The Promise (15 page)

 27 

A
bout thirty minutes later, they began to see several signs for Portofino. The trip was almost over, and Marilyn still hadn't figured out the conversion from kilometers to miles, but it was clear they were almost there. Their conversation so far had been light and easy. Marilyn decided to take a chance and bring up the idea of Jim talking to Tom, while the evidence of his success with the Holbarts was still fresh.

Since the Holbarts were across the aisle, she kept her voice just above a whisper. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“We've been talking the entire time since we left Pisa, so I guess you want to talk about something a little more serious.”

“Not serious, just . . . well, I guess it is a little serious.”

“What is it?”

“We've talked about it a few times already. It's about Tom. I was thinking that since your talk with Brian went so well this afternoon, you might feel a little more confident to reach out to Tom when we get home.”

“I don't see how they're connected. Brian's a stranger. Tom is my son.”

“How does that make a difference?”

“Well, things did go well with Brian, but what if they hadn't? Not a big deal. Worst-case scenario, we'd avoid each other until tomorrow, then go our separate ways and never see each other again. If it doesn't go well with Tom . . .”

“I don't understand what you're afraid of.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, that came out a little edgy.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“It's just I genuinely don't understand how you think it would go badly. Tom loves you, in a big way.” So much so, Marilyn thought, she wondered sometimes if Tom didn't love Jim more than he loved her. “I think he'd be wide open to anything you have to say.”

Jim sat back in his seat. She couldn't read his face. Maybe she should back off. She waited a few moments more. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm remembering a number of conversations with my own father that ended badly. Conversations we had after I moved out, after you and I got married. And I'm remembering the ugly feelings I felt about him after. I don't want Tom feeling that way about me. Ever.”

“But Jim, your relationship with Tom is way better than what you had with your father. Don't you think?”

Jim looked out the window. “Maybe. Maybe not. I tried leading my family the way my dad did, and look where you and I ended up. I love Tom, and I'd like to think we could talk about anything, but you know we're not that close, not like you and Michele are. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

Marilyn wasn't sure about that, either. But there had to be a way. “Maybe you should just start slow, not start out with a goal of talking about everything in one night. Maybe that first night you don't talk about anything serious at all. Maybe you just go to a ball game or play a round of golf.”

“We haven't golfed together in years.”

“Well, there you go. You could go golfing together. There's lots of time to talk while playing golf, right?”

“I suppose,” he said. “But Harold and I have been golfing for years. We never talk about anything that matters. And I'm not sure Tom could even afford to play golf. Their money seems pretty tight these days.”

Marilyn was getting a little irritated. She reminded herself Jim was probably just resisting the idea because he was afraid of failure. She didn't know what to say. She sat back in her chair and decided to drop it.

A few minutes later, Jim said, “I'm sorry. I'm just being difficult. I know what you're saying. I should just start off trying to rebuild the bridge with Tom, the way I had to do with you.”

Marilyn smiled and sat up. “Exactly. Just start spending some time together again. Don't force the conversation part. We'll just start praying God will open a door for that at the right time. You just be willing to go through it when he does. Like you did earlier back there with Brian.”

Tom was driving home in the dark, exhausted. Tonight was the first time he had to work late at the Java Stop. It had been a surprisingly busy night and ended kind of rough. Two college kids had gotten into a fight, apparently over a girl, which Tom had to break up. Then a middle-aged couple kept complaining about their food not being any good. The bread was stale. The soup was cold. The lunch meat had a funny smell. Tom finally had to give them their money back just to shut them up. He was sure that had been their aim all along.

He pulled into his driveway, hoping Jean had already put the kids down for the night. He walked down the sidewalk to pick up the mail, saddened by how much came out of the box. It was too dark to read any of it. Hopefully it was mostly junk
mail, not bills. As he walked through the door, it was clear by the absence of Tommy's signature greeting that Jean had gotten the kids to bed. She looked up from her television show as he walked into the family room.

“You're home,” she said. “You want me to heat up some leftovers?”

“That's all right, I ate something at work.”

“From the cafeteria? I thought you hated the food there.”

He did, or he used to five months ago when he'd worked there. “You do what you gotta do.” Those were the kind of answers he always gave; not quite a lie, not quite the truth. Not that it mattered. He knew Jean would feel just as betrayed and just as lied to when all of this came out. Now with that surprise visit from Uncle Henry yesterday, he had a sick feeling his day of reckoning wouldn't be too far off in the future.

“The kids missed you at dinner and bath time,” she said, her eyes back on the television.

Tom noticed Jean didn't include herself when she said this. “Hopefully, it'll only be a few nights a week. But hey, we could use the overtime, right?” Why did he say that? He instantly regretted it. It was far too bold a lie. “What are you watching?”

“Just one of those design shows you hate with all your heart. It'll be over in about ten minutes if you want to watch something together.”

“Sounds good. Let me go upstairs and change, put this mail away.”

As he walked down the hall, she said, “I left some debits from the grocery store on your dresser.”

He groaned. Under the stairway light, he could see lots of bills mixed in with the junk mail. When he got upstairs, he walked right to his dresser to check out the amounts.

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was the rough time he had at work. Or maybe it was the stack of bills that had just come
in. But it looked to him like Jean had spent a ridiculous amount of money on groceries.

He brought the debit receipts over to the desk and held them under the lamp. “Look at that,” he muttered aloud. “Not a single coupon. Not a single stinking coupon.” He hurried down the stairs, holding the debit receipts in his hand.

Jean looked up as he came into the room. “What's the matter?”

“What do you mean, what's the matter? These are what's the matter.”

“I put them where you asked me to,” she said. “Right on your dresser.”

“It's not where you put them, it's the amount of money you spent.”

“What? I didn't spend any more money than I normally do. Well, maybe a few dollars more. But this is the week I have to buy bathroom and laundry products. They always cost more. But they're the same things I buy every month.”

“Well, it's gotta stop. We just can't keep spending money like this.”

“Why? Why can't we?”

“Because we can't. For one thing, the electric bill's going to start jumping up as it gets hotter. And food prices keep going up, and gas. You can't tell me this is the same amount we've been spending all along. It seems way higher to me.”

“But it's not. Prices are going up all the time, but they haven't gone up that much since the last time I went shopping. And would you please keep your voice down? You're going to wake the kids.”

Tom walked closer to her and held the receipts out. “And where's the coupons? I asked you to start couponing. There's not a single coupon on either of these receipts.”

“You're right, there's not. I haven't had time yet to start collecting and sorting them. But I will. You asked me to, and so I will. But I don't get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you're so upset right now. I'm not doing anything different than I've been doing for years. Why are you acting like money is so tight? If anything, we should be feeling some breathing room, with you starting to work all this overtime.”

“Well, we're not! I can't explain. You'll just have to—”

“Why can't you explain? Why can't you tell me what's going on?”

Tom's anger was about to boil over. He had to leave before he said some things he'd regret. Tonight was not the night to deal with this. Not tonight. “I just can't!” he yelled. “Why can't you just do what I say? Is that such a big deal? Spending a little bit of your spare time getting some coupons together so I don't have to keep seeing debit receipts like this?”

The look on Jean's face changed. She didn't reply. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

I can't take this
, he thought.
I'm not going to let her manipulate me with her tears.
“I've got to go.” He tossed the receipts on the coffee table, turned around, and headed back toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” she cried.

“Out. I just need some fresh air.” He walked out and slammed the door.

 28 

T
he next morning, Jean sat quietly at the dinette table staring at nothing in the backyard. Tom had just left for work without saying a word. He had only gone out for about forty-five minutes last night, but when he came back, he refused to talk to her. They went through their normal get-ready-for-bed routines, minus any conversation.

Somehow, Tom had no problem falling asleep, and she nearly hated him for it. She'd tossed and turned for over an hour and was tempted to take a sleeping pill or a Benadryl but dared not because of the baby. She hadn't been to the doctor yet, but she was certain she was pregnant. That knowledge only increased her anxiety about the difficulties they were having.

It just made no sense. The way Tom was acting. Not just the past few weeks but the past few months. None of it made any sense.

That was what she was thinking about as she sat there sipping cold coffee, staring at nothing in the backyard. Fortunately, Tommy and Carly were sleeping in, which almost never happened. A small mercy from God.

A single terrifying thought had tried to enter her mind last
night, but she refused to let it fully form. If she had, she would have never gotten to sleep at all. That same thought had been crouching at the door of her consciousness all morning, waiting to be invited in. Weakened by the lack of sleep and worn down by her conflicting emotions, she could no longer resist its presence.

This phantom thought was the only thing that might explain Tom's bizarre behavior. But it couldn't be true, could it? Not Tom. He would never do something like that, would he? Not to her, not to them. They had talked about this early on during their first year of marriage. She didn't even remember how the subject came up or who talked about it first. But somehow they began discussing how they would react if either one of them were unfaithful to the other.

Although they were both Christians and both believed in God's forgiveness, they felt that if one of them ever betrayed their marriage bed, it would end the relationship for good. They would take that scriptural option that allowed divorce due to unfaithfulness.

Tom had felt just as strongly about this as she did. Partly because Jean wasn't his first love. That honor fell to a girl he'd dated in high school and felt sure he would marry. But she had cheated on him and actually got pregnant by another guy. It crushed his heart. He didn't pull out of his depression until they had met a year later, as freshmen in college.

When they had talked about this, Tom was emphatic. She could still remember the look on his face and the edge in his voice when he'd said it: “Jean, I love you more than I ever loved her. And your love has completely healed my heart. But I'm serious, don't ever think about cheating on me, no matter how hard it gets between us. I've got to know you won't ever go there. Promise me. I couldn't take it if you did.”

He went on to say he would never do that to her, no matter what. Then he said, no he'd begged her, if she ever felt tempted
to cheat on him because of anything he had done, or any way he was treating her, would she please talk to someone about it and tell them what she was feeling, rather than turn to some other guy. She could even talk to his mom if she wanted.

She knew then just how serious he was, because if there was anything Tom dreaded in life, it was the thought of displeasing his parents. He was almost obsessive about it.

She took a final sip of her cold coffee, trying to find some comfort in this bizarre memory. Oddly, it had given her strong assurance from that moment until now, that no matter what, she could count on Tom remaining faithful.

No matter what.

But sitting here now, her feelings and emotions colliding inside, she couldn't help but wonder if the thing she had dreaded most had actually happened. That Tom's heart had left her for another. What else could explain the way he had been acting lately?

And now, these “overtime hours.” Tom had never worked evenings before. He had announced it as something that would be going on “for a few months.” If that was so, then they should have plenty of money. Instead, Tom was acting like a maniac, fretting over every penny.

Why else would he be worried about money now with all this overtime, unless he was spending it on some other woman?

About two hours had gone by since Henry Anderson had his quiet time. The thing that had been bothering him all evening yesterday, and had kept popping up during a restless night of sleep, became the preoccupying theme in his morning devotions. He was pretty sure he knew why.

God wasn't okay with him helping his great-nephew Tom hide what he'd been doing these past five months. Henry didn't believe in covering up things. Never did. In his almost seven
decades of life, nothing good had ever come of that. And he was certain God had not orchestrated things to get him to intersect with Tom at the Java Stop just so he could be a co-conspirator in Tom's scheme.

As he walked into the kitchen to speak with Myra, he was greeted by the wonderful smell of fresh baking bread. “Now there's a smell you can never get too much of.” He came up behind her and gave her a peck on the cheek. “So glad you bought that bread machine.”

“That coffee's still pretty fresh,” she said, “if you want to pour a cup. Of course, it's decaf, so it won't give you that kick if you're needing a good kick about now.”

“Decaf is fine. I'm kicking pretty good, don't think I need any more help. Can I talk to you a minute?”

She turned around to face him. “What's on your mind? I could tell last night something was bugging you. Have a pretty good idea what it is.”

“It's this thing with Tom and Jean,” he said.

“Yep, that was it. I didn't think you'd be able to sit on that very long.”

“I can't believe I agreed to do it in the first place. I was just so shocked and so unprepared for what he said.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. It would have shocked me too.” She leaned up against the counter. “I wonder how he's going to react to the news that Jean's pregnant.”

“My guess is, pretty badly. But I don't think it'll be near as bad as Jean's reaction to Tom's news.” He sat on a dinette chair nearby. “The whole thing's just horrible.”

“Oh what a web we weave . . .” she said. “So what are you going to do?”

“I told him I wouldn't say anything to anyone else but you without talking to him first. So I've got to abide by my word.” He stood up to fix that cup of decaf.

“So you're going to drive back over there?”

“Don't see as I have a choice. Figured I'd find out what time he got off work today and be there to meet him when he came out.”

“What if he has to close?”

“Then I'll just have to go there in the dark. But I don't think calling him first is a good idea. Then he'd have all day just to stew on it. Get himself all worked up before I get there.”

“So how will you know when he gets off work?” she said.

“Thought I'd just call over there and hope one of the other employees answers. If they do, I'll just ask them what time the assistant manager is working till tonight. If they ask why, I'll just say I need to talk to him.” He stirred the creamer into his coffee.

“And what will you do if Tom answers the phone?”

Henry didn't know what he'd do then. Right now, he thought hanging up sounded like a pretty good idea. But he doubted God or Myra would agree with that. “I'm just gonna pray that doesn't happen.”