Promises to Keep - Ann Tatlock [76]
“Wally won’t be with us either.”
“Are you sure? Even if he’s in basic training by then, he should be allowed leave for the holidays.”
I shook my head. “In his last letter he said he won’t be home for a while, more than a year, probably. But he said not to worry about him. Mom worries all the time, though. Sometimes I see her crying, even though she pretends like she’s not.”
Daddy dug methodically at the ice cream, like he was looking for buried treasure. I waited, but he wouldn’t look at me. Finally he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I just want her to be happy, don’t you, Daddy?”
He glanced at me, looked away. “Of course I want her to be happy. That’s what I’m working toward.”
I dipped my spoon in the dish, but my stomach reeled at the thought of another bite. It wasn’t the ice cream making me feel sick; it was what I was about to say to Daddy. I licked my lips and took a deep breath. “I remember . . .”
He looked at me then, his forehead furrowed like a tilled field. “What, Roz?”
“Well, I remember . . . you know, sometimes Mom would cry because of you.”
He tightened at that, like a current of electricity had just run through him. I thought for a second that he might blow up, and I lowered my head to shield myself from the explosion. But instead of getting angry, he flexed his neck and lifted his shoulders in an attempt to untie himself and relax. “I know, Roz,” he said, “but it’s not going to be that way anymore.”
My heart beat wildly and my insides shook, but I forced myself to hold Daddy’s gaze. “Do you promise?”
“Yes.” He frowned and lifted a hand to the side of his face, his fingertips kneading circles over his temple. “I promise. Everything’s going to be different this time. I – Roz, what’s the matter?”
He must have heard me inhale sharply, and undoubtedly my face registered both shock and fear.
Daddy glanced back over his shoulder. “Roz, do you see someone you know?”
I could do little more than nod.
“Listen to me, Roz. Don’t say anything. Just come over here and sit beside me.” He pushed his jacket aside and patted the bench.
Too afraid to breathe, I followed Tom Barrows with my eyes, watching silently as he strode across the café toward our booth. I braced myself for what was about to happen, but instead of coming to the table and confronting Daddy, he stopped at the counter and removed his hat, gloves, and coat. He laid the coat across one of the stools and planted the gloves and fedora on top. With a hitch of his pants, he settled himself on the next stool over. He must have said something to Darlene, because she smiled and nodded and placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
With my gaze still firmly on Tom Barrows, I started to rise, but Daddy stretched a hand across the table to stop me. “Don’t get up,” he said quietly. “Go under the table. That’s it.”
I slid down under the table like I was inching my way under a limbo bar, scooted over the sticky linoleum floor, and popped up on the other side next to Daddy. He put his arm around me, and I nestled there between him and the wall, hidden to Tom Barrows and to anyone else who might happen into the Hot Diggity Dog Café.
I leaned my head into the hollow of Daddy’s shoulder, and he tightened his grip around me. He was strong and solid from years of construction work, but his embrace was just as I remembered: at once tough and tender. I took a long deep breath, savoring the moment. A warmth rose up from Daddy’s skin; the opposing odors of sweat and soap collided and mingled in the fabric of his plaid flannel shirt. With my ear pressed heavily to his chest, I heard the faint echo of his heart, heard the air making its journey through his lungs, in and out, slowly and rhythmically. His life sounds were hypnotic, and in another moment I may have actually drifted off to sleep if Daddy hadn’t interrupted.
“Roz, who is that guy?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “The one who just sat down.”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him. A teacher,