Promises to Keep (19 page)
Catherine protested, “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Oh yes, I heard. And what I hear is a little coward, afraid to be bold and reach out for what she wants. In my heart, I believe you could have Travis tomorrow if you put your mind to it. And if you used all of the advantages you
do
have.”
She pulled at Catherine until they sat side by side on the narrow settee. Her mother insisted, “You have Ruth in the palm of your hand. Maybe you don’t think she has influence over her son, but she does. She favors you as a daughter-in-law. She always has. If you want Travis, you have the opportunity to get him. Use it, Cathy.”
“Not like this. He wouldn’t love me, Mother—”
“How do you know, darling? How do you know he wouldn’t fall in love with you? For heaven’s sake, you’ve never given him much encouragement, from what I’ve seen. Have you ever flirted with him, tried to get to know him other than talk of school and such? You’re a lovely young woman. You certainly have as much chance, if not more than anyone else, of getting him to notice you, become fascinated by you.”
“I just don’t think it’s an honest way to proceed. It’s like I’d try to trick him.”
Her mother gave a righteous huff. “And you don’t think it’s fair to trick a man into seeing things your way? If we women didn’t use what wiles we have, none of us would ever have gotten married and had you children. Men don’t think about settling down, Cathy. Men think about manly things. It’s up to women to train them into considering love, commitment, family. It’s up to you.”
With that, her mother rose, leaned over to brush a kiss over Catherine’s cheek. Her stride was its usual bustle of energy but in the open doorway, she turned and delivered one last parting shot. “If you decide you want Travis, you know what you have to do. I raised a smart, resourceful girl. Think about it.”
Catherine sat there for several minutes after her mother exited the room, and wondered if, all these years, she’d simply given the impression she didn’t care one way or another if she and Travis were even nodding acquaintances, much less anything more. Wondered just how much influence Ruth
did
have, over her son.
Wondered if a new dress—and possibly a complete hair and facial makeover as well as an attitude adjustment—might be the answer for her.
Oh, why not? She supposed she could fit a few more dresses into her closet. She rose, moved to the abandoned chair by the window and picked up her book, returning it to its slot on the shelf next to the desk. It looked as if she’d be too busy in the next few weeks to read much more of it.
She had a party to plan for.
Travis laid a dark blue henley shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans on the bed. Beat-up sneakers sat on the floor next to the closet. It was a far cry from the cashmere jackets and the leather tassled loafers he forced himself to wear on those occasions when he gave in to his mother’s damned blackmail, and took Catherine out. At least for this evening, he’d go out for pleasure and not duty.
He’d have one last bout of fun with his frat brothers before he left for Thompkin. He’d tolerate the obligatory visit with his family and deal with the stuffy birthday party his mother planned. He should refuse to leave campus, but he knew she’d push the issue if he balked.
It suited him to let her think she had him by the short hairs, and chuckle over the phone to Janice Cabot weekly as they congratulated each other for their latest bout of scheming.
Early on, he’d struggled at Yale and let his mother’s unbending attitude get to him. When it was almost too late to salvage his grade point average, he realized the only way to get through the rest of college was to get his mother off his back. The only way to accomplish
that,
was to make her think she really controlled him. And in her mind, one aspect of control meant pushing Catherine at him regularly. For his own academic sanity, Travis gave in.
He tugged on the jeans and shirt, smoothing his hair back into place, and thought about Catherine as he tied his sneakers. To be honest, she wasn’t all that awful as a companion. She was easy on the eyes, intelligent, and well spoken. She knew when to be quiet and when to offer conversation. She seemed to understand and accept his silences. Another thing she’d accepted was his up-front honestly about why he saw her socially.
He still remembered their first lunch together, in a corner booth at Bali Bistro during a particularly boisterous lunchtime rush. As their stilted conversation lagged, Catherine placed her sandwich on the plate and folded her hands in her lap, her eyes steady on his face. “Why did you ask me to lunch, Travis?”
It was a blunt, yet honest, question, and he’d told her the truth. “Because if I didn’t, my mother would nag me to death. I don’t want to have to listen to her. How about you, Catherine?”
She flushed, but her eyes remained on his. “The same, I suppose. Nagging mother.” She shrugged helplessly. “Over the years, I’ve tried to tell her, Travis. I’ve tried to get her to give it up. She doesn’t listen. She never has.”
He could sympathize.
That first lunch set the tone for others to come. In time, dinner dates were added, but only after a strenuous prod from his mother. Every time he protested, she’d mention the Turners, and how it would be so easy to make a few calls and “set their trashy world on its ear.” Or she’d threaten to cut off his school tuition. He despised feeling weak. He’d sworn to Annie he wouldn’t be manipulated, and now here he was, letting his mother dictate to him.
If his father could stand up for him, his mother wouldn’t dare do this. And Travis hated feeling resentful for it, because it made him less than a good son and more of a selfish one.
Yet another reason to hold no respect and even less love, for his mother—and also to suffer guilt for the lack.
He’d just come through a hellish semester, with many of his toughest classes scheduled together, enough to frazzle his brain and exhaust his patience. Within his heart, there formed a hard kernel of resentment for the way his wants had little or no bearing any longer.
Whenever he returned to the Hall, Dad didn’t know he was even there. His father sat in a chair by the window for a few hours daily, staring down at his hands. At night, he lay on his back in a bed with guardrails on each side. It broke Travis’s heart each time he came home, another pressure and worry that added itself to everything else he dealt with.
Afterwards, he’d escape to campus with a sigh of relief, even though he dreaded the return plunge into his academic workload. Once eager to study at a fiendish pace and thus graduate early, he now wished for the semesters to slow way down. Because that way he could put off, a while longer, the inevitable: being pressured to slap a ring on Catherine’s finger.
And, damn it, the absence of Annie in his life was a never-ending ache.
Sunlight poured from the kitchen window and warmed Annie’s face as she looked out over the back yard. Mama’s garden showed new growth, early seedlings breaking through the soil, their tender leaves reaching toward the sun. She could relate. For it seemed the past few years, she’d been doing the same. Growing. Reaching.
She refilled her coffee cup and brought it to the table, adding a generous dollop of cream and three heaping spoons of sugar to the rich brew. The milky, sweet concoction settled on her tongue, and she hummed in appreciation as she sipped.
“Yuck.” Susan voiced her opinion of Annie’s chosen morning beverage and reached for her can of Coke. “How can you drink that nasty stuff at the crack of dawn?”
Annie made a face at her. “It’s almost ten. I had to drag you out of bed by your toes, and you’ve been complaining ever since. And you’ve got room to talk. Who drinks warm soda pop for breakfast, anyhow?”
“Diet soda pop. I’m trying to lose five pounds.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?” Annie gave her a disbelieving once over. “You’re gorgeous, Susan.”
“You’d say that no matter what ‘cause you’re my sister and you have to love me.”
“Oh, brother.” Annie grabbed for Susan’s long ponytail and yanked it, then drained her cup and carried it to the sink. “Are you going with us or not?”
Susan pretended to consider. “Let me think. Going back to sleep or mucking around town. Which, I might remind you, we have done to death already, all our lives. Gee, I wonder which one I’ll choose?”
“You always were a lazy bum.” Annie dried her hands on a dishtowel. “I have to rescue Mama from Hank. Meet us for lunch, later.”
“Maybe. You got your phone? I’ll call you, let you know.”
“I don’t have any numbers loaded in.”
“Well, criminy, give it to me. What’s the point of having a phone if you don’t use it? I’ll bet you’ve never called anyone, have you? And you’ve only had it, what? Six months?” With an exasperated snort, Susan snatched the cell phone from Annie’s hand and started punching buttons.
Annie mumbled, “Five and a half months. You know I hate talking into those silly things, Suze. I don’t see why I have to have one.”
“Don’t call me
Suze
.” She said it absently, as she finished programming phone numbers. “And you have to have one because they’re essential for emergencies, not to mention when your sister needs to get hold of you in a hurry.” She handed it back to Annie, who rudely stuck out her tongue. Identical grins split their faces, and they both chuckled.
“Don’t go back to bed, okay? Come to lunch with us,” Annie cajoled.
“I’ll think about it.” Susan opened the cupboard and grabbed another diet soda pop as Annie laughed and headed up to the narrow bedroom she’d shared with her sister, years ago.
It hadn’t changed very much. She rooted in the crowded closet for a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved blouse, unsure if the clothes were hers or Susan’s. She looked around as she laid the outfit on the bed and added a fresh set of underwear. The same unevenly hemmed lace curtains hung at the window that Mama had shown her and Susan how to sew. The same old dressers they’d painted pale pink when they were kids sat, one in each corner. Mama found the antique floor mirror at a flea market for a dollar and figured out how to re-silver it so the reflection wasn’t all spotty. It still stood near the door.
Annie loved this room. When she was a little girl, she’d often felt trapped in it. Now the memories that bounced off the walls and ceiling made her feel good.
“Ma-ma!” The sweet baby voice and the stomping feet, toddling down the hallway from the bathroom, also made her feel very good, as she stepped outside the door and caught the chubby body of her son in her arms. She swung him up and buried her nose in his neck, causing him to shriek in glee.
“He got away from me, slippery little dickens.” Her mama came down the hallway after him, a rumpled sleeper in one hand and a damp towel in the other. She dropped the towel and made a claw out of her fingers, growling at the child, who screamed with laughter when those curled fingers caught him right in the tummy. He squirmed and wriggled, this adorable boy, caught between two women who loved him fiercely.
Henry Travis Turner, nicknamed “Hank,” already knew what family meant.
With a smile, Annie gave up her son when he held out his arms for his “Gammy,” and her mama hoisted him upside down for the short walk to the bedroom. She placed him on Susan’s bed, and he kicked his legs happily while she wrestled him into a fresh diaper and tee shirt. As she tugged it into place and let him bounce on the mattress, she inquired, “So, what’s the plan today?”
“Lunch at the Hut. Bring Susan, even if you have to drag her butt back out of bed. I don’t get to spend enough time with all of you as it is, without her sleeping away most of my visit.” Annie pawed through a tangle of makeup and hair ties on the vanity dresser, until she found Susan’s brush. She unwound her hair from its braid and ran the bristles through the heavy strands, while she watched Hank bounce and giggle. “I’m glad we decided to stay an extra week.”
Her mama ran a gentle hand over Annie’s hair. “I’m glad, too. I just wish your daddy could get away from work. I know he’s upset because he hasn’t been home very much.” She snuggled Hank when he crawled onto her lap and settled in with drowsy eyes and two fingers in his mouth. Her lips brushed his forehead in a loving kiss.
It had been a wonderful visit. Annie knew Mama was thrilled that she’d chosen to stay another week. Hank scampered all over the house now. It was hard enough being so far away. She’d badly needed her mama, too.
Mama’s soft voice roused her from her thoughts. “He’s so beautiful, honey. I want you to know I’m proud of you.” There was a catch in her voice that Annie knew could grow into full-blown tears, which would in turn get her going. Then Hank would sense her sadness and start crying, a chain reaction she’d seen more than once.
She sat down next to her mama and wrapped her arms around both of them, Hank squished in the middle. He giggled as she declared, “It’s a Hank sandwich!” The silliness did the trick, turning would-be sniffles into laughter. For a few seconds they held the position, until Hank squirmed. As she gazed at her son, Annie felt her eyes film over despite her efforts at humor.
He
was
a beautiful child, sunny tempered, loving and easygoing. Black hair, thick and silky, lay in soft curls over his head. He had Annie’s deep brown eyes, but otherwise he was the image of his daddy. With a sigh, she released Hank and settled next to her mama as she finished brushing her hair.
Much of the anger she’d felt for Travis had mellowed. She hadn’t spoken to him since that afternoon in late May when he’d walked away from her, not knowing what he’d left behind. Her main worry these days formed around a possible custody war. Which could be imminent if Ruth Quincy were to discover Hank’s birth before Annie graduated college and could fully support him on her own. And even then, Ruth could probably hire a fleet of lawyers who’d drag it all into court, find loopholes, and buy the right to take Hank from her.
Ruth might hate the mother of her grandson, but she’d want him. Annie would do anything to protect her child, even if she had to lie and hide out. Both of which she’d done. Travis might be old enough, but he certainly wasn’t mature enough to hold firm against his own mother.
But how sad that Travis missed out on the sweet boy who currently dozed against her mama’s shoulder, one chubby hand clutching the front of her sweater. How very sad.
“Annie? What are you going to do, honey?”
She looked up from the neat braid she was securing with one of Susan’s stretchy hair bands. “Do? What do you mean, do? About what?”
Her mama glanced down at Hank, then quirked a brow at Annie, who sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean.” She stroked her fingers over Hank’s flushed cheek. “I’m not going to do anything. You know I can’t. I’ll stay another week before I head back to get an early start at the bookstore.” She stood and gathered the clothing she’d set at the foot of the bed. “I want to see how fall semester goes before I increase my hours at work. Hank loves being with Aunt Nan, so that’s one major worry off my mind.” She smiled in reassurance. “It’s coming together, Mama. It’ll be all right.”
