Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [27]
“Why, that’s Ross and me, shortly after we married.”
“That’s you, Tillie?”
She snorted out a small laugh. “Don’t act so surprised, child. I was young once too, you know.”
I was surprised, and she had been young once, and thin, and even pretty, with dark hair cascading past her ears in stylish waves, skin smooth and firm and wrapped snugly over cheekbone and jaw and down her long white neck. The photograph was black and white so it didn’t capture the blue of her eyes, but it wasn’t hard to imagine it, that blue, and the pink of her cheeks and the red of those lips that turned up in a small, close-lipped smile. The man beside her was handsome in a rugged way, with a cleft chin like Cary Grant’s and dark hair combed straight back from his face. His eyes were dark and piercing, his smile sincere and filled with white marblelike teeth; he looked as though he sat on the edge of laughter, not because something was funny but simply because life was good.
“Ross went off to the First World War shortly after that picture was taken,” Tillie said. “Thank God he came home again.”
As though she didn’t want to talk about the war, she waved toward a carnival glass dish on the table beside her. She lifted the lid and nodded toward the cream-colored candies inside. “Butter mint?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. I chose one of the mints and popped it into my mouth.
“How was the first day of school?”
I shrugged. “It was all right.”
“Did you make any new friends?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, friendships take time. I’m sure there are some nice little girls in your class.”
I shrugged again and didn’t say anything. Tillie took a mint for herself and placed the lid back on the dish. It settled into place with a small clinking sound.
Pocketing my mint in one cheek for a moment, I said, “Why do you have a baseball bat by your bed?”
“What? Oh, that. It belonged to Paul, my middle son. He was quite a good ball player. We thought at one time he might go professional.”
“But he didn’t?”
“No. He decided against it.”
“So what does he do?”
“He went into real estate. He’s made a good living for himself and his family.”
“Well, how come he didn’t come to your welcome home party?”
“He doesn’t live in Mills River anymore. He moved to Florida years ago. Only Johnny lives here now, he and his wife, Elaine. My youngest son, Lyle, doesn’t live here either.” As she said that, she folded up the sheets of stationery in her lap and stuffed them into an envelope.
“Where’s he live?”
“Bolivia.”
“Bolivia?”
“That’s right.”
“Where’s that?”
Tillie’s right eyebrow shot up. “Don’t you know?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t ask you.”
“Well, you’ve got a point. It’s in South America.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“He teaches at a mission school. He teaches the children of missionaries.”
“What for?”
“Well, they need to be educated too.”
“I know, but I mean, what about his own children? Why would he want them to grow up down there?”
“He doesn’t have any children. Doesn’t have a wife either. He’s never been married.”
“Never?”
Tillie shook her head as she lifted the letter to her heart. “And now he’s got another bout of malaria.”
My eyes widened. “Is he going to die?”
“Oh no. But I hate to think of him sick like that, so far from home.” She looked at me, gave a small apologetic laugh. “I guess I’ll always be his mother.”
“I’m sorry he’s so far away.”
“Me too. Another mint?”
She lifted the lid. I took one.
“Tillie?”
“Yes, Roz?”
“You got any grandchildren?”
“I’ve got two, a boy and a girl. They’re Paul’s children. They live in Florida, so I rarely see them. Pity,” she said. Her eyes moved to the window, and she rocked a little bit, as though to soothe herself.
“Doesn’t Johnny have kids?”
“No. They wanted children, but it turned out Elaine couldn’t have any. I tried to talk them into adopting, but Elaine said it wouldn’t be the same, having a child not really your own. I told her she’d love the child just the same, but . . .” Her words trailed off as she shook her head.
“Well,” I said around the candy in my mouth, “at least you’ve got two grandkids.”
“Yes,