The Promise (16 page)

 29 

T
he following day was Jim and Marilyn's last day in Italy, but the excitement of what she was about to do helped offset the lingering sadness about this wonderful trip coming to an end. In less than twenty minutes, she would be leaving Florence and driving the BMW they had rented this morning back to Rome on the Autostrada, traveling at least one hundred miles an hour. Jim had said, “One hundred miles per hour at the most.” Marilyn had gotten him to back off that . . . a little.

It was already midafternoon. Per the deal they had struck at breakfast, Jim had driven the Beemer at normal speeds on the way here, taking the scenic route. They had stopped to take pictures and sightsee a little at the four charming medieval towns between Rome and Florence, the ones recommended by the doctor who had recently purchased one of Jim's properties back home.

That was great fun, but Marilyn had to admit she was a tad distracted, almost wanting to push the day along. After a full week of sightseeing throughout the Italian countryside,
this
was the experience that had captivated her thoughts as soon as the alarm went off this morning.

“Do you want me to drive us out to the highway?” Jim said. “Then I can pull over and we can switch places.”

“No, how about I drive us out to the highway, and you give me directions?”

Jim laughed. “I had a feeling that's what you'd say. Here's the keys.” He handed them to her and walked around to the passenger side.

She got in, moved the seat forward, and repositioned the mirrors. “I was sad all they had to rent was an automatic.”

“I'm not. You haven't driven a stick shift since before the kids were born.”

She turned the car on. “But that's part of the fantasy, hearing the engine rev up as I shift through the gears.”

“Sorry to disappoint you on that. But my fantasy included us getting back in one piece.”

They weaved through the narrow streets of Florence then drove along the beautiful Arno River as they headed out of town. She loved the feel of this car. It turned so tight, and the steering responded to every little move she made. And so much power, especially compared to her car back home. Jim reminded her of the dangers of drifting into any other lane but the left one once they hit the highway. Older, slower cars kept to the right lane. But she would be driving forty miles an hour faster than some of them, and could very easily plow right into the back of one before she knew it.

Finally, they reached the ramp and she began to floor it.

In seconds, they were at fifty. Then sixty, seventy, eighty, before they had even reached the end of the ramp. The car they had rented showed both kilometers and mph on the dashboard. “You're okay,” he said. “No cars coming. Now just ease on out there.”

Was he going to be doing that the whole time? Acting like some nervous coach? She looked in the rearview and side mirrors and quickly zipped into the leftmost lane. Eighty-five, ninety.

“Whoa,” he said. “You call that
easing
?”

“No, I call that driving. And I call what you're doing
annoying
.” She looked over at him. Good, he was smiling. “I thought you said you were going to trust me,” she said.

“I will. I mean, I do. Really, I'm okay. Now would you look at the speedometer? You're about to miss the magic moment.”

She glanced down. There it was, ninety-five, ninety-six. She pushed the pedal a little harder. There . . . it happened. “I'm doing it! Do you see it? One hundred miles an hour.” The car wasn't even vibrating. Outside her window, she could tell she was driving fast, but it didn't seem like she was going that fast. She looked over at Jim. This was so exciting.

And so far, no other cars on the road.

“I think you could easily go 120 or 130 with a car like this,” she said.

“But we're not, right? You said just a little bit over 100, right?”

“I did. I'm just saying . . . this is an incredible car. And I'm having an incredible time.” She looked over at him. “And you are an incredible husband.” She reached over and patted his hand.

He quickly lifted her hand and placed it back on the steering wheel. “I'm so glad you're getting to do this, but remember my fantasy? Getting there in one piece?”

She smiled and glanced back at the windshield, then down at the speedometer. One hundred and four, one hundred and five.

She was having the best time.

Henry Anderson sat in his car in the parking lot of the Java Stop. He had intended to come here yesterday, after he and Myra had talked about it. He had even called the restaurant and found that Tom got off at 4:00. He was just about out the door when Myra stopped him. “We're both such dummies,” she'd said. “You can't go visit Tom today. You're supposed to
take me to the doctor at 4:30. We can't cancel it. Took me over a month to get this appointment.”

So the plan got bumped until today.

And here he comes, Henry thought. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. Today Tom got off at 5:00.
Lord, give me the right words to say.
He got out of his car and walked toward Tom's, which was parked around the side. Tom didn't see him until he was just about ready to get in. “Hey, Tom. Sorry to surprise you like this.”

“Uncle Henry.” He stepped back, clearly not expecting company. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

Henry walked around to Tom's side, stayed back a few steps. “I wanted to talk with you about what we talked about the other day.”

Tom put his hand on the car door handle. “Now's not a good time, Uncle Henry. I've gotta get going or I'll get stuck in traffic.”

Henry knew that wasn't quite true. Traffic was a little heavier than normal from here to Tom's house, but nothing like rush hour on I-4. “This will only take a minute,” Henry said. “It can't wait.”

Tom took his hand off the car door. “What is it?” The look of dread on his face suggested he already knew.

Henry tried to express with his eyes the love he felt for Tom and the compassion in his heart for the mess he'd gotten himself into. “I'm not comfortable doing what you asked me to do the other day.”

“What part?”

“The part about not telling anyone you got laid off five months ago. The part where you asked me to love you by doing that. See, that goes against everything I believe about love. Love tells me to always do the right thing for someone, the thing I know is in their best interest. Even if, sometimes, it's also the hard thing.”

Tom looked down on the pavement, shook his head. “I had
a feeling this wasn't gonna work.” He looked up. “So who are you gonna tell? Or who have you already told?”

“I haven't told anyone except your aunt Myra. Just like I said. And I'm not really thinking of telling anyone else at the moment.”

“You're not?” A slight expression of hope.

“No, because that's not the right thing. The right thing is to ask you to reconsider and tell the person you should've told right off the bat. And I don't mean your dad.”

“You mean Jean.”

“It's just not right, Tom. Think about the things that were said at your wedding. I was there. I remember. The preacher quoted the verse when Jesus said you were no longer two but one. If I recall, one or both of you even mentioned something about that in your vows. You wrote your own, didn't you?” Tom sighed, nodded. “How does what you're doing—what you've been doing these past five months—line up with that?”

“I am going to tell her, Uncle Henry. I said I would. I just want to wait till I get a job, a good one.”

Henry took a step closer and gently said, “That's no good, Tom. That's not being honest with her, not even close. She needs to know what's going on. Now. Today. Look, I'll go over there with you. Right now, and help you two work this out.”

Tom looked like he was about to be sick. “I can't. I can't do it. Not like this.”

“Why?”

“Because she'll totally freak out. I don't just mean a little bit. I know her. You don't. With all due respect, your coming over to help won't help at all. And besides, my parents are coming home tomorrow from their Italy trip. I'm supposed to pick them up from the Orlando airport at 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. Is this what you want them to come home to? My wife having a total meltdown, possibly throwing me out of the house?”

“You really think that's what she'll do?”

“Oh yeah . . . or something worse.”

Henry took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what to do or say next.

“Can't you just give me a little more time? Let my parents get home and settle in before this whole thing blows up?”

“I suppose we can wait a few days more,” Uncle Henry said. “That may be wise.”

“I appreciate that,” Tom said. “I'll start to work on a plan, figure out some kind of way to break this to her, figure out the best time.”

Hearing this gave Henry no confidence at all. It was this “figuring out things” that got Tom into this mess in the first place. “I don't know, Tom. I think you need some help to do this right. You haven't been thinking straight, Son. For a good long while. Something that's helped me for years in hard situations is getting my close advisors involved. There's a Bible verse that says, ‘There is safety and wisdom in a multitude of advisors.' Doesn't sound like you have any advisors right now. But you need 'em. We all do at times. So, I'll give you a few days. But sometime during those few days you and I need to meet again, when we're not so rushed, and talk over a few things.”

Henry could see Tom didn't much like that idea. “That's my deal, Tom. If you want me to wait. And it's nonnegotiable.”

 30 

T
heir plane touched down on the runway at the Orlando International Airport right on time, then bounced once and touched down again. Everyone gasped, then a collective sigh of relief as the plane stabilized and began to slow down.

“Talk about bumpy rides,” Jim said.

Marilyn finally eased up her stranglehold on the armrests. “That may have been the worst airplane ride I've ever been on.” The turbulence had begun to shake the plane almost two hours ago while they were still out over the Atlantic. It had come on suddenly, causing one man in a business suit to bang his head as he walked back from the restroom. An RN three rows back had administered first aid and said he probably would need a few stitches to close the wound properly after they landed.

Marilyn turned in her seat and looked at him now. His head was bandaged, and he held an ice pack on the wound. A flight attendant sat across the aisle, filling out an accident report. Marilyn felt the plane swerve to the right and looked out the window. The airport was just ahead on the right. “I can't wait to get off this plane.”

Jim reached for her hand. “Sorry I couldn't arrange for a better ending to our trip than this.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I know. But still.”

“It won't spoil my memory of this trip,” she said. “Nothing can. I think this is the best vacation we've ever been on.”

“Nothing else even comes close,” Jim said.

“How are we getting home?”

“Tom is supposed to be picking us up,” he said.

“Then I'm sure he'll be there. He's like you, totally organized.”

“I told him we could rent a car, but he wouldn't hear of it.”

Marilyn looked at her watch. “So what time is it here?”

“Just a little before 3:30 in the afternoon.”

“You're kidding. I'm ready for bed,” she said.

“I moved my watch back hours ago, to help me get used to the time change. I suggest we do our best to stay up as long as we can. Otherwise, we'll be struggling with jet lag for days.”

Marilyn yawned and lifted her watch toward the sunlight coming in from the window, then reset the time. “I really want to see the grandkids, but I'm not sure I have the energy for that right now.”

“You don't need to worry, Tom's coming alone. When we talked about this before we left, he told me he'd be coming right from work.”

What a relief. She looked out the window again in time to see their plane turn toward the gate. In a few minutes her fairy tale would end. But now that they were back, other than being tired to the bone, she was actually looking forward to being home and seeing all her loved ones again, hearing all their little stories about what they had done over the past ten days.

There probably wouldn't be that much to tell, she thought. She and Jim had been on a delightful adventure filled with fascinating sights and sounds, making memories she would cherish for the rest of her life. But she knew life back home had
probably bumped along like it always did, full of predictable routines and sameness.

Life changes very little in a ten-day span back home. And for the most part, she was glad.

The interior of the Orlando International Airport could have been designed by Disney's Imagineers. It almost looked like part of a theme park. The layout, the decor, the palm trees and tropical shrubs, all the gift shops and fancy souvenir stores. It even had something like a monorail system ferrying ticketed passengers across the tarmac between the security area and the gates.

Tom used to do a little traveling with his job at the bank. He remembered how nice it was flying back into Orlando, compared to most of the other airports he'd been to in the US. As he eyed the crowds flowing out of the monorail into the main lobby, he tried to let the theme park ambience soothe his shattered nerves.

But it wasn't working.

He was so tense, he'd actually caught himself chewing his fingernails, a habit he thought he'd licked back in high school. A few moments ago, he scanned the big electronic board, which confirmed his parents' plane had landed. Fifteen minutes ago. But as the last of the present group of passengers walked by, it was obvious his parents were not among them.

Great, he thought. More waiting.

It was exhausting trying to maintain a cheery façade. Since his conversation yesterday with Uncle Henry, an oppressive gloom had descended on him, and it was all he could do to keep from giving in to despair. This must be what it felt like for a prisoner on death row, on the eve of his appointment with the electric chair. In fact, that was exactly how Tom had felt last night at the dinner table with Jean and the kids.

Meatloaf, instant mashed potatoes, string beans, and Diet Coke. Not what he'd have picked for his last meal.

Jean, of course, kept asking him questions, trying to get him to open up and let her in. As he had for the past five months, he carefully dodged her questions, answered her with ambiguities, or else changed the subject altogether. He could see it was frustrating her, but what else could he do?

He was buying time. An invisible clock was ticking down to his doom.

Just then, Tom's thoughts were interrupted by a fresh crowd disembarking from the monorail. His eyes zeroed in on the scene, scanning for familiar faces. There they were. Did they see him? Yes, they did. His mom waved, her face as happy as he'd ever seen it.

Okay, remember, business as usual. Smile, ask questions, talk about the kids, and avoid eye contact, especially with Mom.

“There he is, Jim. Do you see him?” Marilyn waved.

“No . . . wait, there he is,” Jim said. “See, it's just Tom.”

They hurried along, keeping in step with the flow of the crowd. “I hope he remembered to switch with Jean,” she said, “and bring their SUV. We'd never fit all that luggage into his little car.”

“I'm sure he remembered,” Jim said. “You know Tom.”

She did. Jim was right. He'd have remembered. It felt good to be home, even just to be on solid ground again, especially after that last part of their flight. The crowd began to disperse as they reached the main lobby area. Now she could see Tom plainly. She waved again, and he waved back. He smiled, but instantly she could tell, just by looking at his eyes.

Something was wrong.

Tom walked toward them, closing the gap with his arms
outstretched. They greeted each other and exchanged hugs. Tom immediately insisted she let him pull her carry-on bag. They headed toward the baggage claim escalator, with Tom asking a flurry of questions about their trip. But the more he talked, the more convinced Marilyn became.

Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.