. Plus, even if there was something between us, which there isn’t, he’s only been separated for five minutes. And he’s not my type.”

“
Reeeaaalllyyy
?” Reece says again, and Steffi is surprised to feel a flush rising.

“Oh shut up,” she says finally, not knowing what else to say.

 

Callie opens her eyes slowly, focusing first on Reece, then on Steffi.

“Where are the kids?” she whispers, confused, her voice now hoarse and rattly. ‘In bed, fast asleep.” Reece leans over and kisses her on the forehead, stroking her cheek. “It’s almost nine.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Since three.”

“Hi.” She looks at Steffi, but seems puzzled.

“Hi, honey.” Steffi comes over to the bed and kisses her. “Are you okay? It’s me, Steffi.”

“I know,” Callie says, but Steffi isn’t sure she did know. Not immediately.

“It’s time for your drugs,” Reece says. “And you have to have something to eat. Here, let’s sit you up.” He and Steffi both move her forward to wedge the sponge pillow behind her. Steffi is shocked at how much weaker she is. There is no strength in Callie’s arms, and it seems she is unable to sit up by herself.

“What can I bring you to eat?” Steffi asks gently. “Do you want guacamole?”

Callie shakes her head slightly. “Chocolate pudding,” she says.

“What?” Reece and Steffi both start to laugh.

“I know!” She cracks a small smile. “I think I was dreaming about chocolate pudding.”

“Do you have chocolate pudding?”

“Yes. I keep powder on reserve. Top shelf of pantry.”