Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [56]
“Besides,” Daddy went on, “there’s nothing to it. It’s no worse than getting a tooth pulled.”
“You don’t have to go to the hospital to get a tooth pulled,” I argued.
“Listen, Roz, I wish I could be there for you, but don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
He squeezed my hand tight, and I found myself squeezing back. “Do you really think so, Daddy?”
He caught my gaze and held it. “Little Rose,” he said gently, “do you think I’d lie to you?”
I hesitated just a moment before saying, “No, I guess not.”
He smiled. “You’ll be fine. And afterward you can meet me here, and I’ll buy you another chocolate milk shake. How does that sound?”
“Good, I guess.” I took a long, pensive sip of the shake before asking, “Daddy, do you really think we’ll all be together again?”
He looked at me for a long moment, his face stony. Then nodding slowly, he said, “I’m going to make it work this time, Roz. I want you to believe that.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward over the table. “Listen, about the drinking, I know what it does to me. I know. And that’s why I’m not drinking anymore. I swear to you, Roz, I haven’t had a drink since you all left Minnesota and came down here.”
“Really?” I asked, my voice thin.
“Really, Roz. Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and laid it on the table in front of me. “This is from the last AA meeting I went to. I brought it along just to show you I’m going. The group meets at a church in Wheaton, so I’m going over there as often as I can.”
I pulled the paper closer and looked it over. Sure enough, it seemed to be an agenda for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, including the topic of discussion, the words to the Serenity Prayer, and a notice of upcoming events.
“If getting you back means no more drinking,” Daddy went on, “so be it. I’m done with all that. You’ve got to believe me.”
With the proof of his going to AA right there on the table between us, I gave him an agreeable nod. “I believe you, Daddy,” I told him.
The door to the café opened, letting in a gust of cold air. We could feel the cold all the way at the back of the cafe. Daddy shivered as he glanced at the huge clock on the wall above the counter. “I’d better go, Roz,” he said.
“Okay, Daddy.”
“You have a way to get home?”
“I’m going to walk over to Marie’s and ride home with Mom.”
Daddy slid out of the bench, dropping a five-dollar bill on the table as he stood. He lifted his jacket off the seat and put it on. Latching the zipper, he said, “I’ll see you again soon, Roz. And listen, everything is going to be all right. I promise you that. But if you say anything to your mother, or to anyone at all, you’ll ruin everything. I can trust you not to tell, can’t I?”
A small lump rose in my throat. “I won’t tell, Daddy.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“That’s my Little Rose.”
He leaned over, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed my forehead. When he did, something – some small persistent rumbling in my mind – told me not to trust him. But something else, some far louder voice in my heart, told me that was silly, that of course I could accept my daddy’s words as truth.
I looked up at Daddy and smiled. My father would be coming home, and all would be well.
chapter
22
Tom Barrows stopped by the house the night before I was scheduled to get my tonsils out. He showed up without warning just as we were sitting down for dinner, so of course Mom invited him to join us.
“Tillie,” Mom said as she bustled back to the kitchen, “let’s move to the dining room table so there’s room for everyone.”
“All right, Janis,” Tillie agreed. “I’ll get the place mats out.”
“But, Mom,” I complained, “I just finished setting the kitchen table.”
“Well, Roz, just get it un-set and take – ”
“Never mind, Mom,” Wally cut in. “He can sit at my place. I’ll take a plate up to my