A Promise to Remember (34 page)

Kathleen stood and leaned across her desk. "Could the two
of you please sit down? This is not accomplishing anything."

Blair dropped back into his seat. Andie sat, but she stayed on
the edge of her chair and turned her anger on Kathleen. "What
would accomplish something? Me sitting here and taking it?
Listening to Blair say the words he hasn't had the courage to
say up until now, but that he's been throwing in my face with
everything he does?"

Kathleen picked up her pen and scribbled something in the
chart. Doubtless something about Blair's crazed wife that drove
him into the arms of alcohol and another woman. "What, exactly,
is it that he hasn't yet said?"

"That Chad's death is my fault."

"Your fault?" Blair leaned forward in his seat, looking as though
he were ready to pounce.

"Yes. I'm the one who should have made certain that his grades
were perfect. It was my responsibility and I failed. I have to live
with that every single day of my life. I see the way you look at
me. I carry enough guilt without having to listen to you spit my
failure back at me." Andie stood and walked to the door. "I'm
sorry. I want you to recover, but I can't be the beating post in
order to make you feel better. I just can't take it." She turned
the knob and ran from the room.

"Mrs. Phelps." Kathleen's voice sounded somewhere down
the corridor behind her, but Andie would not turn. She fled the
rehab center, jumped in her car, and drove away.

God, I blew it. I mean, then e's no reason to tell you that-you
know it already-but maybe it'll make me feel better for saying
it. Andie drove down the freeway with no clear destination in
mind.

Why did I blow up like that at B lair? He needs me notiv He needs
me to help him heal. What do I do? I kick him when he's at his
lowest point. I'm no more good to him than I was to my father.

She drove south for a few more minutes, until a feeling began
to gnaw at her gut and would not let up. Finally, she gave in,
turned around at the next exit, and drove toward downtown.
She knew where she needed to go, but had no idea why. Still
uncertain, she parked in the lot and knocked on the back door
of the soup kitchen.

Silas opened it. "Madam, what brings you here again today?"

"I ... uh ... I felt bad because I had to leave my shift early,
and thought I might see if I could do a little extra now."

He nodded, and the lines on his leathery, sun-baked skin
crinkled together. "Actually, I was just preparing to mop. I could
use the assistance."

She nodded, grateful for the distraction.

He handed her a mop. "I assume your appointment did not
go well?"

Her fingers gripped the handle for support. "No." She dipped
it in the bucket of soapy water. "I stormed out."

"You, madam? Storming? I have never seen you storm."

"Well, I stormed today." She swished the mop across the
floor. "It's not my fault. If he hadn't been so critical for all these
years ... But still, I'm sorry I did it."

He flipped his dreadlocks over his shoulder. "Perhaps not
sorry enough."

"Excuse me?"

"My father used to say, You are not truly sorry if you are still
blaming someone else for your actions.'" He put his mop into
the wringer and squeezed.

Andie looked at the formerly homeless man, who still never
bathed or washed his clothes. Why should words from him-any
words-make her feel guilty? He didn't know what he was talking about.

But somehow, even hours after she'd left the soup kitchen,
his words still rang through her mind. "You are not truly sorry if
you are still blaming someone else for your actions."

She drove to the beach and sat on the sand, warm beneath
the late March sun. She watched the froth churning in and out.
She understood how it felt.

A crushing weight seemed to settle on her chest. A memory
formed in her mind, still so powerful, she could smell the charred
bread.

Blair was once again late coming home from work and hadn't
bothered to call. Chad, maybe five years old, had been crying for
an hour that he was hungry. She hugged him. "I guess we'll eat
without Daddy tonight. Again." She handed her son a banana
and put the bread in the oven.

Maybe a quick walk to her studio while the bread was browning. Her once-a-week class at the Santa Barbara Museum of
Art was coming up, and her landscape still needed something.
When she saw it this time, the answer was obvious. It needed
a touch more red. She picked up the brush.

Blair came through the door just as the smell of burning
bread filled the kitchen. He took one look at the soggy, overcooked vegetables and the rubbery pot roast, and his face glowed
brighter red than her painting. "Andie, I've spent the entire day
working like a dog. When I come home the least I can expect
is a nice meal and a picked-up house. Your painting is nothing
but a selfish use of your time. Look at the pantry-it needs to
be cleaned. You have a pile of paperwork on the kitchen counter
from one of your charity events. It's ridiculous that I work as
hard as I do and have to live like this."

Chad had heard the commotion and walked into the room.
"Mommy, I'm hungry."

"You're in here painting while your son is wandering around
the house hungry? Andie, this has to stop. I want you to stop
taking that class and get refocused."

The fact that his son was wandering around the house hungry
because he arrived home an hour late seemed lost on him. The
fact that it was the same reason for the overcooked vegetables
and meat had also escaped notice.

The anger welled up in her again. She'd had enough of Blair
and his criticism.

"You are not truly sorry if you are still blaming someone else
for your actions."

The voice in her mind came from nowhere, and only fueled
her anger. "Why should I be sorry? He's the one that's been so
mean.

A woman jogging down the beach in shorts and a sports top
glanced sideways and ran faster. Andie realized then she had
been speaking aloud. She didn't care. For the first time she could
remember, she didn't care what anyone thought of her.

Did you cany no blame?

"Okay, I was painting, but only for a second. Well, long enough
to burn the bread. But ... I've never really painted after that.
I've done more than my share of penance."

She pictured the times she'd spend the entire day cleaning out kitchen cupboards, scrubbing baseboards, organizing
shelves. Blair would walk through the door and smirk. "We'll
see how long this lasts."

Why couldn't he ever be proud of her? All he cared about
was his work.

Why does he work so hard?

Pride.

Or maybe his family?

Andie stood up and walked knee-deep into the surf. She did
not like the questions forming in her mind. She needed to be
up and moving.

Okay, I'll go hack and apologize to Blair. But not today

Use your gifts.

"I don't have any."

Painting.

"Nothing good comes from painting. It's a waste of time." A
thought began to pull at the back of her mind. Her paintings
could be used for good. She could think of several charities and
mission groups that could use visuals for their publicity. She
thought of the picture she could never clear from her mind.
"I ... I'll try."

Chad.

"Chad? What can I do. . . ?" The answer was buried deep in
her gut. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, there it
was. She knew that everyone in her life would be angry at her.
But she knew peace would not find her until she did what she'd
wanted to do all along.

Sarah slipped through the front door without a word, her face
lined with sadness.

Melanie looked up from the pile of laundry she was folding.
"Sweetie?"

"It's official. Our trip has been canceled. The deposit's due,
and we're not even close." Sarah flung a neon yellow paper
with her right hand and wiped her eyes with the left. "Poor
Juanita."

Melanie picked up the paper.

Due to lack of funding, our mission trip to Mexico will be
canceled. We will put the money raised so far into a special
account, and hope to make the trip next suniuier.

"I am sorry, Sarah. I know this is my fault." She rubbed her
hands across her forehead and wished she could wipe away the
hopelessness that clung to everything around them.

"Jake says it's not." Sarah didn't sound as though she believed
him, but she sank down onto the couch beside Melanie. "He
gave us a big talk about how people can't stop God's plans,
and if God had meant for us to go on this trip it would have happened." She stared at the wall as she recited this information, and somewhere in the process her expression softened,
as if she were convincing herself just by repeating the words.
"He says we don't see the big picture, and we've got to trust, or
something like that.

"Jake said that?"

"Yeah." Sarah reached her hand into the laundry basket and
pulled out a towel. She put her face into it. "Nothing like the
feel of towels warm out of the dryer." She began to fold it. "Love
the smell, too."

Melanie shook her head, amazed. How could Sarah move
so easily from disappointment to the joy of the warm smell of
laundry? How did she bear up under the burden of all that had
been taken from her? Her daughter possessed an inner strength
Melanie knew she lacked. Where did it come from?

She knew the answer, but would not allow herself to admit
the truth. As long as she didn't acknowledge it, she wouldn't
have to do something about it.

On Saturday morning, Melanie pulled into the parking lot at
East Beach. She put two dollars in the appropriate slot of the
parking honor box and moved toward the crowd of teenagers
already milling around. She wanted to find Sarah, who'd come
early with friends, but at the same time wanted even more to
avoid Jake. In the end, she chose to take a seat on one of the
benches lining the walkway.

"Hey there." Tony dropped down onto the bench beside her
and leaned his elbows on his knees. He twisted his neck around
so he could see her. "How ya been? We've missed you at the
garage."

"I've missed you, too, Tony. It's just that I have been really busy,
and ..." She stopped herself from adding more to the lie.

He nudged her with his elbow "Yeah. Jake's been bummed
out, too. I figure maybe today you two can settle whatever it
was that's been bothering you, and you can start coming around
again, huh?"

"It's not that simple."

"Never is. At least that's what we always think. Truth is, it
usually is that simple."

Melanie laughed. "I didn't realize you were such a
philosopher."

"What can I say? We all have our hidden talents." He nudged
her again and stood. "I see someone I need to talk to. I'll catch
you later." He walked across the sand toward a pretty young
woman. The two of them talked, shoulder to shoulder, then put
their arms around each other.

"There you are. I've been watching for you." Sarah swung her
foot out and shoved her mother's. "What are you looking at?"
She turned to see for herself.

"I didn't know Tony had a girlfriend. I guess I never talked
with him that much during my visits."

Sarah sat on the bench. "That's not his girlfriend."

"Then why are they hugging?"

"They're not hugging, Mom, they're praying."

Melanie felt her face flush. She supposed if she was going
to hang out at these kinds of events, she would have to learn
the way the church crowd did things.

"Okay, everyone, let's get started." Jake's voice shouted above
the crash of the waves and the voices from the neighboring volleyball courts. They assembled in a blob roughly shaped like a
circle. Melanie sat on the sand in the midst of the group.

A couple of the boys brought out guitars, and the kids began
to sing songs of praise. They were songs Melanie vaguely recognized from the Dirty Dozen. Their musical selections surprised
her. This was a memorial service-why would they be singing such upbeat songs? Didn't these kids understand what they
were here for?