Vow to Cherish Read online

  “Oh, Brant.” John sighed heavily. “It’s up to you and Cynthia, but I’m afraid it would be hard for everybody. Mom doesn’t know anyone these days. By next winter…” He let his voice trail off. He couldn’t bring himself to predict how bad things might be by then. “You know Mom would have given you and Cynthia her blessing before she got sick. She’ll be with us in spirit no matter what you decide.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Hey…” He attempted to steady his voice. “You tell Cynthia congratulations. And give her a hug for me. I’m very happy for you two.”

  Julia

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Midmorning, on the tenth of August, a large moving van pulled up to the curb of the apartment building at Lakeview. Sam Sinclair, who had stood sentry at the front window all morning, announced its arrival with a shout.

  “Mom! They’re here.”

  “Okay, let’s get busy,” she hollered down the hallway. Andy?”

  “I’m in my room….”

  “Hey…let’s go.” She clapped a warning. “Come on! They’re here.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming.” His tone was surly, and he slammed his bedroom door defiantly behind him. Andy had been dragging his heels about the move ever since Julia had announced it to the boys. Martin’s death had changed everything, and Andy was angry that he was being torn from his friends and the only home he’d ever known.

  As he came plodding down the hallway to get his “marching orders,” Julia ignored his rudeness and mustered a cheerful grin. “Ready?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. “Okay. You and Sam start closing up those boxes in the kitchen—use the packing tape and make sure they’re secure—and I’ll find out which room the movers want to haul out first.”

  They worked steadily through the morning, and by noon the apartment was empty, and the van was on its way to Calypso. Julia loaded her houseplants and a small box of fragile items into the back of the car. While the boys vied for space in the cramped backseat, Julia walked through the rooms to be sure they hadn’t left anything behind.

  Her heels clicked on the bare wood floors and echoed through the hollow rooms of the apartment. It was an effort to remain matter-of-fact about this final walk through the old apartment that had been her home for a dozen years. These rooms held so many memories.

  She walked into Andy’s bedroom, and through eyes moist with remembrance, she saw it, not as the recent haven of an almost teenager, but as the nursery it had once been.

  She and Martin had brought Andrew David Sinclair home from the hospital to this room. She could still see the cloud blue curtains at the window and hear the plinking metallic notes of his little clown-shaped music box. “Send in the Clowns” played over and over in her mind, and she longed to hold in her arms the chubby infant it had soothed. She closed the door silently and walked down the hallway.

  She poked her head into Sam’s room and then the master bedroom, and, seeing both were empty, closed the doors. It was not their bedroom that evoked memories of Martin. It was the bathroom. A large old-fashioned room, she had always loved its pedestal sink and deep, claw-footed tub. A clerestory window let in sunlight that showed off the rich patina of the dark oak wainscoting. How many mornings had she leaned against this door frame—a thick terry bathrobe wrapped snugly around her, her hands warmed by a steaming mug of coffee—watching Martin shave? She had never grown tired of watching his ritual. It was the one time she had him captive…his lips silenced by a thick lather of shaving cream, the boys still asleep in their beds, and the phone quiet in the early morning. It had been her favorite time of day, and she realized that since his death she had not once thought of it until today.

  She closed the bathroom door. It was hard to say goodbye to this home—to turn the final pages of the story she and Martin had written together.

  The blast of the car horn shook her back to the present…to reality. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing here, but the boys were growing impatient, and it was time to be on the road.

  John

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  John was shopping for groceries on a sultry evening in August when he rounded a corner by the produce aisle and nearly had a head-on collision with Julia Sinclair. She was dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, her hair tucked casually behind her ears. Her grocery cart was piled almost to overflowing.

  “Well…hello, there,” John stuttered, when he recognized her.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Does this huge mound of groceries mean you’re an official Calypso resident now?” he teased.

  She laughed. “As a matter of fact, it does. We just finished moving the last load from the city yesterday, and the house looks like a tornado went through it. We’ve got stuff sitting all over the house in boxes, but growing boys have to be fed whether the kitchen’s in order or not.”

  “How well I remember. We couldn’t keep enough food in the fridge when our kids were that age. So, you found a house, then?”

  “Yes.” She was beaming. “Do you know where Sweetbriar Lane is?”

  “Isn’t that just south of Broadway?”

  “Yes. Our house is on the far east end of Sweetbriar. It’s a nice neighborhood. I think I got a good deal. It’s a two-story with a two-car garage, so we have lots of room. And the boys are thrilled because there’s a basketball net in the driveway. They weren’t too happy about leaving all their friends in the city, but they’ve already made friends in our neighborhood. I think we’re going to love small-town life.” Her enthusiasm was contagious.

  “That’s great. Well, welcome to Calypso.” He extended a hand and she shook it, smiling. He started to push his cart away, then remembered something. “Oh, hey. We’re gearing up for enrollment on the tenth. Did you get the information from our office?”

  “To tell you the truth, I haven’t looked at the mail for two days. We had another stack a mile high at the post office this morning, and I haven’t sorted through that yet either, but it’s probably in there somewhere.”

  “Well, if you don’t find it, just give the district office a call, and we’ll get something in the mail to you. Boy, it doesn’t seem possible that school will be starting in a couple of weeks. This summer has sure flown by.”

  “Tell me about it. I just hope we’re settled in before school starts.”

  They stood in the aisle, cart to cart, and visited for another twenty minutes. Conversation came easily with Julia, and John had the impression she was flirting with him. He was guiltily afraid he was reciprocating.

  Finally, in midsentence, she looked down at her cart and gave a little gasp. “Oh, my ice cream is melting! I’d better get home and feed the troops. Nice to see you again.”

  “You, too. I’m glad you found a house. Good luck with the settling.”

  He waved, surprised at how reluctant he was to end the conversation. They headed in opposite directions and again, John felt that uncomfortable mix of emotions—boyish anticipation at the possibility of seeing Julia again, and a stirring of guilt that he had enjoyed their encounter so much.

  He finished his shopping and went home to put the groceries away.

  But all evening long, images of an attractive dark-haired woman flitted through his mind as he replayed their conversation over and over. He felt like a silly teenager with a first-time crush. “This is ridiculous.” He spoke the words aloud, then felt foolish. He willed himself to think about something else, but ten minutes later there she was, messing with his mind again.

  He went to bed that night more acutely aware than ever of just how lonely he was.

  The next few weeks were busy ones for John. School started and with it all the headaches of getting the term running smoothly. There were some curriculum changes that weren’t working out as well as he had hoped, and a high school English teacher had a heart attack the second day of school and was under doctor’s orders to lay off work for at least six weeks. It was early in October before John felt as though things were
on an even keel, and he could cut back to regular hours and relax a bit.

  He volunteered to help in the press box at the high school football games simply so he could feel justified in attending the games. Though he knew probably no one judged him more harshly than he did himself, he feared what people might think seeing him enjoying himself at a ball game. He still felt guilty for allowing himself even the smallest pleasure when Ellen was so bereft of any joy at all.

  He had not played tennis or jogged since late July, and the bathroom scale was starting to creep up at an alarming rate. He knew he should be more careful how he ate, too. Ellen had always been adamant about getting plenty of fresh vegetables and fruits in their diet. She’d scolded John if he hit the doughnut shop too often on the way to work. Now he found himself grabbing fast food several times a week because it was too much trouble to cook for one. But it was all starting to catch up with him, and he resolved one morning—after discovering yet another pound had crept onto his frame—to make time to get out and exercise now that things had settled down at school.

  He came home early from work and changed into shorts and a sweatshirt. The temperatures were still in the sixties during the day, but the late afternoon air was ten degrees cooler—perfect for jogging. He headed out the back door feeling proud of himself for finally taking the initiative to get out and run.

  It felt great to be outdoors. He ran at a brisk pace for the first half mile, but then he felt the long hiatus from exercise catching up with him. By the end of the first mile, he was out of breath and sweating profusely in spite of the brisk air. He slowed to a walk.

  He had run from Oaklawn to the large park where he and Alexander played tennis. There was a jogging path that ran the circumference of the park, and if he circled this twice, he would have his four miles in by the time he jogged back home. He broke back into a slow run, embarrassed to be so winded after such a short time.

  As he started his second jaunt around the track, he came up behind a woman in blue shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. She moved to the side of the narrow track so he could pass. He turned around, still at a jog, to acknowledge her courtesy.

  “Mr. Brighton!” It was Julia Sinclair.

  “Oh, hi!” He slowed down to match her pace and pointed to her covered head. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the hood. Hey, call me John, please. I don’t feel like Mr. Brighton on the jogging track. Especially when I’m about to keel over.” He rolled his eyes and clutched his throat with an exaggerated gagging sound.

  She laughed. “To tell you the truth,” she admitted with a quirk of her lips, “I couldn’t remember your first name. John.” She said it with a thoughtful nod, as though committing it to memory. “You must hate running as much as I do.”

  “Well, if I hadn’t let myself get so out of shape in the first place, I’d probably be enjoying this.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s been weeks since I did anything remotely athletic.”

  “Me, too. It really ticks me off how quickly I get out of shape if I don’t keep at it. Do you always run here…in the park?”

  “Oh, I try to keep it interesting and go someplace different once in a while. I like to run here because I don’t have to fight the traffic, and it’s easy to keep track of how far I’ve gone. I don’t know why it really matters, but somehow I feel better if I can come home and say I ran four miles or five miles or whatever.”

  “Wow. Do you always run that far?”

  “Well…” He tried to look appropriately sheepish. “Five might be an exaggeration. But I try to get in at least four. I figure as long as I’m out here anyway, I may as well make it worth my time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m doing well if I make it two or three.”

  John shrugged. “Hey, at least you’re running.”

  “Well, I’m probably slowing you down.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. I’m going about as fast as my lungs will let me right now.” He didn’t want her to get away, and scrambled to think of something to say…anything to keep the conversation going. “So…How are the boys liking school by now?”

  “Oh, it’s going well. Sam is having a blast playing football. He kind of hated those early-morning practices the first couple weeks, but the games make it all worthwhile.”

  “He’s got some talent. I don’t get to very many of the junior varsity games, but I saw him play against Hanover and he looked great. He’s really got speed. Has he gotten to play quite a bit?”

  She beamed proudly. “He started the last two games. He’s thrilled about that. He’s already planning a big career with the Bears.” She laughed, then cringed. “He’d kill me if he knew I told you that.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Julia was getting winded.

  John slowed to a fast walk. “What about Andy? Everything going all right for him, too?”

  She sighed. “He’s doing okay. Everything is always harder for Andy. I don’t know if it’s the whole adolescence thing, or if it’s just his personality. He seems to take everything so seriously.”

  “Some kids are made that way.”

  “Yes, but Andy was always so happy-go-lucky before Mar—before his dad died. Sometimes I feel like that accident robbed me of more than a husband.” A faraway look came to her eyes. Then just as suddenly, she seemed to come back to herself. “I’m sorry, John. You don’t want to hear all this.”

  “No, no, that’s okay. If there’s anything I can do to make things easier for Andy, I want to know. I really do appreciate you sharing this with me. If you don’t have any objections, I’ll make his teachers aware of the situation. They might have some insights to offer.”

  She slowed to study his face, as if assessing his sincerity. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to put this on you. I know that’s not at all a part of your job.”

  “Hey, I’ve always felt like anything that affects the kids is my job. I taught for quite a few years before I became superintendent, and I have to say one of the things I miss about teaching is that one-on-one contact with the kids.”

  “I appreciate that, John. I’m doing double the worrying about the kids now that I’m both Mom and Dad. I know Andy will be okay…with time. He’s already made a couple of friends in our neighborhood. It’s just that he doesn’t feel like he fits in at school yet. But if eighth grade is still anything like it was thirty-some years ago, nobody thinks they fit in.”

  He did some quick math. “If it was thirty years ago, you must have been about five years old in eighth grade.” He was fishing brazenly.

  She smiled. “I’m forty-three, John. I don’t mind telling my age.”

  “I’m sorry. That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Well, you don’t look as though you could be thirty, let alone forty-three.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Well, thank you. I appreciate the compliment.”

  They jogged side by side in companionable silence until they came to the park benches at the end of the path. “Wanna cool down for a little bit?” John risked.

  “Sure.”

  They sat down and a full hour passed before John thought to look at his watch. Julia made him realize afresh how much he missed this easy, familiar conversation. He’d accepted the silence in his life because he had no choice, but now he felt years of suppressed thoughts and emotions welling within him, begging for expression. He felt he could talk to her forever.

  He hurried home, started a load of laundry and showered, whistling all the while.

  That fresh air did me a world of good, he thought to himself. I need to run more often.

  He dressed and drove to Parkside. Ellen was still in the dining room when he arrived. The evening meal was served at exactly five-thirty at Parkside, and John rarely arrived in time to share supper with her. Tonight the table where she sat was crowded, so he kissed her on the cheek and told her he would come back for her when she was finished eating. She looked up at his face, but her expression did not acknowledge him.

  John went down the hallway to her room. He threw out a wilted b
unch of chrysanthemums he’d brought from the garden at home the week before. He rinsed the vase and set it on the bathroom counter to dry and made a mental note to bring another bouquet when he came tomorrow night.

  He straightened the books on her night table. He was fairly certain that Ellen had lost her ability to read, but he continued to supply her with a new large-print book every few days, just in case.

  Absentmindedly, he leafed through the album of family pictures he and the kids had fixed for her. Though Ellen rarely looked at the album, he knew the nurses and Ellen’s other caregivers did. He hoped it would give them a sense of who she had been. Before.

  He glanced at the clock. She would be finished eating by now. He closed her door behind him and hurried down the hall to the dining room.

  Ellen was sitting alone at the table, tapping a fork against her coffee cup. The busboys were clearing the tables, carrying on a loud conversation across the room. John went up behind Ellen and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Ready to go back to your room, Ellen?” He asked the question as always, expecting no answer in return.

  Without speaking or looking at him, she pushed her chair clumsily away from the table and took his waiting arm. Together, they walked slowly down the corridor to her room.

  John spent the next hour beside his wife on the sofa in her room, but his mind was a million miles away in rapt conversation with one Julia Sinclair.

  John ran into Julia in the park again just a week later. As before, they fell into easy conversation, jogging to the end of the path, then claiming a park bench and talking until the sun disappeared behind the trees and he could find no excuse to stay longer.

  He discovered that he and Julia shared many of the same values and philosophies, yet there was an edge to their conversation that gave it an excitement he couldn’t quite explain. Though he tried to push the comparison from his mind, it reminded him of the stimulating exchanges he and Ellen had always enjoyed. He didn’t want to compare Julia to Ellen. It seemed disloyal to Ellen—and unfair to Julia. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.