Tender Vow (26 page)

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When eleven o’clock rolled around, Jason thought he might go crazy with worry over Rachel. Had she enjoyed spending the evening with Luigi the lowlife? He couldn’t conceive that she had much in common with the former high school athlete-turned-cop. Actually, Larry Rossini wasn’t a lowlife at all, but the fact that he had eyes for Rachel made him less than likable in Jason’s eyes.

His memories of Larry were not necessarily those of a mild-mannered schoolboy. If anything, he’d been wild, but then, who was he to talk? He’d given his parents plenty of headaches in his day. As teens, Jason and John had always liked Larry and even spent a lot of time with him. He and John had exchanged wit and wisdom on the debate team and served jointly on student council; he and Jason had shared athletic equipment and played team sports together. Even so, their friendships had never gone much deeper than that. Larry’s family was entirely different from theirs. Having been raised by a single mom who brought home her fair share of male friends, Larry would often complain about not wanting to go home at night, particularly when his mother’s latest beau came calling. So, Jason’s mom had made the living room couch available to him for as often as he needed it. Too bad Jason didn’t have a little more of his mom’s goodwill.

He was sprawled on his parents’ sofa in his running shorts, chomping on Doritos and sipping cola, his bare legs outstretched across the coffee table, trying to avoid the wet ring formed on the glass surface by his tumbler. Were his mom awake, she would have had his hide. The TV remote lay idly in his hands, his fingers punching random numbers. It seemed that every show focused on the approaching midnight hour. Times Square revealed hundreds of thousands of celebrants, and non-network stations played old movies and sitcom reruns.

“You’re still awake?” His mom’s quiet voice interrupted his musings. Instinctively, his bare feet hit the floor. Amazing how the years had failed to slow his automatic response at being caught with his feet on the coffee table. She laughed. “For goodness’ sake, Jay, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She moved into the room and plopped lazily into the chair across from him, drawing her well-worn housecoat snugly around her while balancing a toeless slipper on one foot, her graying brown hair mussed from lying down. He’d intended to go back to his place tonight, but after talking to Rachel earlier, he’d decided to stay at his parents and then call her first thing in the morning to find out how her date with Luigi had gone. Maybe he’d even go over there to ask her in person.

“I didn’t expect you to be up and about. You come out here to watch the ball drop?”

She chuckled. “Hardly. That kind of thing doesn’t interest me. Just came out to check on you and maybe get a drink of water. Want anything?”

He shook his head and leaned back against the sofa cushion, careful to keep his feet square on the floor. “Still checking up on me, are you?” He pointed the remote at the TV to flick it off. Moments with his mom were more meaningful than listening to some senseless monologue or ridiculous sitcom.

“Once a mom, always a mom. When I look at you, I don’t always see a thirty-year-old man.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “Sometimes, I see that little five-year-old skipping down the sidewalk on his first day of kindergarten, backpack almost too much to handle. And, sometimes, I see a junior high boy trying to find his identity, making mistakes along the way, falling, and brushing himself off before regaining his balance and going on his way.” She looked at the low-burning flame in the gas fireplace. “And then, there are times when I see the grown man I’m just so proud of, I think my buttons will burst.”

“Mom.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Your dad feels the same, you know. He just has a harder time expressing it.”

He paused before responding. “Speaking of Dad, why has he always been so hard on me? And don’t tell me it’s just my point of view. It’s been obvious over the years.”

She gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a little too much like him—stubborn and usually right. I think”—she scratched her temple and seemed to weigh her words—“in some ways, he’s jealous of you.”

“What? Jealous of his own son?”

“Well, maybe I chose the wrong word. I do know this: your dad always regretted never earning a college degree. His parents were so poor, they couldn’t rub two pennies together, and he never did raise enough on his own for tuition.”

“What about student loans? Need-based scholarships?”

“You know what a miser your dad is. He never believed in debt—not even for college.”

That much was true. While John and Jason had both held jobs to help with their books, tuition, and room and board, their dad had scraped the bottom of his savings account every year so they wouldn’t have to take out loans. Jason wondered if he’d ever once thanked him for making that sacrifice.

“He always wanted the best for you boys. Maybe he tried living out his dreams through you, to a degree.”

“He’s done well in his job with the postal service. He should be proud of himself for his accomplishments.”

“I’ve told him that many times, always thanked him for being a great provider.”

“John always knew from the beginning what he wanted out of life. Dad liked that. I was too erratic, too impulsive. I can imagine how I drove Dad nuts. You, as well.”

“You kept me on my knees,” she said with a tiny spurt of laughter. “I never doubted for a minute that you would come around, though, and my prayer was always that God would keep you safe until that day. Thank the Lord He did.” She paused, as if hesitating, then added, “And John was not a perfect son, honey.”

“Pretty near perfect.”

She glanced at her watch. “I thought you might have gone to Rachel’s tonight.” The abrupt change in topics indicated how very difficult it still was for her to talk about her deceased son. “You can’t fool me, honey. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“I’m still not convinced Dad approves.”

“This has nothing to do with your dad’s approval.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter one way or the other, anyway. She still sees me as just her brother-in-law.”

“I think it goes deeper, honey, but she needs time. You need to respect that.”

“She spent this evening with Larry Rossini.”

“Larry Rossini? He’s a policeman now, isn’t he? I’m pleased to hear he’s made something of his life. I just had no idea Rachel—”

“Me, neither. She’s making me crazy, Mom.”

“Now, don’t go worrying yourself over some little innocent date with Larry Rossini. If God wants this relationship to happen between you two, it will come to fruition in its time.”

He knew she was right. He pulled his big frame from the sofa and sauntered over to his mom. “Happy New Year, Mom.” He bent and kissed her warm cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for tonight.”

She patted the side of his face. “You sleep good, son,” she said.

And for the span of a few seconds, he slipped back into that little boy skin as he padded off to his childhood bedroom.

Bright sunlight peeked in through a slit in the blinds, creating an arc of colorful light that bounced across Rachel’s bedroom ceiling. She forced her eyes open to its brilliance. They were crusted over from tears she’d freely shed in the night, and so opening them was difficult. She rubbed at the corners and noted the golden ray of light coming in from outside. Apparently, the snow had stopped, and now the sun’s glow created perfect images of glistening diamonds on the windowsill. In those wee hours, she thanked the Lord for His love and faithfulness and for the promise of spring after a long and dreary winter season. It would come, just as surely as her wounded heart would heal.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at John’s box of mementos, which now held no more mysteries. Strewn about were old yearbooks, faded letters, school papers, and notebooks containing facts and figures that he had memorized for his debate team tournaments. There were a couple of trophies, an old book of poems, some of which had been marked and underlined, and the brown, leather-bound Bible he’d received from his parents as a high school graduation present. He had used it from then until Rachel had bought him a new one several Christmases ago. She’d thumbed through the featherlight pages and read over passages he’d highlighted over time.

There were childhood photo albums, a small box of pictures he’d never organized, and several journals he’d kept over the years that she’d never before found the courage to read. Shifting under the covers, she swept a hand across the thin layer of paper she’d been holding on to when she’d finally drifted off to sleep. It was a love letter from her husband, one he’d never given to her. Perhaps he’d meant to wait till that perfect moment. She read it now for at least the dozenth time.

My love, words cannot possibly express how grateful I am that you chose me as your life partner. I am swept away with wonder every time I think of it. I was struck by something C. S. Lewis wrote in The Four Loves to describe love as a great risk. He said, in essence, that to love is to be vulnerable. If you love something-anything-your heart will be hurt and might even get broken. If you want to guard it and keep it in one piece, you can’t give it to anyone, not even a pet. You must avoid filling it with any enjoyable activities and should instead lock it up in a safe, selfish place. But in that place-a coffin, an airless casket-it will change. It won’t get broken, but it will become unbreakable, impregnable, beyond redemption. To love, you must be vulnerable. Being vulnerable with you is easy, as you are so thoughtful and careful not to hurt me. Yet, even if you were to take my heart and run it through a shredder, my life would still be richer for having loved you.

The moment I first laid eyes on you at Harvest Community Church, my little seven-year-old heart did a flip. Your golden tendrils seemed to stretch clear to the bottom of your back; your dancing blue eyes matched the summer sky. You see, even then, I knew a real beauty when I spotted one.

Unfortunately, my younger brother had designs on you, as well. But I let him have it in the kisser a time or two until he finally got the hint that you would one day be mine. We certainly had our moments all through school, didn’t we? Your trying to decide whom to choose, Jason or me. Thank you for making me the victor! One day I hope my brother will forgive me. (Ha!)

The day you said “I do" was the day I realized my full purpose in life. God put us here to worship and honor Him, and marrying you made that easier for me to do. In you, I saw purity, honesty, and goodness. Your love and worship of the God who created and designed us to love each other made loving and honoring Him all the more natural. Thank you, my darling wife. I sometimes wonder what our children will be like. I hope they wear your smile and inherit your sweetness. God knows they’ll be better off if He patterns them from your blueprint!

Sometimes I think you will outlive me, although I can never pinpoint why I have that notion. If you do, remember me with devotion, but don’t waste time living in my memory, Rachel. Instead, live to make a divine difference in someone else’s life. Give of yourself and perhaps even love again, if God so wills it. Now, this may sound strange to you, but I’d truly approve of you marrying my brother if he were available. (And why I wrote such an idiotic thing is beyond me! A twinge of jealousy just came over me.) The truth is, it is hard to imagine you with anyone else but Jay, probably because we spent so much time laughing, running, joking, playing, crying, and eating together. Remember the forts we built out behind Mr. Frandsen’s property? And the dead snake we buried, followed by the pact we made to never walk over that grave as long as we lived? And do you remember that time I first kissed your cheek on our back porch and then ran into the house out of sheer embarrassment? What were we, twelve and ten?

We had no idea what it was to have a care back then, did we? Oh, I love the innocence of childhood play. If only we could turn back time. Or not. I think perhaps it’s best to always live in the moments God gives us-with hearts of gratitude and joy.

Now the question: why did I write this, and will I actually give it to you or put it to rest? I believe I’ll ponder it for a while, maybe stick it in “my box."

I am forever yours, my love, no matter what the future holds.

John

Tears rolled down Rachel’s cheeks as she carefully refolded the paper along its original creases. John must have written it shortly after they’d married, for they obviously hadn’t had Meagan yet. She was amazed by the irony—his haunting notion that he would leave this earth ahead of her; his declaration, albeit in jest, that he would approve of her falling in love again with no one but his own brother; his hint at future children. The funny thing was, most people did say that Meagan and Johnny favored her in looks and personalities.

The phone rang, and she picked it up before it sounded again, not wanting it to wake the children. Wiping at her tears, she willed strength into her voice.

“Hello?”

“How was your date with Luigi?”

Her heart leaped, and she reveled for a moment in the sound of Jason’s voice before her pulse settled down again. “You couldn’t say hello before asking?”

“Hello. How was your date?” He sounded snappish.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Crank.” A wisp of a smile tickled the corners of her mouth. The clock registered 7:30. Had he been stewing all night? The very thought made her want to giggle. Should she put him out of his misery?

“Same to you. So, what did you two do, anyway? Did you get a babysitter? Did he give you a New Year’s kiss? Don’t even tell me he did, Rachel.”

“Larry Rossini is a gentleman, Jay—a fine one, which is more than I can say for some men I know.”

“He used to be a party-going crazy man.”

“And you would know that because you were with him at these parties, correct?”

“I’ve changed. Has he?”

“I couldn’t really say. We didn’t talk that much.”

“You didn’t talk? Well, what did you do, then?”

“Um, let’s see here—”

“Rachel, I’m going a little crazy with jealousy. I don’t care how much of a gentleman you may think he is; he’s still a man.”