Broken Promises (22 page)

She lifted her fork and cut into the pie. Thick brown gravy oozed out and coated the crust. Becca could see large chunks of vegetables and meat. She brought a forkful to her mouth and took a large bite. The buttery flavor of the crust combined perfectly with the spicy gravy and meat combination. She quickly scooped up another piece.

“This is wonderful,” she said to Clarissa, who was also enjoying her meal.

Looking up, brown gravy on her chin, Clarissa smiled. “It’s even better than restaurant food.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Becca agreed, “it really is.”

The conversation halted and they both concentrated on their food. Finally, their plates wiped clean, Becca sat back and sighed. “That was so delicious. I need to go up to Mrs. Gunderson and thank her.”

“No, that’s okay, mommy,” Clarissa said. “I already said thank you to her.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” her mother replied. “But, I think it’s necessary for me to thank her. She is really doing so much for our family. I need to let her know how much I appreciate her.”

Clarissa looked down at her lap for a moment and, with a sigh, lifted her head and met her mother’s eyes. “Mrs. Gunderson didn’t make the meat pies,” she said.

“Clarissa, where did they come from?” her mother asked.

“Meri’s wife, Drina, made them for us.”

“Meri? Drina? Who are they?”

“They’re gypsies, just like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” she explained. “And they are friends of Mami Nadja at the Nursing Home.”

“Mami Nadja? The woman at the Nursing Home who knew I’d been taking drugs from them?” she asked, her voice raising and her breathing becoming a little erratic.

“Mommy, it’s okay,” Clarissa said, sliding out of her chair and running around the table to hug her mother. “They are our friends. They want to protect us.”

Becca put her hand on Clarissa’s head and stroked her hair gently. “Darling, you don’t understand,” she said. “We can’t trust anyone. The bad man who wants to find us has money and money can make good people do bad things.”

“No, Mommy, Meri won’t do bad things,” she said.

Becca sighed. “Perhaps he won’t,” she said. “But he might not understand that it is bad. He might just tell someone where a little girl named Clarissa lives. He might accidentally give our secret away. I can’t risk it. Please try to understand, Clarissa.”

She wrapped Clarissa in her arms and held her. “I can’t let them get you, sweetheart,” she whispered into her hair. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Sighing, Clarissa nodded. “I won’t talk to Meri anymore,” she said sadly. “I promise.”

Becca placed her hands on Clarissa’s shoulders and gently moved her out of the embrace, so she could see her face. She knew Clarissa would be disappointed, but she needed to be honest with her daughter. “Darling, you won’t ever see Meri again because we are going to have to move,” she explained. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

“But where will we go?” Clarissa asked.

Becca pushed herself out of her chair and leaned against the table. “Let me count my tips,” she said, “and see how much money we have. Then I’ll be able to decide.”

Clarissa watched her mother struggle down the hallway into the living room. She heard the sound of Becca’s purse being emptied as coins jingled against the surface of the table. She didn’t want to leave. She liked Meri. She wanted to be part of the gypsy people. She wanted to be protected from people like Mrs. Gunderson and her nephew.

Then she remembered the look of worry on her mother’s face and she knew what she had to do. She picked up her backpack, reached inside and withdrew the envelope.

Becca divided the coins into piles of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Then she created stacks to make the tally easier. She started with the quarters and was relieved to find the stacks totaled twenty dollars. Now to count the dimes.

She heard Clarissa enter the room, but was concentrating on keeping the total in her head, so she didn’t pay attention to her until she saw the crumpled envelope slide towards her on the table.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s the babysitting money,” Clarissa said. “Mrs. Gunderson gave it back to me today.”

“But…I don’t understand,” Becca replied. “Why would she do that?”

“She said there was a mistake,” Clarissa said. “She said it was ours and she didn’t want it.”

Becca took the envelope and opened it, noting the bundle of dollar bills still clipped together. “Clarissa, this means we can go far away,” she said, a smile spreading on her face. “We can get bus tickets to Florida or Georgia. We can go somewhere no one can ever find us.”

Mary and Rosie, wrapped in large towels, sat on the back row in the sauna, inhaling the eucalyptus-scented steam. Mary leaned her head back against the wall and relaxed. “Rosie, this was an amazing idea,” she said. “I feel so relaxed.”

“Well, after what we’ve been through lately, I thought we both deserved a spa day,” she said. “Besides, I want to look my best tomorrow night.”

Mary smiled. “Poor Stanley won’t know what hit him.”

Rosie giggled. “I’m all about shock and awe,” she said. “I’m thinking about getting a little heart tattoo on my nether regions, what do you think?”

Choking, Mary sat up and turned to her friend. “You are not…”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said with a grin. “Stanley might like it.”

“Well, if it’s for Stanley, you ought to be getting a slice of pie tattoo,” Mary teased.

Rosie turned and looked over her shoulder. “Does this banana cream make my butt look fat?” she replied.

They both laughed and Mary resumed her relaxed state against the wall. “I am so happy for you, Rosie,” she said. “I think you and Stanley are going to be so happy together.”

Rosie leaned back too and nodded. “Underneath all of those grumbles, he really is a charming man,” she said.

“And he adores you,” Mary said. “It’s always wonderful when a man adores his wife.”

“Just like Bradley adores you,” Rosie added.

Mary grinned. “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?” she said. “I am so lucky.”

“Well, I think he’s lucky too,” Rosie added.

“And I think Stanley’s lucky,” Mary said.

“Well, he will be tomorrow night,” Rosie laughed.

“Rosie!” Mary said, her face turning red. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

Blotting away some of the perspiration with a thick face towel, Rosie turned to her friend. “Mary, there is nothing embarrassing about sex,” she said. “It’s the most beautiful, natural and fulfilling part of a relationship.”

“I have to admit, I’m a little worried about the whole wedding night thing,” Mary said. “I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

A gurgling laugh escaped Rosie’s lips. “Oh, sweetheart, there is no way you could do anything wrong,” she said. “The secret is…”

“What?” Mary asked, leaning closer.

She met Mary’s eyes. “The secret is to relax, communicate and enjoy. Don’t worry about performing or expectations. Sex is a bond that married people can share for a lifetime. It can be hot and nearly overwhelming, or it can be slow and tender. And, believe me, both ways are wonderful.”

She grinned at Mary and wagged her eyebrows. But Mary didn’t laugh, she looked even more nervous. Rosie sighed and her face sobered. “It’s the very best way to express love, but so many people get hung up on it, they don’t let themselves enjoy it. Don’t be afraid to talk with Bradley about it.”

“But, you know, he’s experienced,” she said. “And...well…I’m not.”

“And he’s going to be even more nervous because of that,” Rosie said.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Yes, because he’ll want to be sure it’s wonderful, for both of you.”

Sighing, Mary looked away for a moment, and then turned back. “I know I’m not…you know…competing with Jeannine. But, they were married for so long. What if…”

Rosie held her hand up and stopped her. “Sex is unique for every couple. Bradley’s experience with you will not be like his experience with Jeannine. And because it’s unique, he’ll be learning too. You both need to find out what works best for both of you.”

“How do we do that?”

“You talk to each other,” she said. “You let him know what feels good and he does the same.”

Mary sat up straight and stared at Rosie. “Really, we’re going to have a conversation while we’re…,” she broke off and her face turned red again.

Laughing, she shook her head. “Sweetie, I don’t think it’s going to be a conversation,” she said. “But you’ll be making sounds that he’ll understand and he’ll do the same.”

Mary tucked in the edge of her towel more securely and stood up. “Rosie, I think I’m even more confused,” she said.

“Trust me,” Rosie said. “Everything will be just wonderful and it will be worth the wait.”

“Rosie, just in time,” Stanley said, opening the door to his home even wider. “Please come in.”

She walked in, sliding off her coat, but froze in place after a few steps. “Stanley, what have you done to your home?” she asked.

The living room was totally different from the room she had seen only a few days earlier. Instead of a room and furnishings that looked over a decade old, the entire room had been remodeled. Soft warm colors on the wall and rugs, complemented leather furniture and oak tables with splashes of bright complementary colors in toss pillows and art.

“This looks like a room from out of a magazine,” she said.

“Well, I ain’t saying it does and I ain’t saying it don’t,” he said. “But I do think it looks a mite better in here, myself.”

She turned back to face him. “How did you get it all done so fast?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Called in a favor from Cal over at Rite-Way Furniture,” he said. “He’s got those interior decorator gals that work for him. They came over and lickity-split the whole room looked different.”

Walking over to her, he helped her take her coat off the rest of the way. After laying it over the back of the couch, he turned to her and took her hands in his. “They said you’d like it,” he said. “Do you? Do you like it Rosie?”

Smiling up at him, she stepped forward and kissed him. “Stanley, I love it,” she said. “I really love it.”

He breathed an audible sound of relief. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “Cause I really did want to make you happy.”

He kissed her and held her in his arms. “Rosie, I think I understand most of what Verda wanted,” he said. “I still don’t remember everything, but one thing I do know, she wanted you to understand who she was and what our life was like afore she died.”

Rosie smiled up at him. “I would love to learn more about you and Verda,” she said.

He led her to the small dining room and pulled out a chair for her. “I made us supper,” he said. “I haven’t cooked for a while. But, I think it’s good.”

“I’m sure I will enjoy it,” she replied.

“Okay, well, then I’ll be right back,” he said, hurrying to the kitchen.

Lying on the table, near her plate, was an old leather-bound photo album. Rosie pulled it closer, opened the first page and saw a black and white wedding photo. Although it was over fifty years old, she instantly recognized Stanley and smiled.
What a hunk
, she thought.

She looked at Verda, a petite woman with dark hair and sparkling eyes. She was sporting a bouffant hairstyle and her wedding dress was fitted through her bodice and then full skirted below, a very typical 50s style. Stanley, with a full head of hair, was wearing a black fedora, along with a tuxedo and a black bow tie.
Well, aren’t you all Frank Sinatra
.

Smiling, she turned to the next page. Stanley and Verda were standing in front of this house when they first bought it, clutching the “SOLD” sign in their hands. Verda was wearing a dress that looked like it stepped out of a Donna Reed rerun, but she looked perfect in it.
Pearls and high heels
, she thought.
How in the world did she ever get anything done dressed like that?

The next page showed a smiling Verda holding up a tiny pair of crocheted baby booties. The next page started a collection of smaller photographs attached with Scotch tape and small black corner holders. From the first day of school to Thanksgiving dinner to Christmas morning, the photos were a wonderful history of Stanley’s first marriage.

“I didn’t mean to take so long,” Stanley’s apology came from the dining room doorway. “These dang potatoes just wouldn’t mash properly.”

He carried in a bowl of slightly runny, lumpy mashed potatoes and placed them in the middle of the table.

“They look delicious,” Rosie said, closing the album and sliding back in place.

Stanley pulled out the chair next to her and took her hands in his. “I know this dinner ain’t gonna be as good as what you can make,” he said. “But I wanted to make dinner for you, you know, to maybe show you how much I appreciate all you do for me.”

Leaning forward, she kissed him. “Thank you, Stanley,” she said. “I have a feeling that this is going to be the best dinner I’ve ever eaten.”

Nodding, he didn’t say a word, just stood up and walked out of the room. In a moment he was carrying a platter with meat loaf covered with ketchup and surrounded with green beans. “I saw on one of those cooking shows how you’re supposed to put the food on plate and make it look fancy,” he said. “So, I thought I’d try it with the green beans, ‘cepting I think the juice is getting the meat a mite soggy.”

Rosie bit back a smile and inhaled deeply. “Oh, it smells just delicious.”

Stanley filled her plate with about twice of what she usually ate and sat across from her, waiting anxiously for her to take her first bite.

She lifted a forkful of meatloaf. It had a very strong flavor of oregano and she thought she might have chewed on a piece of eggshell, but overall it wasn’t bad at all. She smiled up at him. “This is very good,” she said. “It has a slight oregano taste.”

Grinning and nodding, he leaned forward. “Yeah, the cookbook only said two tablespoons,” he said. “But I remember little green flecks being all throughout Verda’s meatloaf, so I added a cup of them. Thought it would taste better that way.”