A Promise to Remember (9 page)

She fished through her purse for her cell phone. Next, she
found her wallet and pulled out the piece of paper tucked there.
She stared at the numbers for a moment and then pushed the
necessary buttons.

Peggy strolled into the break room, lunch in hand. "Who ya
calling?" She plopped at the table.

Melanie turned off the phone. "No one." The call would
have to wait.

Andie set the McDonald's bag on the coffee table and kicked
off the sandals she'd worn for the trip to the drive-through.
Grasping the remote firmly in her right hand, she picked up
her milkshake with the left and extended her feet onto the glass
coffee table. Blair would have a fit if he saw her now, but she'd
clean the smudges before he got home. He'd never know.

The screen before her blinked as she pushed the button past
infornercials, talk shows, and I Love Lucy reruns. She finally
stopped at a home-makeover show, though she didn't really
watch it. To her, it was just noise. Something to fill the quietness of the house.

The phone rang.

Probably Christi, wanting to know why I didn't make it to the
committee brunch. The machine could get it, but if I dont answer,
she'll call every five minutes until I do.

Andie took a slug of milkshake and reached across the end
table for the receiver. "Hello."

"Andie darling, it's Mattie. How are you doing today, you
poor thing?"

Andie was glad that Mattie couldn't see her roll her eyes. Mattilda Plendor knew everyone's business in the entire church. No one would think to call her a gossip, because she didn't spread
rumors, and even though busybody might be appropriate, her
genuine love and concern precluded that label, as well. She was
simply "involved"-whether you wanted her to be or not.

"I'm okay." Andie wanted to end this call and dig into the hag
of fries on the coffee table. "Thanks for checking in."

"Well, I've got to tell you something. My driver-you've met
Rodrigo, haven't you, dear? He'll be at your house in just a few
minutes. Remember how we decided that you needed a new
outfit to cheer you up?"

"Oh, Mattie, thanks for the offer, but I couldn't possibly buy
anything right now."

"And I don't want you to buy anything now. At our last store
meeting we discussed the possibility of using some living
models."

Andie had no idea what she was talking about, but bit back the
obvious sarcastic comment-Have you been using dead ones?

"We want to find three or four women who are involved
around town to wear our creations. They will draw notice and
bring more business. It costs less than running an ad in Hai-per's
Bazaar, you know" Mattie paused.

Andie had the distinct impression she was expected to insert
a squeal of joy at that point. She didn't want to hurt Mattie's
feelings, so she worked up the energy for at least polite acknowledgment. "Oh, well, I'm honored, but-"

"No more arguments. You jump in the car with Rodrigo and
do as you are told."

"But, Mattie, I haven't even showered yet." Andie felt her
cheeks flush at the admission-after all, it was almost noon.
Before the accident she would have been up, exercised, met
with the committee, and been to her elbows in paperwork by
noon. These days, she found excuses to skip all but the most vital charity commitments. Nothing social warranted the energy
required to get out and put on a happy face. Or a fancy dress.

"That's fortunate, dear. I called Camille the Day Spa-you're
going there first. You'll get a massage, soak in the hot tub, then
get a facial and a hairstyle. I thought you might want a little
boost to get you out and about."

The speaker from the gate buzzed.

"He's at your gate now. Hurry, or you'll be late for your appointment. Don't worry about what you're wearing, because as
soon as you're done at Camille, Rodrigo is bringing you here."

Too exhausted to keep up the argument, Andie pushed the
button to open the gate and went in search of a hairbrush.
There was no stopping Mattilda when she was in one of these
modes, and Andie knew it. The next problem that faced her
was what to do about the clothes. She didn't like the clothes
at Mattilda's boutique and wondered how she could get out of
that part gracefully.

She didn't want to hurt Mattie. Or the women boycotting
Alfords. Or any of the others trying to help her. But they weren't
helping her. They were making things worse. Why couldn't they
just leave her alone?

Melanie walked to a remote corner of the parking lot. She didn't
want to take the chance of being overheard.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Les Stewart."

She poured out the story of the boycott, and the talk of layoffs, and all her pent-up anger and fear. She hated showing her
weakness to him. He might be on her side, but he was, after
all, one of them.

"This is just the kind of thing I'd expect." His voice was
reassuring, but perhaps a touch eager, too. Did he enjoy this
added conflict? "I want you to keep doing your job to the best of your abilities. If it comes down to layoffs, we need to make
absolutely certain there are no reasonable grounds for your
name to be on the list."

If it comes to layoffs? She had hoped he would tell her that
could never happen. Somehow the fact that he acknowledged
the possibility made it more real. "Okay" She hated the way
her voice cracked.

"You go back to work today like nothing's changed. I'm sure
your co-worker was right-things will get back to normal in the
next few days."

Maybe contacting him had been an overreaction. "All
right."

"Thanks for calling and telling me about this. If I don't know
about a situation, there is no way I can help. Don't ever hesitate
to call. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't worry. If they want to play hard ball, they are about
to come up against the best in the business."

Melanie could almost hear the smile in his voice.

Andie looked in the mirror at her made-over self. Still in her
jeans, she stood in the dressing room of Discerning-the shop
Mattilda owned. She had to admit that the visit to the spa did
help. It gave her a bit of a lift to feel fixed up again. But not
enough to make her want to exert her own limited energy in
keeping it up.

"This will look divine on you." Mattilda breezed into the room
and held up a snake-print dress for Andie's inspection.

"I don't know, I don't usually wear anything so flashy."

Mattilda's eyebrows twitched. "It's not flashy-it's fabulous.
It's from Roberto Cavalli's new line."

Andie had always favored traditional clothes, varying her
wardrobe only to stay out of the "out of fashion" ranks. Although
she appreciated couture on other people, it wasn't her line of
interest. She preferred not to stand out.

Mattilda looked her up and down. "Hmmm, you have gained
a little weight. Let me see what else we've got."

Andie looked down at her body. Was her lack of discipline
that apparent? What did it matter, though? Blair didn't even look
at her anymore; Chad was gone. Why should she care what she
looked like? It required too much effort to maintain.

"This is it!" Mattilda came in, her face beaming, holding a
dress that Marcia Brady might have worn on a bad day. "I can't
wait to see you wearing this at church on Sunday."

At that very moment, Andie began to pray she would develop
a case of the flu before Sunday services. This was going to be
a nightmare.

Later that night, Andie scraped her barely touched salmon
off the plate. Neither she nor Blair had finished much. They
didn't speak, didn't eat, didn't look at each other. She didn't risk
talking to him about it because she dreaded the sharp retort that
would follow. No reason to go asking for more pain.

She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. The shorter
length, from the morning's makeover at Camille, felt strange to
her fingers. Blair hadn't even noticed. He'd barely bothered to
look at her during the silent dinner. Instead, after five minutes he
announced he had work to do and shut himself in his office.

She rinsed the plates silently and loaded the dishwasher.
Tension knotted her stomach. When Blair was in one of these
moods, she could do nothing right, and the thing that annoyed
him most of all was her tendency toward messiness. She glanced
around for anything that needed straightening.

The knots pulled tighter. Everything seemed messy tonight.
Why did she never notice these things until Blair-or Christicame barreling through the door?

These were the nights when she missed the easy company of
Chad. His quiet hugs. His understanding smile. His "Gee, Dad,
do we need to put our trays in the upright and locked position?
Looks like you're flying through some bumpy weather" comments that always calmed Blair's temper. He'd have everyone
sitting at the Monopoly board within minutes, forgetting there
had ever been disquiet.

She rubbed her eyes and placed the last of the dishes in the
dishwasher, started the cycle, and walked into the living room.
She needed to get some of this picked up before Blair came
out of the office and began a tirade.

On the couch, she saw her latest Artist's World magazine lying
open. Better put it away, and quick. Blair considered art a waste
of time. For the most part, she had abandoned her passion, but
she still looked at the magazine once a month and dreamed of
sitting on a secluded beach, easel before her, brush in hand,
empty canvas waiting.

Chad had been the only source of encouragement in her
painting. Now he was gone.

She opened the drawer to the end table, removed last month's
edition, and placed the new one in its spot.

Okay, one less thing for Blair to get angry about. Though with
sudden awareness she knew it wouldn't matter. One magazine in
a drawer meant nothing. Their problems and Blair's frustrations
lay deeper. She knew something at the office was not going well,
but more than that she felt that deep down Blair blamed her.
He blamed her for Chad's death. How could he not?

She threw herself on the couch and buried her face in
the pillows. Why had she not intervened in Chad's problems
sooner?

When she lifted her head, she noticed the smudges on the
coffee table from her fast-food lunch. Couldn't she do one
thing right?

Just then Blair's voice boomed from the back of the house.
"Andie, is it too much to ask for you to put your shoes back in
the closet? I just tripped over your sandals in the hallway and
spilled my papers everywhere."

"Sorry." Yes. She had failed at everything.

Melanie's fingers tightened on the phone. "They filed a
what?"

"A demurrer."

Something in Les's voice reminded her of a parent trying
to explain the obvious to a toddler. Control yourself. Getting
in itated with your lawyer will not help you or Jeff. "What does
that mean, and how will it affect us?"