A Promise Remembered Read online

  Elbows planted firmly on the counter, William distracted himself with the sight of Annie as she hustled in and out through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. With each push of the aluminum door, he caught a whiff of the sizzling, steaming engulfment of grease just beyond it. Even the momentary sniff of it made his stomach churn. That kitchen had seemed like a humid prison, caking his skin and hair in a grimy film. He took a swig of coffee and turned to inspect the dining room.

  The scuffed sand-colored tabletops were still sandwiched between vertical vinyl booths of spruce green and chestnut. Most seats were torn, with faded spots where thousands of patrons had plopped their derrieres over the years. As Annie seated a couple in their fifties, William grimaced as he waited for the thwart sound the seat cushions always made. The couple crouched over to manipulate their bodies into the booth, and—thwart—their weight pushed the air out of the giant rips in the vinyl. He used to find it amusing as a kid, the sound playing into his adolescent sense of humor, but now it, along with all the other sights, was beginning to be too much.

  William slowly swiveled his barstool, also grossly cracked and fading. Running his hand along the long L-shaped counter with a cream laminate and two-inch metal banding, he forced a few deep breaths. The counter still comfortably sat twelve people and provided a perch at the far end to view the entire diner and all its happenings.

  It was from this perch William sipped his coffee and studied Annie as she served her customers, occasionally fidgeting with the waist of her apron whenever her eyes shifted his way. It wasn’t busy for a dinner rush, leaving her time to chat with patrons as she breezed by him, nose tilted ever so slightly in the air. By the time she slapped his bill on the counter, he concluded she had developed a serious attitude problem.

  William’s inner monologue finally found his lips. “Refill on your coffee? Sure, sounds great, Annie. Thanks so much for offering,” he said. From across the countertop, she gritted her teeth and poured him another cup, stopping short at least an inch and a half from the rim. “A little more, thanks,” he told her with a sweet smile before glancing at the bill. “That’s awfully steep for a lousy sandwich and a pickle, don’t you think? Are you highballing me here?”

  Annie shrugged and cleared his plate before he could finish his pickle or protest further. She was a far cry from the vivacious girl he had known in high school who had been hard to miss with her natural good looks and vibrant laugh. As she hustled back and forth behind the counter, the heavy polyester uniform couldn’t mask her thin frame and bony elbows, while her hair, tied up in a ratty knot, framed dark circles shadowed beneath her eyes.

  “How long have you been working here?” he asked, eyeing her intently. He hadn’t been prepared to see her again, not after all this time. But as she scooted here and there, her eyes focused only on the task at hand, he found himself yearning for her to look at him. “I said, how long have you been—”

  “I heard you.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  Her mouth twisted. “I suppose.”

  “Don’t be too enthusiastic,” he said. “It’s only my mom’s place.”

  Her chin jerked up. “What was that?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, Annie.”

  A flush crept up her face as she stopped short in front of him. He braced himself, waiting for a reaction of any kind, even if it was an outburst. Anything had to be better than the silent treatment.

  “Can I get you something else, sir?” she asked. William’s stomach lurched at the coldness in her voice. At how forced it was, as if she were straining for control.

  “Grab me a water, would you?” he said, holding a fist to his mouth to try to calm his upset stomach. Seeing Annie had thrown him for a loop, that was for sure, but he never expected he would have such a physical reaction to it. “I’m feeling a bit queasy.”

  Annie’s eyes slowly widened as William groaned and leaned heavily against the counter, tiny dots of perspiration percolating on his forehead.

  “Oh,” she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. “Oh, William.”

  “What?” He motioned for the water. Annie slinked backward to fetch an ice water and crept closer again, hesitating before handing it to him.

  “I’ve done something...” She winced. “Awful.”

  “What?” William asked, although he wasn’t really listening. A wave of nausea propelled him to his feet.

  “The restroom is over by the—”

  “I know,” he gulped, racing to its sanctuary.

  “I’m sorry!” Annie called after him, but he didn’t have time to wonder what she meant.

  * * *

  ANNIE HURRIED TO the kitchen, grabbed the carton of remaining egg salad and slammed it into the trash. She paced, or rather hid behind the kitchen door, periodically peeking out the porthole to see if William had ventured back out among the living. As each minute ticked by, her own stomach clenched tighter as if in a vise.

  “Is everything okay, dear?”

  Annie jumped at Joyce’s warm voice, homey and inviting like a crackling fire. Immediately, a pang of guilt slammed her. Joyce was her dearest friend, and she might have killed her only son. As much as she wanted to throw herself at Joyce’s feet and offer a dramatic confession, she decided it might be best not to mention what she’d done until all the facts shook themselves out in their own good time.

  “William’s sick,” she blurted.

  “Sick?” Joyce said, her face contorting into a mass of wrinkles in the blink of an eye.

  “He’s been in the bathroom for a while now.”

  Joyce scurried off as Annie found Miles staring at her.

  “What?” she said, popping her hands to her hips like a hen rearing to peck.

  “Annie Curtis,” Miles reprimanded her. “Do I even want to know why?”

  “I’ll take the blame, Miles, so I’ll stop you right there,” Annie replied, sneaking a peek out the porthole window again.

  “Joyce could lose her license.”

  “Nah, he won’t call the health inspector on his own mother.”

  “What about on you?”

  Annie scrunched her face. “Don’t you have something to fry back there?” She furiously slammed the top of his order bell several times and shooed him back to the kitchen. “Order up, order up, order up, Miles.”

  He shook his head. “Call me before you tell Joyce you poisoned her baby. I sure don’t want to miss that.”

  Annie returned to the porthole window and heaved a sigh of relief when William finally emerged, though staggering and green.

  She ventured out to the dining room. “Are you okay?” she asked him softly. William turned and glared at her, making her recoil slightly.

  “Annie, what exactly did you mean before when you said you were sorry?”

  Annie paused, grazing a finger over her lips as she scrambled for an explanation. She had yelled the words like a reflex, without thinking, without predicting the consequences. But now, as William’s eyes narrowed, she knew they were a tragic mistake.

  She winced. “Hmm?”

  A deep growl vibrated behind his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I pulled the car around to the front, dear,” Joyce said, hurrying over to them. “I can take you straight to the emergency room.”

  William put a hand over his stomach. “Take me back to the house.”

  “But you got sick so suddenly and so violently. They should check you over to find out what’s wrong. You’re dehydrated at the very least.”

  William shot Annie a scowl. “I know what happened.”

  Annie’s eyes pleaded with William to not give her away. She couldn’t bear to imagine the look of disappointment and hurt in Joyce’s eyes when she learned what Annie had done. It would be too awful.

  “Was it something you ate here?” Jo
yce asked, turning to Annie to help supply the answer. As Annie clasped her hands in a prayer and was about to explain, William shook his head.

  “You can’t trust sushi from a gas station, Mom.”

  Annie’s mouth dropped open as Joyce took her son’s arm and patted it.

  “Golly, no. It had probably been sitting out for days, William.”

  William allowed his mother to squeeze him in a long hug, but his body was rigid, eyes boring holes into Annie. Several moments passed before he finally responded. “Something like that.”

  “I’ll bet you won’t do that again,” Annie said, cringing, knowing full well she was pressing her luck. William huffed at her as Joyce led him to the door.

  Perhaps their long-awaited reunion hadn’t gone completely as Annie would have predicted, but she took satisfaction in William Kauffman knowing where she stood.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ANNIE POKED HER head into her children’s shared bedroom as Marjorie, her neighbor, helped them fumble into pajamas.

  A nurturing widow in her sixties, Marjorie had proved to be a reliable confidante and babysitter in recent years. While Annie was prone to overreaction, nothing ever seemed to rile serene Marjorie. Her auburn hair had peppered to white over the years, and her face, a road map of heavy wrinkles and lines, was radiant because of the loving expressions it constantly displayed. A transplant from Tennessee, she carried a Southern hospitality and charm. Between Joyce and Marjorie, Annie was certain her own mother was in heaven, sending surrogates to stand by her side.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Marjorie asked in her sweet, charming lilt.

  Annie managed a negligent shrug, the day hanging heavy around her neck as she leaned against the doorway.

  Marjorie kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “We’ll have a cup of tea on it another time. They’ve been watching the clock, waiting for you. I’ll let myself out.”

  Annie climbed onto her daughter’s bed and sighed with satisfaction. Despite all her failures over the course of her adult life, the two little people tumbling over themselves to embrace her were certainly not included in the list. They were the only reason that the last few years had been tolerable.

  Betsy was an outspoken eight-year-old with a round, expressive face and big brown eyes like hers. She had a goofy expression to match any occasion and had certainly gotten herself into trouble by an inappropriately timed raised eyebrow. James, on the other hand, was as fair and gentle as a light summer rain. With storm-gray eyes and moppy brown hair, he moved delicately through the world, examining it from his owl perch before cautiously dipping in a toe and joining the action.

  While they didn’t share a father, the two were thick as thieves, and Annie, who had no siblings of her own, took solace in the fact that what she couldn’t give them in extended family, she had made up for by giving them each other.

  James, following Betsy’s flailing pantomime directions, selected a Rapunzel storybook from the cupboard and sandwiched himself between Annie and Betsy on his bed.

  “Wasn’t it your turn to pick?” Annie asked as James snuggled into her side. He shrugged as Betsy yanked the book from his hands and flipped open the cover.

  “I love this book so much,” Betsy said, shuddering with excitement.

  Annie tucked a pillow behind her back and prepared to read Rapunzel for the hundredth time. “Why?”

  Betsy tipped her head back against her pillow before replying with a whimsical look, “I love how the prince saves Rapunzel and carries her off to his palace.”

  “That isn’t how life works, Bets.”

  “I know. I know,” her daughter grumbled, aware she had heard this talk before. “But I still like this story the best, and I want to read it a hundred more times. A thousand more times!”

  “Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Annie said. She pulled the covers over the three of them. “But I’ll read it once tonight.” As her children melted deeper against her, she understood the allure of getting lost in a little fantasy now and again, especially a romantic one. Her children didn’t need to be privy to the disappointing ways of the world yet. Unfortunately, that was her job.

  * * *

  WILLIAM THRUST OPEN the rickety shed door and stood back to admire how everything inside was still meticulously placed just as Dennis had left it. It was a clear indicator his mother had not been inside since Dennis’s death three years ago. As the early-morning sun filtered in from behind him, thousands of dust particles glittered and swirled around his first hesitant step. The air inside hung heavy and musty. With his eyes closed, the stale scent of cedar chips, rusted-out gas cans and motor oil wafted over him. It engulfed his nostrils with a nostalgia he had long tried to bury. Only one whiff and he was back to the day his life veered off course.

  Right on the threshold of this shed, when William hadn’t had any proof that he was the true victim and not the violent juvenile Dennis had claimed, his stepfather had tried to have him arrested. For as many times as he had recalled the altercation, the details had slowly begun to fade. Perhaps it was a way to cope with his anger and soften the hard edges, but standing in the shed again, the details came back to him: the dueling sawhorses Dennis had made him sand until his fingertips were raw and bleeding; Dennis’s apple-red tool chest he’d once innocently scratched and paid hell for later; and the wooden pallet he’d punched a fist through minutes before the cops arrived and Dennis had falsely accused him of assault. It took all his restraint to not boot the nearest thing just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter and break against the wall.

  Heaving a sigh, he jerked the corner of a dust-covered drop cloth to reveal one of his teenage fantasies in all its chrome glory: the classic 1981 Indian motorcycle. Fully restored, practically fawned over daily by the old man, it was a thing of pure beauty. And now it was finally his.

  He gingerly ran his fingers over the smooth cinnamon-colored paint that had inspired him to nickname the motorcycle Old Red. He carefully swung his leg over the leather seat and firmly gripped the handlebars. The bike had been sitting cold for several years in the harsh Lake Superior winters, so he drew a breath and hoped for the best.

  He shifted the transmission to Neutral and carefully set his choke. After pulling in the clutch, he pressed the starter button and waited for the crackle of the engine to tear through every corner of the tiny shed.

  Nothing.

  William double-checked that his kill switch wasn’t set at Off and tried again, but the engine was silent.

  Perfect.

  “Call The Chinoodin Chronicle! Hell hath officially frozen over.”

  A grin leaped to William’s face at the familiar voice. “How are you doing, man?” His buddy Brandon Rodriguez strode into the shed and embraced him in a bear hug. “How’d you know I was back?”

  “Son, please. I know everything happening in this town.” Brandon slung his suit jacket over a chair and loosened his tie. He stopped short to admire the vintage bike. “Are you fixin’ up Old Red?”

  “It looks like I have to. I can’t get it started.”

  “I’d love to buy it off you, but the hours I work at the mayor’s office wouldn’t leave me enough time to make it worthwhile.”

  “Are you at the mayor’s office now?”

  “Two years in August,” Brandon replied, sitting back on a dusty sawhorse. “What are you doing in town?”

  William shook his head. “Hard to say right now.”

  Brandon nodded and held out a grocery bag. “A homecoming gift of sorts.”

  William glanced in the bag. “Pabst Blue Ribbon beer?” He chuckled. “Are you still drinking that?”

  “Nah. Only for you, man,” Brandon said. “Rocky’s was my first stop when I heard you were back. I had to help you stock the fridge. Have you been by the diner yet?”

  “Unfortunately,” William said, his empty gut still raw from the re
stless night.

  “Did you catch a glimpse of Annie?”

  “I caught more than that.”

  “She’s still a good-looking woman, eh?”

  “Annie? Annie Curtis? Are you two...?” William couldn’t quite get the words out, but his meaning was clear.

  “Oh, no. Annie’s great, but I’m already seeing someone. How long are you staying?”

  “Just passing through.”

  Brandon surveyed the shed. “Well, I know things ended on a sour note before.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Yeah, it sure is. It’s been a long time.” He focused on William. “If you’re interested, I could always put in a good word for you with Annie. Maybe help mend some of the...”

  William waved off the idea immediately.

  “Not worth my time or hers, Brandon.”

  “Did you tell her you’re just passing through?”

  William snorted. “Why would I? It’s none of her business. Besides, she wouldn’t be interested.”

  “No?”

  William angled his chin. “Am I missing something?”

  Brandon looked confused just as the shed door swung wide with a loud creak.

  “I thought I heard you out here.” Joyce carefully stepped inside before stopping short and studying the two men. “Back together again,” she mused. “My, oh, my, has it been a long time. Brandon, did you know William surprised me?”

  Brandon waggled his eyebrows. “I can imagine.”

  “I’m sure they heard me hollering with joy all the way in Munising.”

  “It didn’t take him long to find that bike.”

  Joyce rolled her eyes. “William, should I feel honored you at least came to see me first?”

  William shrugged. “Who can say for certain that that’s what I did?” Joyce swatted him playfully on the arm as he grinned. “I had to make sure we were still on good terms. It needs more tender loving care than I’d hoped, though.”