Tender Vow (32 page)

The promise of spring hovered in the air, but so did the reminder of that age-old chore loved and loathed by most women: spring cleaning. In Rachel’s kitchen alone, the cupboards and drawers were in need of a good scrubbing, the sink, stovetop, and oven needed to be scoured and polished, and the refrigerator required a ruthless purge of expired items. So, with newfound energy, she dived into the job. Later, she hoped to move on to the rest of the house, depending on how much time her kids allowed her. Thankfully, Meagan had been invited to a friend’s house for the afternoon, and Rachel’s mom had offered to pick up Johnny for an outing. Rachel rarely turned down these kinds of offers, as they afforded her some much-needed time to herself.

Sunshine filtered through the open blinds and warmed the wood floor beneath her stockinged feet, making her pause to thank the Lord for His protective warmth. And, while she stood there giving thanks, she couldn’t help but think how far she’d come since losing her beloved husband. Oh, she still had far to go—some days she still ached from longing and utter misery—but more frequent were the days she walked with a lighter step, enjoyed her children to a greater degree, smiled more often, and drew joy from the simple things of life—taking walks with the kids on brisk afternoons, watching cartoons with Meaggie while Johnny napped, or merely cooking dinner for the three of them.

Along with the glistening sunshine, something else boosted her spirits that day—Jason had called! Of course, he’d asked to speak to Meagan right off, but when she’d told him she was at a friend’s house, he’d lingered on the line for twenty minutes, asking what she’d been doing lately, inquiring about Johnny, and wanting to know how Meagan was faring in preschool. She told him that Johnny’s arm had healed and how, since the cast had been removed, she worried like a mother hen over her chick that he’d break it again, what with his fearlessness on the stairs and his constant need to climb on the furniture. Jason had laughed, and the sound still rang in her memory. “You have to let him be a boy, Rach. What can I say? Boys climb, and they’re usually fearless about it.” She’d tried to picture Jason as a baby and had been shocked and a little annoyed that she’d imagined Jason’s toddling body before John’s. Yet, somehow, she knew without ever asking Donna that of her two sons, Jason had been the more adventurous, carefree risk taker, while John had been the ever-guarded, plodding, vigilant observer. Their opposing personalities made for a fine combination when the two worked together but proved disastrous when any kind of competitive spirit rose up. The accident probably wouldn’t have happened if John had just swallowed his pride and said, “Look, I don’t want to argue. You’re the better skier here. I’ll take your advice and not risk it.”

But, no. He’d decided to try taking on the part of risk taker. Skill and finesse are hard to fake, however, and, as a result, he’d met his tragic end.

“My dad came to see me a couple of weeks ago,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. Good. She didn’t like dwelling on John’s final moments.

“He did? Did Mom come, too?”

“Nope, he came alone. He showed up on my doorstep around eight thirty on a Wednesday night.”

“It must have been urgent. Was everything okay? I mean, your dad hates driving after dark.”

“Were you hiding in the bushes or something? Those were my exact words. Guess he felt that what he had to say couldn’t wait another day, so he surprised me by showing up. He said much of the same stuff he’d said in the ER on Christmas night, but apparently, he wanted to clarify a few things. It was all good.” She heard him pause for a quick breath. “Then he and Mom came back that Saturday, and I showed them around my office and then took them out to some of my sites before treating them to dinner at a nice lakeside restaurant.”

“Oh, Jay, that’s so nice.” She felt almost jealous to have been left out. “You guys must have had a great time. I wish—” But she cut short her sentence, not knowing quite how to end it. She couldn’t very well admit her disappointment at not being invited.

“You wish what?”

“What? Oh, I wish that—well, I haven’t seen your office since John and I—”

“Wait. Are you saying you would have liked to come along with Mom and Dad?”

“Um….”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. We could have invited you. I guess we just weren’t thinking.”

Well, now, that certainly made her feel special. They hadn’t even thought about her? “No, it’s okay. I was probably busy, anyway,” she hemmed, trying to remember that particular Saturday.

“Well, I mean, you haven’t called,” he said.

“Pardon me? I haven’t called?” she squeaked. “You’re the one who hasn’t called.”

“Uh, Rachel, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you at one time tell me it was best for the two of us to keep our distance, particularly after I went out on that very treacherous limb in the hospital parking lot and confessed my feelings for you?” She noted he didn’t confess them now. “If my memory serves me right, a few weeks ago, we decided the next move should be yours. Sorry about this phone call, but I needed to see how the kids were doing. The game is ‘officially’ in your court, Rach.”

Did we really decide that? I don’t like being in charge, and I don’t even like my court
, she almost whined aloud.
It’s lonely playing singles
.

“Are you still there?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” she whispered. He mistrusted her, and who could blame him? She wanted what he couldn’t give right now—his visits but not his commitment, his attention but not the love and adoration, his company but not his steadfast companionship. How could she possibly have it all the ways she wanted it? She couldn’t, and he was right—it was in her court, her lonely little court. Why couldn’t life and love be simple just this once?

They talked a while longer, Rachel trying to keep the conversation moving to hold him on the line, enjoying the deep resonance of his voice and his occasional bursts of unpredictable laughter after she told him something Allie had said or Meagan had done. In the end, he apologized for having to cut things short due to a call coming in from his foreman, and that’s when she realized how much she didn’t want to say good-bye, how much she’d missed him, how intensely she craved seeing him again, and how—heaven forbid—she might even enjoy another one of his kisses. She shook her head in disbelief.
What is happening to me, God?

Just before suppertime, Ivy Bronson called to invite Meagan to come over and play with Buffy. Naturally, Meagan jumped with glee, not seeming the least bit tired after her long afternoon of play at her friend Lacy Plank’s house. Johnny was still asleep, having gone down for his nap later than usual after a full day at the mall with Grandma Roberts and her friend, Mae Gladstone, running in the mall play area and eating snacks.

Having finished spring cleaning the kitchen, Rachel decided to tackle her bedroom, specifically the walk-in closet. This was a job she dreaded because of how many of John’s items remained for her to deal with. Oh, she’d repainted the bedroom, purchased new linens, hung new pictures, and even replaced a chair, but the closet still held a carousel of assorted ties and leather belts, a few of his suits and sports jackets, and some of his nicest golf shirts. The only reason she’d held on to them was to walk inside and occasionally lift the fabric of one of his jackets or shirts and breathe in the lingering scent of his favorite cologne. But the time had come to start weeding through his things, and she supposed today was as good a day as any to commence.

By five thirty, she had cluttered the bedroom with folded shirts, boxes of shoes—hers and John’s both—an assortment of slacks, jeans, dresses, and sports jackets, and several items she had yet to decide where to put. Johnny’s coos from his crib, along with Meagan’s return from next door, forced Rachel to leave the room in total disarray until after supper and baths. She sighed and headed downstairs to finalize dinner—for four this time, as she’d invited Ivy to join them. She hoped the kindly neighbor wouldn’t mind her worn jeans, old work shirt, and messy hair. At least she had a sparkling kitchen and a large pot of stew simmering on the stove.

“You’re so industrious, honey,” Ivy said later while helping rinse the dishes after dinner. “Goodness, I don’t start my spring cleaning till early May. Something about snow on the ground dampens my desire for such an undertaking.”

“Well, it’s a bit more than spring cleaning, I guess. I’m finally taking the time to sort through the rest of John’s things.”

“Oh. That’s a big project, then.” Ivy paused to look out the window at her own backyard. “When my Frank passed, I dove into that task the very next week. Everyone’s different, Rachel. You have to decide for yourself when you’re ready. Some people want to move on as quickly as possible, while others just can’t bring themselves to think about it for many months. It’s difficult no matter how you look at it. One thing is certain, though—there’s no right or wrong way.” With that, she resumed her rinsing task.

“Thanks for that, Ivy. Sometimes, I feel like all I’ve done is drag my feet, and there was a time a while back when I felt so lonely and depressed.”

“Of course, that’s normal.”

“My brother-in-law actually helped me get my focus back.”

“Ah. I’ve seen him here a time or two. Seems like a very nice young man. Meagan certainly loves him.” She chuckled and rinsed one final dish. “I saw the three of you raking leaves together last fall.”

The memory of that day filled Rachel’s mind—how Jason had moved about the house doing odd jobs, played with the kids, stayed for supper, and very nearly kissed her later that night—and it wouldn’t have been the first time. He’d brought up the matter of that long-ago kiss, and she’d not wanted to discuss it. Looking back, it almost seemed like an eternity ago.

“You’re fortunate to have family so close by, dear,” Ivy was saying as she squeezed the water out of a dishcloth and proceeded to wipe down the countertops. “I’m sure it’s helped greatly in coming to terms with your loss. You’ve had a long road to travel, and grief is such a rough path to maneuver by oneself.”

Rachel watched her kindhearted neighbor make herself useful and thanked the Lord that friendship knew no age barriers. It felt good to know she wasn’t alone, that others had walked a similar path and come out looking quite whole. It gave her hope and even spurred her on to finish the job waiting for her in her bedroom.

Later, when Ivy had gone home, the kids were in bed, and the house was quiet, save for the dishwasher humming downstairs, Rachel sorted through a gigantic pile of hangers, tossing the skinny metal ones into a trash bag and saving the thicker plastic ones. Unmatched socks went into the trash right along with the hangers, as did a few old pairs of shoes and some outdated articles of clothing. The remaining items went into bags and boxes intended for charity. She felt a certain sense of satisfaction as she realized the headway she’d made after just an hour into the job. Why, she could actually make sense of her bedroom again, and it felt delightful. She moved to the closet and stood there, taking in all the extra space and planning her next move.

And that’s when she saw it—the box containing John’s memorabilia. It was the only thing of his that remained in the room, except for the small photo on her dresser of the two of them.

She hadn’t touched the box since New Year’s Day, when she’d read John’s letter, tucked everything back inside, clamped on the lid, and covered the box with John’s suits. Today, though, she’d pulled it out in the open to make it easier to access other things. Now, it stood out like a deciduous tree in the desert.

The love letter came to mind, and she suddenly had the desire to reread it. Dropping to her knees, she lifted the lid and took out the neatly folded letter, holding it to her heart. Then, she noticed the black, leather-bound book tucked to one side. It looked to be a diary or a journal and had a thin, gold ribbon sticking out from its silver-edged pages. Before, she’d believed that reading John’s private thoughts would be invasive, but now she was overwhelmed with curiosity about its contents. So, after pulling it from the box, she stood up and walked out of the closet, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and then settled against the wall with the pillow behind her and her legs folded beneath her. Once she was situated comfortably, she began sifting through the pages, carelessly and randomly at first, but then paying more heed once she saw the dated entries that corresponded to the days leading up to John’s accident.

November 9

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and I need to figure out where we stand financially. I don’t believe Rachel understands the meaning of the words debt or budget. She loves Christmas so much, but purchasing that new van last April and getting a new roof cut quite a hole into our savings. I have to break it to her that she’ll need to cut back on her Christmas buying this year, although she’ll hate me for it. I’m nervous about the overwhelming responsibility of having another child, let alone overspending at Christmas. I hope I’m up for the task of supporting another child. I know I should talk about these worries to Rachel, but a part of me dreads her reaction. She’s like a walking emotional roller coaster these days, happy one minute and crying the next.

Rachel took in the words slowly at first, allowing them to digest a moment before continuing. Their debts had been small by her estimation, and John’s life insurance payments were helping immensely. Had they really been so monumental to him as to cause such stress? John had always been a meticulous, careful planner. He hated debt of any kind, even short-term. That’s why Christmas had always caused such tension between them. She’d tried buying everything with cash, but occasionally she had gone overboard and turned to the plastic, especially when ordering online. Still, they always recovered by March. His diary entry implied that she routinely overspent, but she’d never seen herself in that light. Heck, she didn’t even enjoy shopping all that much anymore. Somewhat confounded, she read on.

November 12

I have not talked to Rachel yet. It’s always difficult talking to her about money. She gets so defensive, like I’m attacking her. She is so sweet, I don’t know why money always has to be the wedge that comes between us. It still baffles me sometimes that she chose me over Jay. I even wonder if she ever has regrets, but then I hate myself for having such thoughts, especially since I know God intended us to be together.