I Promise (11 page)

“That's what Todd says,” Christy said. “He's says we're good for each other because we think differently and do things differently.”

“Hmm.” Katie reached for a second slice of pizza.

“What are you
hmming
about?”

Katie picked a slice of pepperoni off her pizza, and a long string of mozzarella cheese followed the pepperoni up to her mouth. “Do you think Rick and I are opposites?”

Christy paused only a moment before saying with a sly grin, “Oh, did you just notice that?”

“That could be a good thing, couldn't it?” Katie cast a sideways glance at Christy, as if her future might be determined by the way Christy responded to this all-important question.

“Yes, it could be a good thing,” Christy said. “It could be a God-thing for all I know.”

Katie nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it could. It could be a really surprising God-thing. Hmm. Who would have guessed?”

“Not me,” Christy said quietly.

Christy hoped Katie would take that as an opportunity to open up about what was going on with Rick. But Katie announced she had to get going. Grabbing another piece of pizza, she bounced up and left to
meet Rick at The Dove's Nest before Christy had even finished her first slice of pizza.

Alone in her dorm room, Christy stared at the surfboard sofa. It took up the center open area of their room. “You belong in a store that sells wet suits and skateboards,” she muttered to the bright orange fiberglass room centerpiece. “Not here. What was Todd thinking?”

Once again she reminded herself Todd had lovingly taken two of the only valuable items he had owned in his life and had tried to salvage them and make them into something useful. That was commendable. It was sweet of him to give it to Christy. She needed to be more appreciative.

Why can't I be spontaneous and enthusiastic about things like Katie? Why can't I let whatever comes just come?

She glanced at the alarm clock and realized it was almost time for her to pick up Todd at church. He had promised her they would go ring shopping that evening. The plan was for them to stay at her parents' house that night. In the morning they would drive back to church and start the huge task of packing up all the gear for the Mexico trip.

However, by the time Christy had gathered her things and had met Todd at church, she was feeling awful.

“Do you have a fever?” Todd asked when they were about ten minutes from her parents' house.

“I don't think so. I feel kind of cold. I have a ripping headache.”

Todd reached over and felt her forehead. “You have a fever. At least it started here and not in Mexico. You'll feel better by Friday, and you'll sound better by the time classes start up again a week from today.”

“What makes you so sure I have the same virus you had?”

“It's going around. If you didn't catch it from me, you probably got it from that wedding coordinator on Saturday. Do you remember how she said her throat felt scratchy? That's how it starts.”

Christy swallowed. Now her throat hurt. “I can't get sick. I have to do the food in Mexico.”

“I can do it. Or Doug or Rick and Katie. Tracy isn't coming because of her morning sickness.”

“I might feel better in the morning,” Christy said. “We don't have to go ring shopping tonight. I could head right to bed when we get to my parents' house. That will help a lot, I'm sure.”

Todd wore a knowing grin as he pulled into her parents' driveway. “I'll bring in your stuff. Why don't you go on in. I'll see you in a week.”

Christy shot Todd an incredulous look. “What do you mean you'll see me in a week? I'll get some good sleep and be ready to go in the morning. You'll see.”

Todd broke into a full smile as he turned off the engine. “Yes, dear. Whatever you say.”

8
Todd was right. Christy was sick for a week.

His being right bugged her for the first three days she lay in bed feeling miserable. She was missing the Mexico trip and missing Todd and missing the latest developments with Rick and Katie.

The only thing she wasn't missing was the waste-basket. After going through two boxes of tissues, she had become an expert at tossing the tissue into the wicker wastebasket in the corner.

Christy had made an observation about another difference between Todd and her. When she was sick, she wanted lots of attention every hour on the hour. She didn't care for the caveman approach to “sweating it out” and cutting oneself off from all forms of society until the virus had run its course.

By day three, Thursday, Christy was convinced the highlight of the week had been her mother's kind attention, which came complete with daily doses of toast and herbal tea sweetened with honey. The most
depressing part of her confinement had been realizing how different things were going to be once she and Todd were married. Her mother would no longer bring toast and tea and put fresh sheets on the bed while Christy soaked in the tub. She conjured up a disturbing image of herself lying in a contorted position on the surfboard sofa while trying to lean over and light the camp stove to heat water for her already used tea bag.

I have to tell him, that's all. I have to tell Todd what I want and what I need. When we're married, if he knows that I want him to bring me tea, I'm sure he'll gladly do that. I just have to tell him.

An idea occurred to Christy that afternoon. She was over the achy fever part of the flu and into the laryngitis phase. She was feeling well enough to get up, but she decided to spend one more day in bed just to be sure.

With her bedroom door closed, Christy pulled out from under her bed a shoe box she had covered with wrapping paper years ago. Inside the shoe box were fourteen letters, all sealed in individual envelopes. On the cover of each envelope she had written the same four words,
To my future husband
.

A satisfying smile started in the secret corner of Christy's heart and, like sweet-smelling perfume, wafted its way to Christy's lips. When she had started writing those letters, she didn't know whom she would marry. Many times she had hoped it would be Todd, but every time she had deposited another letter
into the box, she hadn't been sure the letter would end up in Todd's hands.

Today she knew. Todd was the man she had saved herself for. He would be the one to read those letters on their wedding night. He would know even more fully that for the past five years she had prayed for him, waited for him, hoped in him.

Christy decided she had one more letter to write. Pulling a piece of stationery out of a box she had purchased in Switzerland, Christy began the letter with,

Dear Future Husband, my Todd,

It felt good to write his name in the greeting. He didn't have a middle name, which Christy thought was unfortunate. Their children would all have middle names. Noble, poetic-sounding middle names like hers, which was Juliet.

Proceeding with the letter, she wrote,

Sealing the letter in an envelope, Christy wrote on the front,
To my Todd.

She tucked away the letter with the others and returned the box to its hiding place under her bed. The letter reminded her of something: Rick's letter.

Where did I put Rick's letter?

A tap sounded on her bedroom door, and her mom entered. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm feeling lots better.” As soon as she spoke, she started a coughing jag that made her sound anything but better.

“I thought I heard you moving around in here. Would you like me to bring you anything?”

“Did Marti leave those bridal magazines here?”

Mom nodded. “They're in the living room. Would you like me to get them?”

“Please.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Christy browsed through the magazines. As darkness came over the world outside her window, she slumped into a nap in which she dreamed of a fashion show of outrageous bridal dresses punctuated by advertisements for Oneida silverware.

By one o'clock the next afternoon, Christy had cut several dozen pictures from the assortment of bridal magazines and pasted them into her wedding planner notebook. She felt as if she were playing paper dolls as she cut the bodice from one gown and matched it with the skirt from another. She found the exact dress she wanted for the bridesmaids. It was shown in an apricot color, but she wanted it in pale blue. Four different veils looked as though they might work for her, but she decided it would be difficult to know unless she tried them on.

Putting away her notebook and pulling out a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt from the stack of clean clothes her mom had washed and folded, Christy headed for the shower. She felt good. Or at least better. She had no voice, and when she coughed, her head hurt, but she was ready to join the rest of the world.

Half an hour later, fresh and clean, with her long hair still damp on the ends, Christy ventured into the living room, where her mom was taking down the Christmas decorations. The tree was gone, and all the ornaments were tucked back in their boxes.

Mom looked up from where she knelt, wrapping
the figures of the nativity set in tissue and nesting them in a sturdy box. “You certainly look better.”

Christy nodded.

“Still no voice?”

“It's gone,” Christy whispered. “But at least it doesn't hurt to whisper like this. Would you like some help?”

“I'd love some help. Could you pull the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and try to pick up those pine needles in the corner?”

For almost an hour the two of them worked efficiently and silently. As Christy helped carry the last box out to the garage, she cleared her throat and said, “I've come up with some ideas for my wedding dress and the bridesmaids' dresses.”

“I'd love to see them,” Mom said. “How about if I make some soup, and you can show me what you found?”

Over chicken noodle soup, Christy showed Mom her wedding planner. “This top,” she whispered in a raspy voice, “with a skirt like this. I like the wide band at the waist.”

“I see,” Mom said. “That would be very flattering with your small waist.”

“Only I want embroidery around the bodice like this one. But with little tiny white flowers. White on white. Don't you think that would be pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” Mom said. “And do you like the bodice plain like this with the ballerina-style rounded neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves?”

Christy nodded. “I love the sleeves. Especially if they have some embroidery on them.”

Her mom smiled. “I'm surprised that's what you decided on.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever seen my wedding dress?”

Christy had seen pictures of her parents' wedding, but she didn't remember what her mom's wedding gown looked like. She shook her head.

“Come with me.” Mom led Christy down the hallway to her bedroom, where she pulled a box from the back of the closet. It was labeled with a Wisconsin dry cleaner's advertisement.

“I remember this box,” Christy said hoarsely. “I found it in your closet once when I was a little girl.”

“Paula and you wanted to use it for dress-up,” Mom said. “I had a fit.”

“Yes, you did. I remember.” Christy noticed the box had been taped shut on the right side where it had been torn. Apparently that was the side she and her childhood best friend had tried to break into.

Christy studied her mom's profile as she carefully opened the box. Christy's mom was a simple woman. Pleasantly plain in her appearance, she was shorter than Christy and rounder. Her hair had gone almost completely gray. She had never colored it. She kept it short, straight, and tucked behind her ears, which Christy thought looked better than when Mom used to wear it in what Christy called
the “bubble-head hairdo” whenever they looked at old family photos.