A Promise to Remember (2 page)

Andie looked at her husband's handsome face. The salt and
pepper of his hair only added to the lightness in his blue eyes.
Eyes whose spark now dulled when he looked at her.

He hung the rag over the edge of the utility sink. "What is
this all about?"

She wiped her eyes and choked on the words. "The painting
for the fundraiser."

He brought her a towel for her hands and leaned over for a
closer inspection. "No wonder you're in such a state. What are
you thinking? No one expects you to do this now."

"Chad wanted me to do it. It was important to him."

Blair knelt before her, his eyes suddenly soft. "Andie, Chad
is gone." He stopped, swallowed hard. "Torturing yourself over
projects at his school-a school we no longer have a child
attending-is not going to change that. This isn't healthy. You've
got to stop."

"Chad was chairman of the committee. His dream was to
double last year's fundraising. The least I can do is try to help."

She wouldn't say the rest, but Chad's words still bounced
through her memory. "I'm going to show them all just like Mom
does with her cancer fundraiser every year."

"Oh, sweetie." Blair wrapped his arms around her and pulled
her close.

Andie sank into his arms. Sobs spilled forth, like a tube of
paint bursting, splattering everything in its path.

Blair's arms trembled and she realized that he, too, was crying. Sometime later, they pulled away from each other, tears
spent. Blair's face was set in decision. "How much money did
the scholarship fund raise last year?"

"Twenty thousand dollars."

Blair lifted her chin with his fingers so that she was forced
to meet his eyes. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. Tomorrow, I'll go to the school office and tell them that our family is
donating forty-five thousand dollars to the scholarship fund.
We'll do it in Chad's memory. How would that be?"

She looked back at the smeared scene on the canvas. "What
about the painting?"

"That goes away. Things like this will only pull you down. We
need to be strong and keep going. For Chad's sake."

Andie nodded. Chad would want her to keep going. "Okay.
For Chad's sake." I'm son), I let you down again, Chad.

Melanie Johnston placed the stack of mail on the frayed bedspread, then settled herself on the lumpy mattress. She sliced
through the first envelope. The cream-colored card inside was
embossed with a shining cross on a hillside and glossy doves
flying in the sky above. She flipped it open, not bothering to
read the poem of five or six verses. Why should she care what
some poet thought about grief? She knew grief, lived it, and
there was nothing poetic about it. She skipped instead to the
handwritten message below, scrawled in blue ink.

Jeff's absence has left a hole in all our hearts. My greatest
comfort is knowing I will see him again in heaven, someday
Please feel freeto call or visit if you ever need to talk.

In Him,

Jake Sterling

"Well, Mr. Sterling, it might give you comfort to think of seeing Jeff in heaven someday, but I want him here." She wanted to shred the note and mail it back to the man, but she knew
his words mirrored Jeff's own beliefs. Besides, if she destroyed
all the cards that said something similar, what would become
of Jeff's memorial?

She looked at the length of twine she'd strung across his room.
The middle sagged from the weight of so many cards.

Jeff would be so happy to see this. To see how his life affected
so many others. He never understood how much everyone loved
him. "Can you see this, Jeff?"

The yellowed ceiling paint responded with silence.

Her gaze turned to the walls. Posters of sailboats with colorful
sails puffed out like crescent moons, expansion bridges lit with
thousands of white bulbs, and Harley Davidson motorcycles
rolling past the ocean filled every spare inch. Jeff had always
been drawn to physics and mechanics. Now his dreams were
gone like the puffs of wind pushing the sailboats.

Melanie sank back into her seat, intent on finishing her task
before Sarah returned home from her sleepover with the youth
group girls. Melanie had to admit, for a bunch of fifteen- and
sixteen-year-olds, they had circled their wagons around Sarah,
keeping her busy and supported. She was glad Sarah found a
source of relief there, although she knew Sarah's wounds went
deeper than her daughter would ever show.

Melanie strung up a second line, parallel with the first, and
sat back down to her stack of envelopes. She didn't recognize
the name on the return address.

Dear' Mrs. Johnston,

Ave your funeral bills piling up? Do you need help fighting the legal establishment? We at Fraker, Fritz, and Krute-
natoffer full legal service to victims likeyou. Let us help you
get the cash you deserve!

Don't delay, call today!

At the bottom was blue computer printing, designed to look
like a handwritten signature. What kind of jerk sent a card like
this?

This time, she didn't restrain herself and tore the letter to bits.
She threw the shreds in the trash and went on to the next.

Fifteen cards later, she picked up a taupe-colored envelope
that felt heavy, almost like linen. There was no return address.

Dear Mrs. Johnston,

I am sorry for your loss.

Les Stewart

555-9553

Les Stewart. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Then she remembered the recent news story. He was some big shot attorney
from Los Angeles who had recently moved to Santa Barbara to
retire. Why would he send her his phone number? His clients
were movie stars and business magnates.

Melanie started to hang the note on the line, but it didn't
honor Jeff in any way. She placed it back in its envelope and
tossed it in the trash.

After she'd finished the complete stack, she walked into the
kitchen, poured a strong cup of coffee, grabbed scissors, and sat
down with the paper. Six days had passed since the crash. The
articles were less frequent and less obvious now. She turned
the pages over slowly, not wanting to miss anything.

There. A tiny article about Jeff's work tutoring underprivileged
kids while attending college in San Luis Obispo. She lifted her
scissors and began to cut, taking pains to be precise. She didn't
want to miss one letter of a story about her son.

When she finished, she grabbed the scrapbook, which always
sat in Jeff's empty chair at the table, and anchored the article
inside, another page in his memory. She read it through once more, choking back a spasm of sobs when she read the quote of
a boy Jeff had helped-"He was the only one who cared"-before
closing the hook and returning it to its place.

Only then did she continue through the rest of the paper for
anything else of interest. The story waited for her on the back
page. A half-page article, complete with photo, of the boy who
had taken Jeff's life.

The muscles in her neck tightened so that breathing became difficult. She looked at the large headline beneath the
photo. Phelps family donates S45,000 to scholarship find in sons
honor.

The coffee burned inside Melanie's stomach. How dare they?
That family had no right to glorify their son. He killed Jeff. Jeff
was the one who should be honored with a scholarship named
for him. He was the one who was paying his own way through
school, working part-time and taking out loans. The Phelps kid
probably never did a hard day's work in his life.

The article praised the Phelps family's generosity. Generosity.
Generous enough to give their son a brand new BMW, while Jeff
had worked to pay for his old clunker. Generous enough to make
certain their son's car came equipped with all the best safety
equipment. Maybe if Jeff'd had the benefit of such generosity,
he wouldn't have been crushed beyond recognition.

Melanie flung the paper against the wall. Things like this
shouldn't be allowed to happen. People couldn't just act this
way. Somebody should do something.

She would do something.

She walked back into Jeff's room. She dropped to her knees
and fished through the trash until she found the taupe envelope.
Her fingers trembled as she picked up the phone. She had a
call to make.

Andie unloaded the last of the bags onto the granite countertop,
then sank onto a barstool. Everything these days felt complicated
and overwhelming. The drain of grief made even a simple trip to
the grocery exhausting. She dropped her head onto her folded
arms and closed her eyes.

As soon as she put these things away, she could spend the
rest of the afternoon in bed-or maybe working on graphics for
the Cancer Center's upcoming fundraisers. Her charity work
was the only thing left that mattered anymore.

Tires squealed in the driveway. That sound could mean only
one thing.

Christi.

Act brave or she'll feel compelled to stay. Andie forced herself
from the chair and looked out the kitchen window.

Christi Baur's fire-engine-red Mercedes Roadster skidded to
a stop near the back door. She flounced out, wearing perfectly
pressed navy pants and a white silk blouse. As usual, she breezed
into the house without bothering to knock. "Andie?" Her voice
floated from the family room entrance.

"I'm in the kitchen." Andie picked up some lettuce and went
to put it in her refrigerator. Christi would see her up and busy,
and be satisfied that things were going well.

"Really should lockyour door, you know." Christi's voice drew
closer with each word.

"Why? The driveway's gated. You're the only person who ever
uses that door."

Christi entered the kitchen, a too-bright smile crowding her
face. "Exactly. Don't want people like me just walking in, do
you?" The laugh that followed sounded forced.

Andie closed the refrigerator door and turned toward her
friend. A head-to-toe assessment was under way, and judging
from Christi's scowl, Andie's faded jeans and USC T-shirt did
not measure up. She chose to ignore it. "I need to put these
things away. Have a seat."

Christi's perky smile dropped just a fraction. "Been to the
grocery? Today?" The last syllable came out with a squeak.

"Yeah. Everyone's been bringing in casseroles, but you have
to get some milk and fresh veggies every now and then. Know
what I mean?" Andie reached inside the nearest white plastic
bag and pulled out a large bag of Oreos-her new best friend
in the battle against grief.

She headed for the walk-in pantry, trying to hide the cookies
from view When she emerged, Christi had crossed the room
and was holding a sack in her hands. She thumped her hand
against her chest in exaggerated relief.

Andie stopped walking. "What?"

"Safeway bags! What a relief! Scott sent me over to tell you
to stay away from Alfords for a while."

Andie's eyes began to sting. She picked up a bag of carrots
and hurried to the refrigerator. "Really? Why would he say that?"
Her voice came out too high, but Christi wouldn't acknowledge it. Christi hated dealing with heavy issues, and that suited Andie
just fine. She wanted time alone with her pain.

"She works there. You know. The Johnston kid's mom. Scott's
afraid she might look for some quick money."

Andie thought about the woman in question-saw her face.
Attractive in an earthy way, no makeup, brown curly hair that just
reached her shoulders. Her easy answers and quick smile, the
cheerful way she stopped what she was doing to help customers find the sugar aisle. "I don't think she's the type." Melanie
Johnston's eyes were the only thing that made her doubt her
words. They sometimes narrowed with the grim determination
of a woman used to a fight. A woman who would not back down
if she thought she was right.

"Never know. Scott says don't go anywhere near her until this
whole thing blows over."

Andie put her hand across her stomach. "Blows over?" She
turned away from her friend, then began to forcefully unload
another hag into the refrigerator. "How long does it take for the
death of your child to `blow over'?"