The Promise (12 page)

 22 

T
om waited a few moments to let the words sink in. The shock of what he'd shared was all over Uncle Henry's face. But he'd held his peace, picked up his Reuben, and taken a bite. “I brought you an extra pickle,” Tom said.

He could see in Uncle Henry's eyes he was working through all that Tom had said, trying to figure out his next move. He took another bite. Tom glanced over his shoulder; Frank and Regina still had everything well in hand. “I guess you heard me.”

Uncle Henry nodded.

“I suppose you're wondering why. Why I haven't told Jean yet, I mean.”

“I am. You said five months, right? You've been out of work for five months.”

Tom nodded.

“I'm sure you have your reasons, Tom, but do you really think that's wise? I can't think of a single thing I would keep from Aunt Myra for more than a few days. Maybe if she was out of town or wasn't feeling well.”

Tom had no idea how to explain this. He held little hope he'd come up with something Uncle Henry would buy. “I never
intended for it to take this long. I thought I'd find a new job within a week or two at the most. I mean, I'm an IT guy. It's a cutting-edge line of work. There's this guy, Fred, who used to come in here every day like me, looking on the internet for work. He's an IT guy too. He got a new job within three weeks. I thought it would be like that.”

Uncle Henry finished chewing. “But you've been looking for five months?”

Tom nodded. He saw where this was going. “Fred got the job right away because he had this certification I'm working on. I think that's why I keep getting overlooked.”

“That could be the reason,” Uncle Henry said.

“I'm sure it is. I should've taken care of this certification thing years ago. Dad wanted me to right after I got the bank job, but I kept putting it off. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time. I had just gotten my bachelor's degree and they hired me at the bank without the certification, even promoted me twice. I can do the work either way. This certification thing is really just a formality.”

Reaching for a pickle, Uncle Henry said, “And you think that's the only reason you keep getting overlooked in these interviews?”

“I'm sure it is.” Tom could tell Uncle Henry thought it might be something else.

“This Fred guy you mentioned, you think he told his wife he'd lost his job?”

There it is, Tom thought. Uncle Henry thinks I'm being punished for hiding this from Jean. “I'm pretty sure he told his wife,” Tom said. “In fact, I know he did. But that's not why he got the job. It's this certification thing. He had it, I didn't. End of story.”

Uncle Henry chomped on his pickle. His smile said he didn't think so. “So let me get this straight . . . every day you leave the house, and Jean thinks you're heading off to work?”

“Pretty much,” Tom said.

“And you're okay with this?”

“I'm not okay with it, Uncle Henry. But for now I'm kind of stuck. What choice do I have?” He instantly regretted saying that.

“I can think of one.”

“I can't tell her. Not now. Not after all this time.”

“You think it'll get easier if you let more time pass?”

“No, I'm sunk no matter what I do at this point. But I think I'll be less sunk if I have a new job lined up when I finally do tell her.”

“But you've got a new job now. Here at the coffee shop. Why not tell her now?”

“This isn't a good job.” Tom looked around, realizing how that sounded. Frank and Regina were too far away to hear. Still, he leaned forward and said in a lower voice, “I don't even make enough here to pay our mortgage payment. It's barely enough to cover everything else in our budget.” Then he remembered. “Well, not everything. I can't even think about adding health insurance back in yet. My plan is to work here a few months until I get my IT certification. Then I'll get the right kind of job, and then I'll break the news to Jean.”

Tom studied Uncle Henry's face. Disappointment was written all over it. But it was something less than disgust, which was what he'd see on his father's face if he were here. “Like I said, I'm sunk with Jean either way. We're probably gonna need to go in for marriage counseling to get through this, once she finds out what I've done.”

“Wives do put a lot of stock in that thing we call trust,” Uncle Henry said.

Tom turned to see how things were doing at the counter. A few more people had come in, but it still wasn't bad. But it might give him an excuse to cut this conversation short. “Well, look, I'm real sorry you had to come in here and find out about this, this way. I can tell you're disappointed, and I don't blame you.”

“It's not that, Tom.”

“You're not disappointed?”

“Well, yes, I guess I am. I'm not saying I can't understand why you thought you needed to keep this from her. I'm guessing it had something to do with trying to protect her, right?”

“That was certainly it at the beginning,” Tom said. “But as more and more time passed, I began to realize how upset she'd be with me not being straight with her all along. I can see her being really upset. What am I saying? She's going to totally freak out. After I climb out of the rubble from that earthquake, I just know she'd insist my parents get involved, which means my dad would find out. He'd insist on looking into my finances, which are a total mess right now.”

Tom's fingers began to tremble. His heart began to pound. “I can't have that. Do you understand? I can't.” He was raising his voice. “You've got to promise me, Uncle Henry. You won't tell my dad.”

“Tom, your father's in Italy now, I—”

“Promise me you won't tell my dad!” Tom was almost yelling. “I'll tell him. And Jean,” he said. “But not now. Not until I get this situation under control.”

Henry felt so bad for his nephew. Tom was so upset, he was shaking. “Okay, Tom, settle down,” he said gently. “I won't say anything to your dad for now, or Jean. But I love you too much not to say I think you're making a terrible mistake. The longer you let this thing go on, the worse it'll get. For you, for Jean . . . for everyone involved.”

Tom slid his chair back. It seemed he was about to get up. “Maybe I am. No, I'm sure I am. But it's too late now to turn back. I've got a plan, and I've got to see it through. And I need to know you're not gonna do anything to interfere.”

That stung. Is that what Tom thought Henry was doing here? Interfering? But he had to set his personal feelings aside. They weren't important. His poor nephew had fallen into a pit. A deep one. That's what mattered. He was lashing out because he imagined Henry might do something to make the hole even deeper.
Lord, give me wisdom
. “I can assure you, Tom, I would never do anything to hurt you or Jean. Your aunt and I love you, Michele, and Doug like you were our own kids.” Henry had to get control of his emotions. Wouldn't do for him to start getting weepy right now.

“I know you love me. Really, I do.” Tom was talking much more quietly. “But for now, I need you to love me in a different way . . . by letting me do this thing my way. Can you do that for me?” He stood up.

“Tom, I won't talk to anyone else except Aunt Myra without talking to you first.” Uncle Henry didn't like it, but he felt he could at least agree to that much.

After all, what choice did he have right now?

 23 

H
enry pulled into the driveway of their little bungalow in New Smyrna Beach. On the way home he'd been totally distracted. The shock of seeing Tom behind a lunch counter at a coffee shop didn't upset him near as much as listening to him explain how and why he had covered up his job loss for the past five months. He had no idea Tom was in such bad shape, not just financially but spiritually.

He'd thought he knew Tom pretty well . . . until now. The Tom he knew would never have thought of doing something like this. It seemed so out of character. Whatever angle he played over in his mind, Henry still couldn't come up with a rationale for Tom's behavior.

It was deception on a massive scale.

Henry had read a newspaper story last year about a young man from a wealthy family who had murdered his wife because she'd discovered he had been living a lie for over a year. He had quit attending a university due to failing grades but couldn't face the shame of his parents learning about this failure. He hadn't just hid this from them but from her also. After his wife found out, she planned to tell his folks, and he decided he had to stop her.

At the time Henry read the story, it had seemed totally outrageous and far-fetched. But now . . . This was their family. Tom was their nephew. What could he be thinking that could possibly justify doing something so outlandish and absurd?

As he sat there in the driveway pondering this, flashes from his past began to surface. The tension and anxiety he used to feel every day living under the iron claw of his own father, Gerald Anderson.

Henry knew Tom's father, Jim, had been hard on his kids growing up. That came out last summer when he and Marilyn went through their marriage crisis. But Jim was a teddy bear compared to Henry's father back in the sixties. Gerald Anderson was a cruel, angry man. He was all about business and making money. Lots of money. “You can never have too much money,” Henry had heard him say many times. He'd made his fortune in real estate and insisted his two sons follow in his footsteps.

He had picked out the colleges they would attend, the kind of clothes they would wear. Even the high-society families his sons' wives would come from. Getting a proper wife was all part of cultivating the right image. Henry's older brother, Jim's father, was all too happy to comply. He'd bought into everything their father was selling.

But not Henry.

One memory stood out above the rest. He was sitting in a car in the driveway back then too. He had hand painted all kinds of hippie and anti-war slogans on it. Henry's hair, now almost gone, went halfway down his back. He remembered sitting there, his stomach grinding and churning as he squeezed the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white. Working up the nerve as he rehearsed in his mind what he would say once he walked inside their enormous home.

That weekend, his father had laid down the law. Henry had to cut his hair, trade in that stupid car, switch from an education
to a business major, and dump that ridiculous girlfriend, Myra, because she had the misfortune of being raised by a single mom in a trailer park.

If Henry refused, he would be cut off. Thrown out of the house, left to fend for himself. Henry might have found a way to meet most of his father's demands, even though he'd have hated giving in to a single one. But he loved Myra with all his heart. She was the one, the only one for him. He knew he could never part with her, no matter what privileges his father threatened to take away.

That day, he'd gotten out of his little Bug, stormed into his father's den, and told him “No deal.”

“You know I'm serious about cutting you off if you defy me,” his father had said. “Dead serious. You walk out that door, there's no turning back.”

Henry turned around and headed for the door. All he said on his way out was, “Myra and I will send you an invitation to the wedding.” They didn't talk for years after that.

Henry hadn't thought about these things for so long and wondered why they came to mind just now. Then it dawned on him. One of the last things Tom had said in their conversation at the Java Stop, and his reaction to the idea that his father would find out what he had done. He didn't want Jean to know, yes. But Tom hadn't gotten emotional until he started talking about his dad. He got louder and his hands even trembled.

Is that what this was about? That lousy Anderson legacy? Harsh, demanding fathers begetting more harsh, demanding fathers. No one ever being truly happy, or ever measuring up to their father's expectations or experiencing the simple joy of hearing the words “I'm proud of you, son.”

Henry had broken free of the Anderson curse, but it had cost him dearly. As he got out of his car and considered the marvelous lady waiting for him just inside and the children they had raised
together, he knew it was all worth it. He'd never once regretted his decision to walk away and leave his family fortunes behind.

But he suspected his older brother, Tom's grandfather, had pretty much treated Jim just as badly. And he was pretty sure—especially after everything that had come out last summer—that Jim had followed in his father's infamous footsteps.

Henry walked toward the front door, carrying the white paper bag with his leftover sandwich and the little box containing the RV stove part.
Wonder what Myra will make of all this?

“What was that for?” Myra asked as their lips parted.

Henry couldn't help himself; he had walked in the house, spun Myra around in the kitchen, and given her the kiss and hug of a young man in love. “What, can't a man kiss his wife when he has a mind to?”

She left her arms around his neck and said, “You can kiss me like that anytime you want.”

After giving her one more peck, he let her return to unloading the dishwasher. He stood by the cabinet and lent a hand. “I just had quite a lunch,” he said. “Got a lot to share with you.”

“You mean with Jean? Did you stop in and see her and the kids?”

“No, I had lunch with Tom.”

“Really? That's wonderful. I got a phone call while you were gone, from Michele. I heard some news from her I want to share with you. Actually, she called hoping I might get you to visit Tom. Did you stop by the bank?”

“No, not the bank. He doesn't work there anymore.”

“What? He got laid off?”

Henry nodded. “But you can't tell a soul. Not yet, anyway.”

“That's such a shame. I mean about Tom losing his job. But why can't I tell anyone?”

“I'm going to need a few minutes to explain, and you're not gonna believe the story I'm about to tell.” He set the white paper bag on the counter beside her. “There's half of a Reuben in there if you want it. Lost my appetite after hearing what Tom had to say. So, what's your news? What did Michele have to say?”

“It wasn't anything she said about her, or Allan. It was about Jean. Jean told her she's pretty sure she's pregnant, that she's known for a little while, but for some reason, she hasn't told Tom yet.”

“Oh my.”

“Michele was hoping you'd find a way to talk with Tom, get him to start opening up a little with Jean, start sharing his heart more. Sounds like they both need some help in that area.”

Henry pointed to the little white bag. “You better eat that Reuben now if you're interested. Pretty good chance you won't want it if you wait to hear what I have to say.”