The Promise (11 page)

 20 

H
enry walked through the front door of the Java Stop. As he did, he thought he saw something that didn't make any sense: a young man behind the counter who looked very much like his nephew, Tom Anderson, wearing the same garb as the other employees. The young man looked up at him and a startled expression came over his face; he quickly ducked through a doorway and disappeared.

They say people have a twin somewhere in the world, and every now and then Henry would see someone who bore a striking resemblance to someone else he knew. But usually, the person they looked like lived somewhere else, maybe a different state, sometimes even in a different time period. And when you looked at the person more closely, differences would become readily apparent. Henry had only seen this guy for a moment, but he looked
exactly
like Tom. And he was right here in Lake Mary, where Tom lived. It had to be Tom.

But that made no sense.

Henry walked up to the counter and stood in line. He was greeted by a man named Frank, according to his badge. Frank asked if he was ready to order. Henry had been so distracted,
he hadn't even looked up at the menu. He turned around; there was no one behind him. “I'm sorry, I need another minute, if that's okay.”

“Sure, take your time.”

Henry stepped off to the side and tried to peek through the doorway the man had ducked into, but he didn't see anyone.

Noticing this, Frank said, “Can I help you?”

“I don't mean to be nosy, but I thought I saw someone I know go through that doorway.”

“You mean Tom?”

Hearing Tom's name startled Henry. “Uh . . . yes. Tom. Tom Anderson—is that his name?”

Frank nodded. “That's him. He's our new assistant manager. Want me to get him?”

Henry didn't know how to answer that. What was Tom doing here—in a place like this—in the middle of the day? He was supposed to be at the bank. He wouldn't be surprised to learn Tom had taken a second job to help pay the bills, times being what they were. But he'd expect to find him working at night somewhere, not here in the middle of the day. “Yes, that would be nice. Could you get him? And I'll look up there and figure out what I want.”

Henry eyed the menu board, trying to get his mind on the task at hand. He saw several things that he had ordered before. One in particular stood out. A Reuben on rye. The thing was, the last time he'd ordered this sandwich was when he'd met Tom here for lunch. Had to be eight or nine months ago.

What was going on?

Frank came back through the doorway and up to the counter. “I'm sorry, Tom stepped outside for a moment. He's on his cell phone. I can send him over to your table when he gets back in.”

“That'd be great, thank you.”

“Know what you want now?”

“I'll take the Reuben on rye with chips, pickle, and a diet soda.”

“You want anything from the café with that?”

“I might get something on the way out.”

“You can step on down to the other side of the counter, and we'll have that up for you in a sec.”

Henry walked down to where Frank had pointed and joined the others who were now just picking up their food. This was just the craziest thing. He had no idea what to expect from here. But he had a sneaking suspicion that coming to the Java Stop hadn't entirely been his own idea.

Tom put his cell phone back in his pocket. He wasn't talking to anyone. He had just pretended to when the back door had swung open and Frank said, “Hey, Tom, there's a guy at the counter who thinks he knows you.” Tom had pointed to his cell phone, and Frank went back inside.

This charade had bought Tom a few extra seconds, at best.

He paced back and forth. His heart raced, his temples pulsated in his head. Uncle Henry, of all people. He had considered the remote possibility that someone he knew might walk through those doors one day. But the Java Stop was a full twenty minutes from where he lived. And there were at least three other coffee shops between here and there.

What should he say? What
could
he say?

He was doomed. The jig was up. That's all there was to it. He'd have to go back in there and face this. If it were someone else—anyone else—he might be able to come up with a story. But it was Uncle Henry. Uncle Henry wasn't just anyone. Uncle Henry seemed to have a direct line to God. For a moment, Tom even wondered whether God himself had sent him. How else would his uncle have known to come here?

Tom's relationship with God had all but shriveled these past five months. He didn't pray anymore, didn't read his Bible anymore. Of course, he still went to church with Jean and the kids, but he didn't get anything out of it. How could he? He knew God enough to know he wouldn't think too highly of Tom's little scheme.

He looked down at the curb, saw a crunched soda can, and kicked it as far as it would go. Staying out here any longer would just cause more trouble, since he'd have to come up with some kind of lie to tell Frank. He walked back toward the door, opened it, and walked in. Two more people had come up to the counter in his absence. Not much of a lunch hour rush.

“There he is over there,” Frank said. “In the corner by the window. Says he's your uncle Henry.”

Tom didn't want to look over, but he did. Of course, Uncle Henry was looking right at him. He smiled and waved. Tom saw confusion in his eyes. Tom nodded, forced a smile.

“Regina's almost finished with his order,” Frank said. “We're not all that busy right now. Why don't you take it over to him? He was supposed to wait here to pick it up. Guess he doesn't know that.”

“I guess I could do that.”

“Does he live around here?”

“No, he lives in New Smyrna Beach.”

“Did he know you work here?”

“I don't see how he could have,” Tom said. But yet, he thought, here he was. Tom walked toward Regina. She was finishing up Uncle Henry's Reuben. “How about I take that off your hands? The guy who ordered it is my uncle. Well, great-uncle.”

“Sure,” Regina said. “He's right over—”

“I see him.”

“Don't forget the pickle.”

Tom grabbed a pickle and set it on the plate. He grabbed
another one, remembering how much Uncle Henry liked pickles, then headed to his table. He felt like a man walking to the gallows.

“Hey, Tom, how are you?”

Uncle Henry always had such a wonderful smile, such warmth and love shining through his eyes. Tom hated the idea of disappointing him almost as much as the idea of disappointing his father.

Almost, but not quite.

“Hey, Uncle Henry.” Tom set the tray down. “Should have guessed you'd pick the Reuben on rye.”

“I do love a good Reuben, and they make great ones here.”

“Yes, they do.” Tom sat across from him. He glanced back at the counter. A few more people had trickled in but nothing Frank and Regina couldn't handle. “Guess you're wondering what I'm doing here.”

Uncle Henry smiled. “Well, kind of. I actually called your cell phone a little while ago, assuming you'd be at the bank. I was hoping we could grab lunch together. You know, like we used to whenever I'd come over.”

Tom had always enjoyed those visits. “Well, I wish I could eat lunch with you, but as you can see . . . I'm serving it.” Uncle Henry didn't reply. Clearly, he was waiting for Tom to explain. “The thing is, I lost my job at the bank. I'm just working here temporarily until I land another IT job.” Saying that didn't hurt too badly, Tom thought. But of course, that wasn't the hard part.

“So sorry to hear that. From what I recall, you really liked that job.”

“Yeah, I really did.” Tom looked down at the table.

“So I guess this layoff came as a surprise?”

Tom looked up, sighed. “Totally. But it wasn't just the fact I got laid off, which was bad enough. Somebody else should have gotten the ax instead of me. A friend—well, someone I thought
was a friend—stabbed me in the back, conned the people around me, and stole my job.”

“That's too bad,” Uncle Henry said. “The world's a dark place sometimes. Cold and dark. When did this happen?”

Should Tom tell him? Did he need to know? He got this feeling that he had better say it straight. This was Uncle Henry. “Five months ago.”

Uncle Henry looked shocked. “Five months,” he repeated. “Wow. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Tom. I should've looked in on you sooner.”

“No, don't worry about it, Uncle Henry. It's not your fault.”

“I know, but getting laid off like that . . . it's a pretty tough thing to go through. If Aunt Myra and I had known, maybe we could have helped you guys out somehow.”

“That's kind of you to say.”

“That fellow at the counter said you just started working here.”

“That's right.”

“So . . . what have you been doing before this?”

“Looking for work, mostly. And doing some studying on the internet. I'm trying to get ready for this big test that should help me improve my chances of getting hired.”

“Oh. So how's Jean taking it? How are you guys doing emotionally?”

Tom tensed up. Here goes . . .

“She doesn't know.”

 21 

M
ichele Anderson stared at her cell phone, wrestling with the idea of calling her sister-in-law, Jean. It had been four days since Michele had stopped by Jean's house to give her the news that she and Allan were going to start trying to have a baby right away.

Michele was off today. As a substitute teacher, unfortunately, she didn't get to work every day. She was so grateful for Allan's job, that they could make it on his salary alone. Hopefully, someday soon she'd be a stay-at-home mom like Jean. But her visit with her sister-in-law revealed one area of Jean's life Michele didn't want to imitate: the way she and Tom communicated with each other.

Better said, the way they
didn't
communicate.

It really bothered Michele as she thought about this on her drive home that day. Tom was her big brother, and in some ways he was a fine man. But she didn't like the way he had idolized their father growing up. Tom wanted to be just like him. Sadly, in some areas he had succeeded. Too well.

Their father, on the whole, had been a lousy communicator, proven by the marriage crisis he and Mom had experienced last
summer. Mom had been so unhappy for so many years, and her dad had been totally clueless.

Tom was just as clueless as their dad had been. And Jean was walking down that same lonely, unhappy road that Mom had. It was only a matter of time before they ended up in the same place.

Sure, her mother and father had reconciled. It was evident her father had experienced some major changes, in his attitudes and in the way he treated Mom now. They were on their second honeymoon in Italy and seemed to be having a wonderfully romantic time. But she had seen no evidence that her dad had spent any time with Tom trying to undo his bad example.

She looked down at her cell phone again.
Just call her.
She had wanted to get closer to Jean for the last several years and got the feeling on her visit the other day that Jean wanted the same thing.
And that's what friends do, they talk. Good friends move beyond superficial things and talk about things that really matter.

This really mattered.

She had talked with Allan about all this last night before bed, and he'd agreed with her concerns. His only advice was to take it slow, to remember she was still at the bridge-building stage with Jean. For the last six years they had been more family than friends.

She pressed the send button and waited through four rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jean?”

“Hi, Michele.”

“How are you doing?”

“Pretty good. I made it through the morning with most of my sanity intact.”

Michele laughed. “What are the kids doing now?”

“They just finished lunch. Tommy is playing with some toys
on the family room rug. Carly is still in her high chair, but she looks like one of those bobble head toys you put on the dashboard. I think she's about ready for a nap.”

Michele laughed some more. It was nice to hear Jean in a good mood. She hoped this phone call wouldn't spoil it.

“So what are you calling about? You're not pregnant already.”

“No. At least I don't think so.” How should she break into this? “But I was thinking about what you said, about you being pregnant, or at least thinking you are.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure I am. Especially after taking that home pregnancy test.” Her tone had changed.

Okay, just say it.
“How did Tom react when you told him?” Michele waited through a long pause. “You haven't told him yet?”

“No, I haven't.” All the joy had left Jean's voice.

“Jean.” It came out like a scolding. She had to be careful.

“I wanted to. Believe me.”

“I do.”

“A few nights ago I was all set. I made a special dinner for him. Grilled steaks, which I never do. Fixed his favorite side dishes and dessert. Then he came home from work in that same lousy mood he always comes home in lately, and it ended in a fight.”

“I'm sorry. What was the fight about? No, don't answer that. It's none of my business.”

Jean laughed.

“What's funny?”

“The fight was partly about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Tom got mad that I talked to you about our personal business. He'd be mad now if he knew we were having this conversation. But I don't care anymore.”

What Jean said about Tom sounded so much like her dad, or the way her dad used to be.

“Of course,” Jean continued, “that's not the only thing we
argued about. I told him how you and Allan talk about everything and that I wanted our relationship to be more like that. I wanted him to open up and talk to me about what's eating him up inside about his job. But he refuses to talk about his work with me. Says when he comes home he doesn't want to think about work, let alone talk about it.” She paused, released a sigh. “After that, I wasn't in any mood to talk about having babies.”

This was so discouraging. Michele felt so bad for her. Men could be such idiots sometimes. Well, some men. “So what are you going to do?”

“Oh, I suppose I'll tell him eventually. If I am pregnant, it's not like there's any big hurry. I thought maybe I'd make an appointment with my doctor, just to be absolutely certain. Then I'll figure out another way to bring it up. But you can be sure it won't include a sirloin steak.”

“I'm sorry my brother is being such a moron.”

“I'm sorry too. But I have to say, I'm not sorry I'm talking to you. I really appreciate you calling me like this. I don't have any real friends, not any I can really talk to.”

“Well, I'm glad I called too. I probably better go, though. But you call me, anytime. I mean it. I'd really like for us to be friends.”

“I'd like that very much too,” Jean said.

They chatted a few moments more then exchanged good-byes. Michele set her phone down on the end table next to her chair. She had to do something to help Jean and Tom.

She wished she could call her mom. That's who she always called for advice. But her parents were in Italy and Michele didn't want to do anything to spoil it. It wasn't like this was some kind of emergency.

Then she got an idea. Aunt Myra. She could call her. She was only an aunt in a technical sense; she really functioned more like a grandmother. Uncle Henry and Aunt Myra had made it
abundantly clear that they really cared about their family and wanted to help them in any way they could.

Day or night, Uncle Henry had said. Call them anytime, day or night.

“Hi, Aunt Myra, how are you?”

“Michele, so good to hear from you. It's been too long. But I keep up with you all on Facebook. Sounds like your mom and dad are having a great time in Italy.”

“It really does. I'm so happy for them.”

“So what's new with you and Allan? How are you enjoying married life?”

“It's been wonderful, Aunt Myra. The honeymoon has definitely not ended yet around here. Except, of course, when I'm at work.”

“I'm so glad to hear that. So why are you calling? Is this . . .
that
call? Are you and Allan—”

“No, we're not expecting. Not yet. But we're certainly trying.” That sounded a little weird, she thought, for a conversation with your great-aunt. “But someone else you know might be.”

“Oh? Really? Who?”

“Well . . . you have to keep it to yourself. You can tell Uncle Henry, but no one else. At least for now.”

“Okay, I suppose I could do that. But why all the secrecy?”

“Well, that's part of the problem, part of the reason why I'm calling you. It's Jean, Tom's wife.”

“I'm not sure I get why that's a problem.”

“She hasn't told Tom yet, and I've been trying to get her to do that for days.”

“Oh, I see. Do you know why she hasn't told him?”

“She says it's because he's been so uptight lately . . . about money, about problems at work.”

“I see.”

“You do? Because I don't. I can't think of any reason why I wouldn't tell Allan something like that. But Tom and Jean's relationship is so different than ours. It reminds me of what my parents were like before their big crisis last summer.”

“Well, your brother is an awful lot like his father. Uncle Henry and I have talked about that before.”

“You have? Well, that's really why I called. Could you talk to Uncle Henry, see if he can do something to help Tom? I know Tom really looks up to him, and I think he'd listen to any advice Uncle Henry had to offer. Jean is really hurting. She wants a husband who will just talk to her, share what he's thinking. Tom won't do that. I'd talk to him myself, but I'm his sister. I'd probably just make him mad.”

“You're not going to believe this, but your uncle drove over there this morning for that very reason. I don't know if he was going to get to talk to Tom, though, because he works during the day, but he was gonna try. He was praying for them this morning, got a strong sense from the Lord that they might need some help.”

Michele loved this about her aunt and uncle. Such simple faith. They prayed then obeyed. “Well, they do need help, Aunt Myra. They really do. I hope Uncle Henry can connect with Tom. I'm worried they're heading down the same path my parents were.”

But Michele was almost certain Jean wouldn't put up with another twenty-plus years of this like Mom had.