A Promise to Keep Page 4

  “Good. I’m sure that would make him a lot happier.”

  The pair walked back to the waiting room. The reporter was on her feet when they arrived.

  “We’re not going to film Scott here,” Vera told them. “We’re doing the interview at my house. I can show you all his service photos, and some of his medals.”

  The reporter zeroed in on Ronni, while the cameraman pointed the lens in her direction. “Mrs. Mangano, don’t you want your husband’s story told?”

  “You can do it without exploiting him like a sideshow. What Vera’s offering you will let you tell a fine story of a heroic man who served his country honorably.” Unfortunately, a lot of Scott’s other behavior had been less honorable.

  “We’d like to tell your story, too. How much you and your son have also sacrificed. Are still sacrificing.”

  “Absolutely not. Memorial Day is about those who served.” Just what she needed was some reporter grilling Nick, or worse, looking into what they’d sacrificed in the nineteen months since Scott’s injury in Iraq, and finding out about Nick’s court appearance that morning. She could imagine the lead-in: And coming up next, a war hero’s traumatized stepson runs afoul of the law.

  “Can you tell us the circumstances of your husband’s injury?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Didn’t it involve a motor vehicle accident?”

  The snot-nosed kid had done her homework. “Yes.”

  “So, your husband went all the way to Iraq and ended up injured, not by an IED or a sniper, but in a motor vehicle crash?”

  There was more to the story than that. But... “Yes. Which is just as ironic as stories about vets who come home from Iraq and end up being shot in their own neighborhoods, isn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

  The reporter pressed her card into Ronni’s hand. “If you change your mind, call me at the station. We’d like to cover all the angles.”

  After waiting in the reception area long enough to make sure they’d left, Ronni headed for Scott’s room, greeting other patients and staff along the way. She paused in the doorway. The drone of the television hummed in the background, some guy talking how-to about fishing. Scott, strapped in his full-support wheelchair, sat in front of it.

  But he wasn’t watching the screen.

  She entered. “Hey, Scott, how’s it going? You’ll never guess what your mom is up to today. She had plans to make you a TV star. Not to worry, though. I persuaded her to go a different route.”

  Scott’s head jerked in her direction, but his eyes remained fixed on the window.

  Not that it mattered where his eyes were aimed.

  She crossed to his dresser. A sealed pack of cigarettes and an empty beer bottle had been placed in the middle, just under the wall of photos she’d created. She shook her head. “I see Dan’s been by.” Dan Abbott was one of Scott’s buddies, a long-time friend he’d served with. Not many others found time to visit. The cigs and bottle—empty because Dan always drank it in Scott’s honor—were in lieu of flowers, which he said didn’t suit Scott.

  The photo in the center of the board, Scott in his uniform, always made her nostalgic.

  And pissed.

  He’d been a handsome man, even more dashing in that damn uniform. But as Babcia, her paternal grandmother, had always said, handsome is as handsome does. And Scott’s behavior...well, it hadn’t all been pretty.

  Ronni grabbed a container of lotion, then dragged a chair to his side. Pouring some of the cream into her palm, she slicked her hands, then began applying it to his forearms.

  Forearms that had once been strong, but had withered with disuse over the last nineteen months. “Did you have your physical therapy this morning?” Dry skin and atrophying muscles were only two of the battles waged daily for someone like Scott.

  Someone with PVS, permanent vegetative state. Permanent because he’d been this way for more than a year.

  She chattered at him like a magpie, saying nothing of substance. Because although he made a great listener—no different, really, than before he’d been injured, where she’d be lucky to get an occasional grunt out of him in response—one never knew who was lingering in the hallway, also listening.

  And if there was one thing she’d learned, it was to keep the dirty laundry out of sight.

  She worked her way down to his hands. Hands that had once caressed her. Held her. Loved her.

  She clenched her teeth, then swallowed hard against the sudden wave of nausea that climbed her throat.

  Hands that had caressed and loved other women, as well. Including while he’d been on tour in Iraq.

  She had the pictures to prove it.

  ###

  “Mom!” Nick’s voice echoed down the staircase. The boy’s lungs apparently hadn’t been impacted by his foray into smoking weed.

  Ronni pushed back from the small desk that served as both the reception booth and her office at the salon in the basement of her house. The house she’d moved into when her parents had kicked her out, pregnant with Nick. Babcia had taken her in. When she’d died five years later, she’d willed the house to Ronni.

  Leading to another round of her father’s wrath. The last time she’d seen her parents had been in the lawyer’s office, for the reading of Babcia’s will.

  “Mom?” Nick yelled again.

  No customers on Mondays. Instead, she used that time to catch up on paperwork—or computer work, to be more accurate. And do the major cleaning. Or course, today had also been Nick’s courthouse appearance, and she was still drained from dealing with Vera and the reporter at the nursing home.

  “Mom!”

  She strode around the desk and through the archway to the hall. Going left would take her to the parking lot in the back of the house. Turning right led to the stairs. She stood at the bottom and looked up at her son, silhouetted at the top. “What, Nick? And please don’t bellow.”

  “Uncle Hayden’s here. He brought pizza.”

  Hayden? Here? Now?

  “I’ll be right up.” She returned to the computer, saving and backing up data, closing down the programs. What could Hayden want? Why not just call her to deal with scheduling his time with Nick?

  At the top of the stairs, she flicked off the basement lights and drew the door closed. The spicy aroma of pepperoni and tomato sauce wafted from the kitchen. Two steps later, she watched Hayden bop Nick on the hand with a paper plate as her son reached into the pizza box on the table.

  “Wait for your mother.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “And you can be hungry until she gets here. Won’t kill you.”

  For someone who hadn’t spoken to her in years before this morning, and whose first glance had spewed death in her direction, the man was awfully defensive of her.

  Or maybe that was just the good manners Lydia Hawkins had drilled into her children.

  Ronni sighed. Another point where she’d failed to live up to Hawkins standards. It was probably just as well that they didn’t speak to her. Most likely she didn’t want to hear what they’d have to say.

  Hayden had ditched his court clothes in favor of a pair of faded, well-worn jeans that cupped his butt...in a way she had no right noticing.

  Nor should she have noticed his broad shoulders in the skintight turquoise T-shirt that accentuated the sandy highlights in his hair and the muscles in his back.

  But then, a woman would have to be dead not to notice those kinds of things about him.

  Although most days she felt so numb she wondered if she were dead, or in some other form of living limbo like Scott...apparently she wasn’t.

  Good to know. But rather surprising.

  A cool breeze flowed into the room through the sliding glass door that led to the deck off the dining area, bringing another surge of spicy pizza scent her way.

  Hayden turned around. “Hey, there you are.” He waved his hand toward the table. “I brought dinner. Thought maybe you could use a break after to
day.”

  “That’s very...thoughtful of you.”

  “Saved me from Meatloaf Monday,” Nick said, wrinkling his nose.

  “And I can pop it in the oven tomorrow night, and we’ll have Meatloaf Tuesday for a change of pace.” Ronni took stock of the table. Napkins, a six-pack of root beer and a four-pack of dark ale rounded things out.

  Nick dived into the box, dragging a slice onto his plate and immediately taking a huge bite.

  “Brought your favorite,” Hayden said to her. “Pepperoni from Two Friends.”

  “That’s not her favorite,” Nick said around his half-chewed food.

  Ronni mentally head-slapped him. Another demonstration of his fine manners.

  “It’s not?” Hayden rounded the table. Instead of taking the empty seat at the end, he pulled out the chair opposite Ronni. “Do you know how much of that your mother ate while she was pregnant with you?”

  Nick paused midbite, staring at his uncle. He chewed several more times, then swallowed the chunk of pizza in his mouth. “That’s Scott’s chair.”

  “Nick—” Ronni began.

  Hayden held up his hand. “Not a problem. I can move.” He started to head for the chair at the end.

  “No. You’re fine. It’s not like Scott’s using it.” She glared at Hayden while he wavered, looking back and forth between her and Nick. Finally, he sank down in the original place and warily reached into the white cardboard box.

  It had been just over two years since Scott had sat in that chair, the last night before he’d reported to the base for training before deployment.

  Nick’s eyes narrowed and he shot daggers at Hayden, who squirmed, glancing back at Ronni again for confirmation.

  She shook her head. “Stay there. Nick, you don’t seem to care when it’s one of your friends sitting there. Colton or Andy.”

  “That’s different.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “How so?”

  “It just is.” The boy dragged another piece of pizza onto his plate, laying it on the remainder of the first one. He stood. “I’ll be in my room, playing Halo. Thanks for the pizza.”

  “You’re welcome,” Hayden called to his back as he fled the kitchen. “Is he always such a charming dinner companion?”

  “Sometimes he’s almost civilized. Other times...not so much.” Ronni picked the pepperoni pieces off her slice, depositing them on the edge of her plate. “But that’s the first time I’ve seen him get bent out of shape about someone sitting in Scott’s chair. I’m sorry.”

  Hayden’s shoulders twitched in the tight turquoise cotton. “No big deal. It’s been a major day for him. I’ll cut him some slack.” He watched her peel the last few slices of meat off her dinner. “Seriously? No pepperoni?”

  She shrugged. “It bothers my stomach now.”

  “And here I thought I was getting it right.”

  “I appreciate the effort. As you can see, it’s easy enough to take them off.”

  The edges of his mouth turned down, and a tiny divot appeared in the center of his forehead as his eyebrows scrunched.

  “I’m not the same person I was thirteen years ago, Hayden. At least, I like to think I’ve changed. In ways that matter more than what I prefer on my pizza. Surely you’re not the same as you were then?”

  A loud caw saved him from answering. Ronni looked out on the deck, where a large crow was perched on the railing, flapping its wings. She chuckled. “I swear, that bird has a better sense of smell than any bloodhound.” She ripped a section of crust off her slice, then grabbed her plate and root beer. “Wanna finish this on the deck?”

  “Why not?”

  When she opened the door, the crow flew off to a tree on the far side of the yard. She set the crust on the corner of the railing farthest from the round wrought-iron table and two chairs. When they’d settled in, the crow swooped back down from the tree, landing beside the pizza crust. “Good evening, Mr. Black,” Ronni said. “You look dashing tonight, as always.”

  Wings spread, the crow gripped the crust in one foot, pecking at it.

  “I thought those things ate meat. Dead meat.”

  “They also hunt and eat other things. This one likes pizza crust and bagels.”

  “Charming. And you learned that how?”

  When she laughed for real this time, Hayden fought against the pull in his gut. A spark twinkled in her eyes, and thirteen years faded. For a brief moment, he could see the Ronni he remembered, the young girl she’d been, not the world-weary woman she’d become.

  She was right about changing. If only he could tell just how deep those changes in her ran—and if they were for better or worse.

  Although he was hard-pressed to imagine how much worse it could get compared to what she’d done to Ian.

  “He’s a thief, that’s how. I like to have breakfast out here. One morning I ran inside to answer the phone, and when I came out again, damned if he hadn’t helped himself to my bagel and was eating it right there on the railing.”

  The bird hopped closer, dragging its prize with it.

  “Let’s talk about Nick,” Hayden said. “I’ve got some ideas, and I want to get your two cents.”

  “Okay.”

  Hayden explained free running, a sport that combined running with strength training and climbing. There was a stuntman, balls-to-the-wall mentality that went with it, but he wisely kept that to himself. He suggested that a fitness routine would not only keep Nick occupied—and potentially tire him to the point that he was too exhausted to get into trouble—but also the fitter he was, the more his self-esteem would improve.

  “Did you know Nick thinks you believe having him was a huge mistake?”

  “What?” Ronni pushed aside her plate, then leaned back in her chair. She rubbed at the muscle in her neck. “Why would he think that? That’s crazy. Some days he’s the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.”

  “Apparently your attempts at sex ed have convinced him you regret having him.”

  She blew out a long breath, sliding down in the chair, folding in on herself.

  “Hey.”

  She tipped her head up, glancing at him through her long dark eyelashes. The crow shuffled closer, his shadow from the slanting sun’s rays falling across her face. The bird bobbed its head, making a low throaty noise.

  “It’s not your fault. I mean, you’ve got to teach him these things, right? You can’t control how he interprets them.”

  She shrugged. “I should have known. Been more in tune. Something. I’ll talk to him about it. Not tonight, because I want him to feel comfortable talking to you. I mean, that’s the whole point of you stepping into the Big Brother role, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Although your family nickname is JabberJaw?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Telegraph, telephone, tell Hayden?”

  He grinned as light—life—came back into her eyes. She’d been just as good at giving him crap when they were younger as he’d been at dishing it.

  “So he should know what he’s getting into when he confides in you.”

  Hayden thumped his chest. “That hurts, right here.”

  “I’m sure it does.” The edges of her mouth twitched, but the smile never materialized. “Well, since you’re spilling your guts...did you find out anything else?”

  “Just that there’s a girl involved somehow. I’d guess the paint was for public declarations of love.”

  “And the pot?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far yet. But I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re probably imagining.”

  “My son was arrested, Hayden. That’s pretty bad.” She picked a piece of cheese off her pizza, nibbled at it, then set it back on the plate. “Nick’s the only thing I have left. Ian’s gone, Babcia’s gone, Scott’s...gone....”

  Hayden leaned forward. “Listen, I’m sorry about Scott. From everything Nick’s ever said about him, he sounded like a good man.
”

  “Scott was a good stepfather. The jury’s still out on whether or not he was a good man.” She glanced down at the table.

  Interesting.

  Even more interesting... He reached across the tiny table, took her left hand in his right. He stroked the base of her ring finger. No indentation, no smooth skin on the inside. His number one rule about women was absolutely no getting involved with a married one. He knew how to identify the signs of a recently removed wedding band, and Ronni didn’t exhibit them. “When did you quit wearing your wedding ring?”

  “Let go!” She recoiled, trying to yank back her hand, but he held on to her.

  “Touchy subject?”

  “More like none of your damn business.”

  “Anything that affects you affects Nick, which as of now makes it my business.”

  “I’ve lost weight,” she snapped, still tugging on her hand. “It falls off. I didn’t want to lose it.”

  A loud caw sounded. Wings spread wide, the bird landed on the edge of the table. A split second later, pain flashed across the back of Hayden’s hand as the crow stabbed him with its beak.

  “Damn!” Hayden swatted at it. It launched into the air, returning to the tree in the corner of the yard. “Son of a... I think it likes you, Ronni.”

  She gathered her plate and bottle, rising from the table. “But not you. And that makes two of us right now. I think it’s time for you to go, Hayden.”

  He rubbed furiously at the red blotch already appearing on the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Just trying to understand what’s going on. The lack of wedding ring seemed odd to me. I also realized today that at some point Nick stopped calling Scott ‘Dad’ and switched over to using his first name. You know when that was?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. I just chalked it up to him getting too big for his britches.”

  “Was it before Scott deployed? Or after? Before his accident?”

  “Before he deployed, I think. Like I said, I figured it was just Nick getting older. Testing the water with Scott. It annoyed him, but when he didn’t make a big deal about it...Nick just kept calling him Scott.” She turned her back, heading into the house.