Promise Me Anthology (3 page)

* * * *

I stood at the door and knocked hard. The
doorbell didn’t work, so there was no point in trying it. The
curtains fluttered the tiniest bit, then the door opened.

“Sarelle!” A frail voice cried softly. “Is
that you?”

“Yes, it’s me, Flora,” I said, smiling down
at her small twig-like frame. “I’ve come to visit you. I brought
you some flowers.”

“Come into the kitchen then, dear, and be
sure to close the door behind you,” Flora said sternly.

I obediently followed her into the kitchen
and put the arrangement down on the table.

“Leave it right there, so I can look at it,”
she said firmly. Her wrinkled face creased itself into a gentle
smile. “How have you been, Sarelle? I know it’s getting close to a
year.”

I sat down heavily, letting her take one of
my hands in hers. It was wrinkled and frail, the bones showing
through her papery skin. “I’ve been good.”

“You shouldn’t have, dear,” she said gently.
“I know your money situation is tight.”

My work at the shop was bringing in cash, but
not enough to live on. I was steadily using Brennan’s life
insurance money up, even though I’d cut my expenses as much as I
could. “You’re going to be ninety-eight. That deserved
flowers.”

“Thank you,” she said, laughing coarsely.
“Why aren’t you at work today?”

“I have a doctor appointment later today,” I
supplied. “I wanted to come and visit you. I’m meeting a friend for
lunch, too.”

“Good. I hope it’s a male friend.”

My mouth twitched as I tried not to laugh.
“No, it’s a girlfriend. Her name is Kat. We’ve been friends for
years. I’m not dating yet.”

“Sarelle, you have to get back out and meet
someone. I know Ken’s had his eyes on you for a while now, and
truthfully, much as I’d like you to be a granddaughter to me, he’s
too old for you. You need someone your own age.” She drew herself
up in her chair, her expression exasperated. “I’m old enough that I
can say what I like.”

I didn’t like being pushed, nor to be
reminded of her grandson’s more than friendly affection for me.
“Flora, I don’t really want to discuss this.”

“You never want to discuss it, Sar. I’ve been
bringing this up every time you visit me for the past four months,
and you always say that this isn’t the time to talk about it.
Brennan is dead, and he’d want you to move on.”

I swallowed hard. “I know he wouldn’t want me
to feel like this. But I’m better now, really. I’m used to being
alone now. I’m not sure I want another relationship anytime soon.”
That was a bald-faced lie, but I was making it alone, and that was
what counted, right?

“People come in and out of your life,” Flora
said gently. “It’s the time you have with them that matters, not
that they might not be around forever.”

I looked at her, vowing silently if she
pressed any harder at me, I was going to leave.

As if sensing she’d gone too far, Flora let
out a small sigh, then smiled happily. “How’s your mother?” she
asked. “How are your pets? Do you have all your firewood in for the
winter yet? Tell me all your news.”

“They’re all fine,” I said feeling relieved
that she was dropping it. Then I launched into a tale of rescuing a
baby turkey from Ghost, and the heavy moment passed.

I stayed for another forty-five minutes.
After hugging her quickly, I hurried outside to my Explorer,
looking at my watch and swearing that I was late.

Ken was there by the SUV door, waiting for
me, holding a plate that I’d given him some cookies on a few weeks
ago.

“Hi, Ken,” I said, trying not to sound
false.

“Hi, Sarelle,” he responded shyly.

Ken was dressed in some ragged cutoffs, and
on old T-shirt, with sneakers that had holes big enough to poke a
toe through, even though a gas company that leased his land sent
him a hefty check each month. He was pretty tight with money, but
free with his smiles and always ready to help a friend or neighbor
with a project that needed doing. I’d considered him a good friend,
until I discovered he wanted more than my friendship. I was also
annoyed that he’d recently begun letting his two beagle-hound mixes
run loose so he could stop by my house looking for them.

“I wanted to return your plate,” he said,
handing it to me. “Flora said you would probably be stopping by to
see her for her birthday, so I was going to leave it with her. Then
I saw your Explorer, and decided to wait for you.”

“I hope you both liked the cookies,” I said,
edging toward the door of my SUV. “I’m late for a lunch
appointment.”

“Well, have a good day, Sar.” He remained
standing where he was.

“You, too,” I said, opening the driver’s side
door.

“Sar, could we go out some time?” he asked
hesitantly.

I turned to face him. “Ken, I like you but
only as a friend. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said with a forced
smile. Have a good lunch date.”

* * * *

“So he finally asked you out?” Kat said in
surprise. “What did you say?”

“It happened kind of fast. I told him I
wasn’t interested. That’s it.” I shrugged, downing a fry. “Tell me
all the dirt from work. Are things as bad there as they used to
be?”

“It’s the same as when you worked there,
except that the bullshit is getting deeper, and the shovels are
getting smaller.”

We laughed together. “Tell me how
everything’s been going,” Kat asked. “I know you weren’t into Ken,
but is there anyone else new?”

I sighed a little inwardly.
From
where?
“Not yet. Don’t push, okay?”

“Hey, I’m here to do my part to tell you to
stay single,” she replied. “You won’t believe what Brett did this
past week. You know we’ve been trying to finish that house we’re
building.”

I listened to her, nibbling my remaining
fries. “I’ll help, if you need me to,” I said when she finished.
“I’ve got ladders, circular saws and other tools, and I’ve put up
drywall before, and I know how to shingle a roof—”

“Sar, you amaze me,” Kat praised. “I should
be used to it by now, but all the things you know how to do still
surprise me.”

“Hey,” I preened. “I can’t help it. My
grandfather wanted a boy, and he raised me like one. I was driving
a lawn tractor when I was six, and de-nailing boards when I was
ten. I learned to like knowing how to do things, because then I
could depend on myself, and not need anyone else.” I was proud that
I could do things that most women weren’t able to do. That most
women might not want to know how to run a chain saw or shoot a gun
had never occurred to me.

“I know, I’ve seen the pictures, from when
you were young,” Kat teased. “You even had a boy haircut!”

“Hey!” I frowned at her. “It was a short
style, but it wasn’t a boy’s haircut!”

“You made up for it as you got older,” Kat
said, smiling. “Your blond hair is to your waist now.”

“Almost,” I said, smiling again. “When I got
to be a teen, I wanted to be a girl, and not a tomboy anymore. But
I still like knowing how to do things.”

“We all get older,” she said a little
sadly.

I understood that. Our culture praised youth
in women, not experience. “All too fast.”

“Sar, I’m going to be thirty-six this year,”
Kat said hesitantly. “I look sometimes at myself, and I think how
the time has gone by, and I wonder how I got to be this older
woman—”

“You are not ‘older’ yet, not really. Neither
am I,” I said, scowling.

“You’re just thirty, Sar,” Kat said
wistfully. “It slips away so fast. I still feel twenty-something
inside. What about when I’m fifty?”

“It matters how you feel,” I said staunchly.
“If you feel young, that’s what matters.”

Kat gave me a sad smile, as if I couldn’t
understand. I quickly moved the conversation back to work,
describing a funny incident with my co-workers. Soon we were
laughing again. Nevertheless, a sense of mortality settled on me in
that conversation and stayed with me, even as we pretended it had
flown.

* * * *

I cranked up an old Def Leppard Album on the
way home, listening to “Make Love like a Man.”

Maybe it was time for me to start dating. My
sex drive was certainly strong enough.

I sang at the top of my lungs with the song,
and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, making me reach for
my sunglasses. In the sudden warmth, I decided I felt really good.
Maybe I was ready to finally get out there, and meet someone. I was
a widow, and I had lost someone I loved. I wasn’t dead, and it was
maybe time to stop acting like I was.

One song switched to the next, and the next,
and I decided, yes, maybe this weekend, I would go to that singles
dance that they were holding in the next town over. I was due for
some fun. It was time...

Then “Have You Ever Needed Someone so Bad?”
came on. Though I turned it off immediately, its first few lines
popped the happy thought of my day, and left me feeling deflated.
As I pulled into my driveway, the sight of the big blue barn and
the sagging corral made me melancholy as I drove past them into the
garage.

There were no horses in any of the stalls.
We’d talked about getting horses someday, as we both had liked to
ride, but Brennan’s life had ended before someday had come. I had
no time for horses now, anyway.

I parked next to Brennan’s vehicle, a red SUV
like mine. I’d kept it, as I couldn’t bear to sell it just yet.

I walked inside, and my dogs ran up to greet
me, Darkness with a toy in her mouth to let me know she had been
thinking of me, Ghost just with his usual happy grin. After
changing my clothes, I told them it was time we got to work.

* * * *

The chainsaw bit deeply into the wood,
severing the branch in seconds. I eased up on the throttle, so as
not to hit the ground with the chain and dull it. I didn't want to
have to waste time changing it today. I had enough to do getting
this last little bit of wood in. I opened the throttle again, and
finished the log, the 16" cut pieces falling in a line. The cuts
weren't quite as straight as I would have liked, but they'd do well
enough to split the pieces anyway. I decided to call it a day after
this last piece.

I'd gotten up early to get to my doctor’s
appointment, and started the wood work when I'd gotten home a few
hours ago. There would be time enough tomorrow to take care of some
of this work. Rain was forecast for overnight, but that wouldn't
impair my gathering up the wood. I could also get some splitting
done, too...

When did you stop asking people to chaperone
you using the woodsplitter?

I finished cutting, and cleaned off the saw,
thinking hard. It bothered me that I’d broken my promise to
Brennan, even if nothing had come of it. But what bothered me more
was that I couldn’t remember when exactly it had happened or why.
I’d always respected the inherent danger and power of my machinery.
I was always super cautious.
Wasn’t I?

Somewhere this last summer, I had begun
chainsawing alone. That wasn’t cautious. That was asking for
trouble of the worst kind.
You don’t even have your cell
phone.

Disturbed, I stored the chainsaw, the gas and
oil mix used to fuel it, and the chain lube in my barn. As I closed
the door, and walked back to my home, I thought to myself that
there was really no need to push myself so hard. I really had
enough wood for this winter. What I was cutting now was surplus,
most likely to be stored for next year. My mind shied away from
continuing the thought, knowing that I had been pushing myself to
work until I was exhausted so I wouldn’t have to face an empty
house.

You would never have done this when Brennan
was alive.

I stopped suddenly and looked at the forest.
Part of me wanted to go in there, to leave all this behind, and
just walk for a while. But my reason said that was stupid, that
bears had been sighted in the woods, and night was already falling.
Don’t do it, Sar.

I trudged inside and poured myself a glass of
wine, petting Jessica and Cavity. Rain lashed the windows, the
sudden pounding startling me.

Why had I been tempted to take a walk in
the woods, when I knew that I shouldn’t? Was I really getting
better?
I didn’t think of Brennan as much as I’d done last
fall, but it had been a year and I still felt a weight on me, a
heaviness that always seemed to return when I was alone. I wasn’t
happy most days, not like I’d been once. Kat was right, that there
were only going to be another ten years before I turned 40. It
seemed urgent suddenly to make them count.

Putting one foot in front of the other, to
keep getting up and trying to make what had been a great life into
a passable one had gotten me functioning. Maybe it was time to seek
help from others to finish my healing.

My mother and stepfather had been there for
me all through that hellish first month. It was at the request of
my mother that I had met with a grief counselor for a few sessions.
When I had talked about my feelings during the sessions, he said
only that my thoughts were normal. I replayed the last conversation
I’d had with the counselor again in my head, searching for some
clue as to what I could do about the way I felt. Stymied, I
resolved to call him tomorrow and make another appointment.

* * * *

“When am I supposed to feel alive again?”

“Sarelle, it’s different for everyone. Some
people take longer than others to grieve. You just need to keep
trying.”

“But I still feel hopeless, like there is
something missing in my life. I need that to go away. I want my joy
back.”

“Sarelle, it’s not going to go away all at
once.”

“I understand that, but when am I going to
feel like associating with my friends? My family?”