A Promise to Remember (4 page)

Melanie took care to place the flowers in exactly the middle of
Jeff's grave. Everything needed to be perfect for him. "There,
that's better, huh?"

Tiny shoots of grass were already filling in the outline of the
newly laid sod. Soon, no one who walked by would have any
idea of the fresh grief buried beneath it.

Melanie would. And thanks to this lawsuit, everyone else
would remember, too.

She put a blanket on the ground beside the headstone, sat
down, and pulled the journal from her bag. "So, Jeff, this lawyer
that's helping me, he says I need to keep a journal of my thoughts
and emotions during this time. And memories of you, too. He
says it's 'loss of companionship' and will help drive the lawsuit.
I say it's a lot more than that.

"Remembering you is easy, bud. What would you like for me
to tell the world about you?"

She looked at the blank pages and wondered where to start.
This first memory seemed the most important somehow. But
how could she choose? His whole life needed to be in these
pages. Every moment. Not just bits and pieces. She'd lose him
that way. The last thought fell like a hammer, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to concentrate. She would not cry in front
of Jeff. She needed to be strong.

"Let's..." She decided to just write down the first thing that
came to mind. "Let's write about the time you `fixed' Sarah's
bike. Remember that?"

Jeff's eight-year-old face formed in her mind, smeared with
dirt and wearing a knowing smile. "Don't worry, Sarah, I'll fix it
for ya." He raked his hand across his nose and turned his ball
cap backward. "I'm a mechanic. This is not a problem."

The wind blew Sarah's blond hair; a few strands stuck to her
wet cheeks. "But I wrecked it." She pointed at the broken chain
and dangling kickstand. "See? It's ruined." Her chin began to
quiver.

He put his hand on her shoulder and shook it. "You're riding
a big-kid bike now, and big kids don't cry. You straighten up and
go get me a screwdriver and oil can."

A doe-eyed five-year-old, she stared at him with open adoration. "Really?" Her shoulders drew back.

"Really. Now get." He gave her a gentle shove toward the
garage, then looked at Melanie and shook his head. "Kids. The
first crash is always the hardest."

Melanie blinked frantically, refusing to cry.

"Remember that, Jeff? You took that whole bike apart, right
down to the seat. It took two days to get it back together again.
As I recall there were a couple of parts left over, and it always
made a funny clicking sound after that." She choked out a
laugh. "Remember? Sarah asked you about it, and you told her
it was `bike music.'"

The granite stone sat cold and unmoving, seemingly untouched by the memories. She finished writing, then looked
at the ground.

"This is good for us, Jeff. To remember these good times. We
need to focus on what we did have. It'll help us stay strong." She touched the sod with her fingers. "You were so special."
Again, the choking threatened to close her throat, and the last
thing she wanted was to lose it in front of Jeff.

"I start back to work tomorrow, so I won't see you until late
afternoon."

Silence. A deep emptiness.

Jeff had never liked the quiet; she couldn't leave him this way.
"Work's going to be a little odd now. That other boy's mother
shops at my store."

Again, the empty silence.

"She's a lot like you'd expect. Thin. Beautiful. Long, wavy
black hair. She doesn't know about the lawsuit yet, but I still
don't want to see her.

"You know, she was always friendly in a shy kind of way." She
bent down and gathered her blanket. "I just wish she'd have
been a better mother."

The next morning, Melanie pulled into the parking lot, prepared
for her first day back at work. She dreaded the day ahead, the
inevitable offers of sympathy, the whispers when no one thought
she could hear. Her journal lay in the passenger seat, ready for
an afternoon visit with Jeff. She would make it through this
day for him.

She climbed from the car and looked toward Alfords. The
building, though now a year old, still amazed her. The thing
looked more like a concert hall than the upscale grocery that it
was-a concession to the planning commission. If you're going
to put a grocery store on the outskirts of Hope Ranch, then it
needs to be appropriate in architecture and style.

Just down the road stood stone pillars, the words Hope
Ranch in a wrought-iron arch above. Beyond that, the enclave
of Hope Ranch nestled on cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Beautiful homes, hidden behind gates and imported trees,
shared the landscape with Thoroughbreds and Arabians that
slept in heated stalls.

The Phelps family's world. A world where they showered their
son with presents-like BMWs-then turned him loose without
any supervision. Did the Phelps family have a heated barn?

Would Mrs. Phelps come into the store today? Melanie would
be expected to treat a customer with respect, but how could
she? Best to avoid the confrontation if possible. She'd keep a
close watch on the door. Maybe have someone up front keep
up an alert.

Once inside, she stowed her purse in the employee lockers
at the back of the store and practiced a plastered smile and
the words she'd decided on in the shower that morning: "I'm
doing okay We're going to carry on. Jeff would want it that way."
Maybe after repeating them a few hundred times, it wouldn't
sting every time she said his name.

"Hey, Melanie." Joe Server, head butcher, put his thick,
scarred palm on her shoulder. He squeezed once, lightly, then
dropped his hand and continued on his way. Joe was never one
to say much. Melanie appreciated that more than ever right now.
The unspoken words in the shoulder squeeze, and keeping the
subject out of conversation, were just what she needed.

She walked to the customer service booth and scanned the
names of the employees who would be with her today. "Morning,
Melanie." Peggy from the floral department climbed into the
booth and threw her arms around Melanie's shoulders. "How
you doing, hon?"

Tears stung Melanie's eyes, but she blinked them back and
remembered her line. "I'm doing okay. Jeff would want us to carry
on." She knew the words must sound as hollow and memorized
as they felt.

Peggy pulled away, wiping a tear from the corner of her own
eyes. "You are so brave. Jeff would be so proud of you." She
scurried on her way as if trying to escape the grief.

Would Jeff be proud of her? Melanie hoped so. She picked
up her stack of price-alert signs and walked onto the floor to
begin her day.

Friday afternoon, Blair Phelps reached for the next set of papers
on his desk requiring his attention. The stack remaining still
loomed tall-and for that he was truly grateful.

The work of owning a company, which so often had been
a burden, now provided just what he needed. Much better
to spend the time at work, busy, than to be at his too-quiet
home-reminded of what he'd lost-trying to console an inconsolable wife. Yes, work was good. They said the pain eased
with time. Garbage. Two weeks had passed without an infinitesimal measure of ease. Work at least masked the anguish, if
not alleviating it.

Especially now, with the impending buyout by Vitasoft. The
deal would be a shining moment in this field of all black. He
just needed to keep things running top-drawer until the offer
was solidified.

The intercom beeped. "Blair, there's someone here to see
you."

"Yeah, who is it?"

"Something or other Smith. Said it's important."

Probably a salesman, but Blair could deal with them easily
enough. "Okay, send him up."

The hulking man appeared in the doorway. The wrinkles in
his cheap suit and his unkempt hair made it appear he might
have been sleeping in the alleyway only moments before. "Blair
Phelps?"

Blair stood, his muscles tense. "Yes, I'm Blair Phelps. Who
are you?"

"Name's Smith." The man's eyes were dark, hard.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?" He looked at his phone,
a hand's reach away, then toward the giant of a man pacing
toward him.

Smith smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "I've got a delivery
for you." He reached into the breast pocket of his suit, removed
an envelope, then dropped it on Blair's desk. "You, Mr. Phelps,
may consider yourself officially served."

The man doffed an imaginary hat, then ambled out of the
office, whistling.

Blair looked at the envelope. A summons? Not uncommon in
his business, but still, there hadn't been so much as a complaint
from a client in the last few months. Something like this would
look had to the power players at Vitasoft, and he didn't need that
kind of distraction right now. Who would do something idiotic
like this, without even talking to him about it?

He sliced the flap open, unfolded the paper, and began scanning the jargon. Words like negligent entrustment stood out from
the jumble of letters on the page. Then he saw the words that
took the air from his chest. He dropped into his seat and stared,
wishing he could delete the offending legal verbiage. It remained
unchanged.

WT'ongU 1 death.

Andie clung to Blair's arm as they walked into the church. The
United Church of Montecito had been their church home for
almost two decades. Why should it be so difficult to come here
today? She had worshiped beside most of these people her
entire adult life. After the accident, they had deluged her in
casseroles, sent cards, hugged her in sympathy. So many caring,
kind people. So many prayers. So why did she feel like she had
to put on her happy face and pretend that everything was fine
when she came here?

At least no one knew about the lawsuit yet. It wouldn't hit
the paper until Monday or Tuesday, if their lawyers were right.
Something to be thankful for.

"Andieeeee ... Andie darling..." The unmistakable singsong
of Mattilda Plendor's voice rose above the subdued murmur
in the foyer. Andie turned and could see a single hand raised
above the crowd. Immaculate fingernails, painted bright orange,
crowned fingers heavy with emeralds and diamonds, platinum
and white gold. Occasional glimpses of fiery red hair appeared
as the hand's owner pushed through the crowd.

Andie moved toward her, hoping to save someone from losing
a rib to Mattilda Plendor's sharp elbow.

"Oh, Andie darling." Mattilda emerged from the circle of
people, her expression startled. She wrapped one arm around
Andie's back. "I am so, so, sorry, my dear. I wish I could have
been here for you. I got back into town last night and only then
heard the terrible news." She began to petAndie's back like she
would one of her award-winning poodles.

"Thank you for your kindness, Lady Plendor. There really
was nothing you could have done, though."

"Please, dear, call me Mattie."